The South Caucasus News - SouthCaucasusNews.comIn the evening of 6 April, the Armenian Armed Forces shelled the positions of the Azerbaijani Armed Forces in the direction of Gedabey, Kyalbajar and Lachin districts 16 times from 18:30 to 22:05.
The Azerbaijani side took retaliatory measures, the Azerbaijani Ministry of Defence says.
In turn, the Armenian Ministry…
By Udayvir Ahuja
In the past couple of years, two armed conflicts have made people question the viability of the current multilateral world order and polarised the world to an extent which has not been seen since the Cold War.
Since 2022, the ongoing Russia-Ukraine conflict has shown no signs of ending, while tensions in the Israel-Palestine conflict continue to escalate daily. The toll of these conflicts, marked by a significant number of civilian casualties and economic loss, underscores the inability of the United Nations, under the leadership of the Security Council, to both prevent and address these crises.
In times of such upheaval, the international community looks to international courts and law to offer a solution. The International Court of Justice (ICJ) has endeavoured to do exactly that by way of its recent judgements in the suit brought by South Africa against Israel as well as by Ukraine against Russia. While superficially similar—both involving allegations of genocide against the aggressor nation, the same could not be further from the truth.
On 2 February 2024, the ICJ issued a ruling on the preliminary objections raised by Russia regarding the jurisdiction and admissibility of the genocide case filed against it by Ukraine following a full-scale invasion in February 2022.
Interestingly, this case differs from all other genocide cases brought before the ICJ in its history. In any other genocide case, the claim is naturally that the respondent nation committed or facilitated the act of genocide. However, in the present case, Ukraine claims that Russia falsely accused the former of committing genocide against Russians or the Russian-speaking population in its territory, which it then used to justify its unlawful acts of aggression against Ukraine, making for a “dispute” under the Genocide Convention. Thus, making this a genocide case in reverse.
Ukraine’s rationale behind presenting such an innovative argument stems from the absence of authority with any international court to address Russia’s breach of the UN Charter during its invasion of Ukraine, as well as the lack of jurisdiction over the crime of aggression committed by Russian leaders. Ukraine instead used the dispute resolution provision in the Genocide Convention to bring Russia to court.
In March 2022, the Court in its order on provisional measures, decided that Ukraine’s creative argument was indeed plausible and even ordered Russia to “immediately suspend the military operations that it commenced in February 2022 in the territory of Ukraine’, an order which the Russian Federation predictably ignored.
However, in its February 2024 judgement, ICJ upheld Russia’s most important preliminary objection, that the use of force based on false allegation of genocide does not fall within the scope of the Genocide Convention. This is because if a case is brought under the Genocide Convention, as in the present case, the ICJ cannot consider other questions like the legality of an invasion or whether war crimes and crimes against humanity have been committed. Additionally, no such clause addressing an act of aggression based on a false allegation of genocide currently exists within the convention.
This means that going forward, the court will only decide whether Ukraine indeed violated the Genocide Convention, as alleged by Russia, and no question of responsibility of Russia will arise, except implicitly.
On the day India celebrated its Republic Day in January 2024, the ICJ issued a ruling in the suit brought by South Africa, for alleged violation of the obligations to prevent and punish genocide under the Genocide Convention by Israel in Gaza.
First off, it is intriguing as to why South Africa, a country which on face value, has nothing to do with the conflict in question, brought a suit against Israel. The answer to the question, as stated in the ICJ judgment is ‘any State party to the Genocide Convention may invoke the responsibility of another State party, including through the institution of proceedings before the Court, with a view to determining the alleged failure to comply with its obligations erga omnes partes under the Convention and to bring that failure to an end.’ Since both the countries are parties to the Genocide Convention, the former has standing to submit to the court the dispute with the latter, concerning alleged violations of obligations under the Genocide Convention.
Since the hearing in question was regarding provisional measures, the court needed to be satisfied that the set standard to order the issuance of provisional measures had indeed been met. This does not mean that South Africa had to prove that Israel is in fact committing genocide in Gaza, which would arise only later, rather, only that its claim for the protection of rights and fulfilment of obligations under the Genocide Convention was indeed plausible. In light of various statements from UN officials, statements from Israeli leaders, news reports etc, the court held that a plausible risk of a genocide-like situation currently exists in Gaza.
The court granted the majority of the measures requested by South Africa, including that Israel must take all measures within its power to prevent and punish the direct and public incitement to commit genocide and take immediate and effective measures to enable the provision of humanitarian assistance to Gaza. Further, the ruling goes on to identify the Palestinian people as a distinct national group, a fact which is paramount to prove a crime of genocide and recognised the plausibility of the existence of a specific genocidal intent, proving which is the most difficult aspect of proving the crime.
However, there are two things which clearly stand out in the ICJ’s ruling:
Even though the court has ruled that Israel must prevent the commission of acts such as killing members of the group, and causing serious bodily or mental harm or physical destruction against Palestinians, these are not new by any measure as Israel was already bound by these obligations under the Genocide Convention.
Since the pronouncement of both the judgements, not much has changed on the ground. Russia continues to wage its war in Ukraine and Israel has if anything, intensified its resolve to eradicate Hamas despite the significant human toll on Palestinians.
Since ICJ cannot enforce its orders on its own and has to rely on the ever-stagnant UN Security Council to ensure compliance, not much will ultimately change even after the final pronouncement of judgement, whenever it may be.
Nonetheless, the decisions of the ICJ can hold significant influence in reshaping global perceptions regarding the legality or illegality of states’ actions. While these decisions may not be formally enforced by the Security Council, they often exert a decentralised impact by influencing how states engage with parties involved in disputes. For example, even when ICJ issued an advisory opinion declaring that the construction of the Israeli-West Bank barrier violated international law in 2004, it contributed to global condemnation of the barrier’s construction and influenced the discourse surrounding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
While international law may lack enforceability in a traditional sense and exhibit flaws and frustrations, its influence remains significant in shaping the opinions and policies of nations. Despite its imperfections, international law has played a pivotal role in the evolution of global governance. Recognising its imperfection does not diminish its indispensable role in maintaining order and cooperation in our interconnected world.
The occasional burst of candour from US diplomats provides a striking, air clearing difference to their Australian and British counterparts. Official statements about the AUKUS security pact between Washington, London and Canberra, rarely mention the target in so many words, except on the gossiping fringes. Commentators and think tankers are essentially given free rein to speculate, masticating over such streaky and light terms as “new strategic environment”, “great power competition”, “rules-based order”.
On the occasion of his April 3 visit to Washington’s Center for a New American Security (CNAS), US Deputy Secretary of State Kurt Campbell was refreshingly frank. His presence as an emissary of US power in the Pacific has been notable since the AUKUS announcement in September 2021.
In March last year, Campbell, as Deputy Assistant to the US President and Coordinator for the Indo-Pacific National Security Council, was unfurling the US flag before various Pacific states, adamant that US policy was being reoriented from one of neglect to one of greater attentiveness. The Solomon Islands, given its newly minted security pact with Beijing, was of special concern. “We realise that we have to overcome in certain areas some amounts of distrust and uncertainty about follow through,” he explained to reporters in Wellington, New Zealand. “We’re seeking to gain that trust and confidence as we go forward.”
In Honiara, Campbell conceded that the US had not done “enough before” and had to be “big enough to admit that we need to do more, and we need to do better.” This entailed, in no small part, cornering the Solomon Islands Premier Manasseh Sogavare into affirming that Beijing would not be permitted to establish a military facility capable of supporting “power projection capabilities”.
In his discussion with the CNAS Chief Executive Officer, Richard Fontaine, Campbell did the usual runup, doffing the cap to the stock principles. Banal generalities were discussed, for instance, as to whether the US should be the sole show in projecting power or seek support from like-minded sorts. “I would argue that as the United States and other nations confront a challenging security environment, that the best way to maintain peace and security is to work constructively and deeply with allies and partners.” A less than stealthy rebuke was reserved for those who think “that the best that the United States can do is to act alone and to husband its resources and think about unilateral, individual steps it might take.”
The latter view has always been scorned by those calling themselves multilateralists, a cloaking term for waging war arm-in-arm with satellite states and vassals while ascribing to it peace keeping purposes in the name of stability. Campbell is unsurprising in arguing “that working closely with other nations, not just diplomatically, but in defensive avenues [emphasis added], has the consequence of strengthening peace and stability more generally.” The virtue with the unilateralists is the possibility that war should be resorted to sparingly. If one is taking up arms alone, a sense of caution can moderate the bloodlust.
Campbell revealingly envisages “a number of areas of conflict and in a number of scenarios that countries acting together” in the Indo-Pacific, including Japan, Australia, South Korea and India. “I think that balance, the additional capacity will help strengthen deterrence more general [sic].” The candid admission on the role played by the AUKUS submarines follows, with the boats having “the potential to have submarines from a number of countries operating in close coordination that could deliver conventional ordinance from long distances. Those have enormous implications in a variety of scenarios, including in cross-strait circumstances”. And so, we have the prospect of submarines associated with the AUKUS compact being engaged in a potential war with China over Taiwan.
When asked on what to do about the slow production rate of submarines on the part of the US Navy necessary to keep AUKUS afloat, Campbell acknowledged the constraints – the Covid pandemic, supply chain issues, the number of submarines in dry dock requiring or requiring servicing. But like Don Quixote taking the reins of Rosinante to charge the windmills, he is undeterred in his optimism, insisting that “the urgent security demands in Europe and the Indo-Pacific require much more rapid ability to deliver both ordinance and other capabilities.”
To do so, the military industrial complex needs to be broadened (good news for the defence industry, terrible for the peacemakers). “I think probably there is going to be a need over time for a larger number of vendors, both in the United States in Australia and Great Britain, involved in both AUKUS and other endeavours.”
There was also little by way of peace talk in Campbell’s confidence about the April 11 trilateral Washington summit between the US, Japan and the Philippines, following a bilateral summit to be held between President Joe Biden and Japan’s Prime Minister Fumio Kishida. When terms such as “modernize” and “update” are bandied about in the context of an alliance, notably with an eye towards a rival power’s ambitions, the warring instincts must surely be stirred. In the language of true encirclement, Campbell envisages a cooperative framework that will “help link the Indo-Pacific more effectively to Europe” while underscoring “our commitment to the region as a whole.”
A remarkably perverse reality is in the offing regarding AUKUS. In terms of submarines, it will lag, possibly even sink, leaving the US and, to a lesser extent the UK, operating their fleets as Australians foot the bill and provide the refreshments. Campbell may well mention Australia and the UK in the context of nuclear-powered submarines, but it remains clear where his focus is: the US program “which I would regard as the jewel in the crown of our defense industrial capacity.” Not only is Australia effectively promising to finance and service that particular capacity, it will also do so in the service of a potentially catastrophic conflict which will see its automatic commitment. A truly high price to pay for an abdication of sovereignty for the fiction of regional stability.
(FPRI) — Togo’s political landscape has undergone a significant shift with the adoption of a new constitution on March 25, 2024. This revision marks a fundamental change, transitioning the nation from a presidential system to a parliamentary one. The adoption has sparked controversy, with both potential benefits and serious concerns being raised. Given Togo’s history of simmering political and social tensions, coupled with the growing terrorist threat in the north, this change ushers in a period of uncertainty for a nation striving for peace and a strengthened democracy.
Lawmakers from the ruling Union for the Republic (UNIR) party overwhelmingly approved the proposed constitutional change in the national assembly. With only two dissenting votes, the measure passed with near-complete support. This is because the opposition, which boycotted the 2018 elections due to allegedirregularities, has minimal representation in the current assembly. The new constitution embodies key changes. First, it removes the direct election of the president by the people. Instead, the National Assembly, the country’s legislative body, would be responsible for electing the president. Additionally, the president’s term would increase from five to six years, for a single six-year term.
Moreover, the new constitution establishes a new powerful executive position: the president of the Council of Ministers. Elected by the National Assembly, this individual will be responsible for overseeing the day-to-day operations of the government and will be held accountable for its performance.
The president of the Council of Ministers will come from the party with the most seats in parliament or lead a coalition of parties if there is no single-party majority. The term of office will be six years.
Tchitchao Tchalim, Chairman of the National Assembly’s Committee on Constitutional Laws, Legislation, and General Administration stated, “The head of state is practically divested of his powers in favor of the president of the Council of Ministers, who becomes the person who represents the Togolese Republic abroad and effectively leads the country in its day-to-day management.”
This is radically different from the recent amendment of the constitution that occurred in 2019, which stipulated that the president of the republic is elected by universal suffrage for a term of five years, renewable once, and made the presidential election a two-round race.
“This is the umpteenth preparation of a constitutional coup by a monarchical regime that has held the country’s destiny hostage for almost sixty years,” one of Togo’s opposition parties, the Democratic Forces of the Republic, said while the new constitution was still being debated.
Beyond legal concerns, many opponents view the proposal as a self-serving maneuver by the ruling party, UNIR. The timing, just weeks before legislative elections due on April 20, raises concerns. Critics, particularly opposition parties like the National Alliance for Change, suspect the UNIR is attempting to exploit the outgoing parliament’s single-party majority to solidify its grip on power.
Eric Dupuy, a spokesman for the opposition National Alliance for Change party states, “We know that the struggle will be long and hard, but together with the Togolese people, we will do everything we can to prevent this constitutional coup d’état.” He added, “We’re calling on the population to reject this, to oppose it massively.”
Togo’s ruling party, in power since 1967 under the Gnassingbé family, could hold onto power until at least 2031 thanks to the new constitution. Critics call this a “constitutional coup d’état,” alleging it unfairly extends the Gnassingbé family’s long rule.
Many crises in West Africa were the result of unilateral constitutional changes, postponing of elections, or succession crises like in Guinea and Togo. The recent unrest in Senegal remains an interesting example. The deafening silence of regional organizations like Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) regarding the constitutional change in Togo is appalling for many Togolese and West Africans, but not genuinely surprising. ECOWAS’s Protocol on Democracy and Good Governance stipulates in its Article 2.1, “No substantial modification shall be made to the electoral laws in the last six months before the elections, except with the consent of a majority of Political actors.”
Despite the existence of arguments for and against related to this article about Togo’s case, the ECOWAS silence on the matter could be interpreted as tacit acceptance. Additionally, the absolute silence from those who usually champion civilian rule, condemn military takeovers, and call for sanctions against non-democratic changes in Africa—including several Western organizations and vocal nations like France—is further proof of the double standards they have been accused of.
President Faure Gnassingbé’s future participation in the US-Africa Business Summit fuels a growing sentiment among the majority of Togolese. Many observers perceive this as indicative of a broader issue: a lack of genuine commitment from Western organizations and countries to uphold democratic values on the continent. Critics argue that these external actors prioritize their interests, even when it necessitates supporting questionable and authoritarian regimes. Such regimes, exemplified by those in Cameroon and Congo, are seen as threats to democratic freedoms, exemplified by the suppression of free speech, imprisonment of journalists, and the manipulation of elections to retain power. In these cases, the West and its experts may lack the credibility to impart lessons on democracy to others.
This perceived hypocrisy—particularly from ECOWAS, the Mike Tyson of democracy in the region, which, recently, was prepared to deploy troops to defend democracy in Niger—undoubtedly might lead to two consequences. Firstly, ECOWAS’s inaction on Togo undermines its credibility as a champion of regional stability and development. The perception that the organization prioritizes incumbent leadership over genuine democratic processes could lead West African nations to view alternative regional bodies, such as the Alliance of Sahel States, as more promising avenues for achieving development and self-determination.
Secondly, ECOWAS’s silence risks creating an environment conducive to military interventions as a response to perceived authoritarian rule. This, coupled with a growing rejection of Western influence, could open doors for Russia to expand its presence in the region, potentially destabilizing the fragile security landscape.
The United States, as a key partner in West Africa, should consider a calibrated response that condemns unilateral constitutional changes and reaffirms its commitment to supporting democratic processes. This will be crucial in maintaining its image as a champion of democracy among African nations.
The West African nation of Togo, commended for its pro-business environment and regional peace initiatives, is at a critical juncture. Togo became a permanent member of the growing number of African countries that have undertaken constitutional or legal reforms to extend presidential term limits, including the Central African Republic, Rwanda, and Côte d’Ivoire. Even though the Catholic bishops of Togo on Tuesday, March 26 urged “the head of state to postpone the promulgation of the new constitutional law,” the recent constitutional change raises legitimate concerns about democratic backsliding and the true nature of the regime in power. While the proposed parliamentary system features a collaborative executive and legislature, with a symbolic head of state and a prime minister leading national policy, the timing and Togo’s political history raise legitimate concerns.
A successful and legitimate transition to a parliamentary system necessitates inclusive public discourse, broad-based popular support, and the active participation of all political stakeholders. This ensures a process driven by the will of the people, rather than by opaque maneuvers within the political elite.
By removing the public’s right to elect the president and giving that power to lawmakers which mostly come from the ruling party, the regime reveals its fear of universal suffrage and potential defeat in the upcoming elections, especially the presidential election due in 2025. Furthermore, the swift timing of the adoption of the new constitution before the upcoming legislative elections in weeks, in which the opposition plans to participate, suggests a potential strategy by the ruling party to maintain its grasp on the small West African nation. This umpteenth undemocratic move of the ruling party risks escalating domestic tensions, further jeopardizing Togo’s fragile social unity.
In response to widespread criticism from citizens, political parties, and religious leaders, Gnassingbé has requested a second reading of both the newly adopted law and constitution from the president of the National Assembly. Despite the ruling party’s insistence on a second reading, it is clearly determined to maintain the core principles of the constitution in some form. The adoption of the new constitution appears to be a calculated move by those in power to gauge the reactions of national and international opinions. While there may be minor amendments resulting from a re-reading, they are unlikely to significantly impact the core desire of the regime, which is to hold on to power for as long as possible.
Should Gnassingbé promulgate this new constitution after the second or third review without a referendum, it is likely to erode confidence in Togo’s current leaders. This could lead some citizens to seek alternative, potentially undemocratic solutions for ending the Gnassingbé era. Such actions would risk instability and plunge the country into chaos. Hopefully, reason will win over ego.
The significant hardships faced by the Togolese people make it imperative to prioritize their well-being over political or personal agendas. Throughout history, attempts to manipulate the lives of millions for such reasons have resulted in instability. The promulgation of a new constitution, coupled with the rise of terrorist groups in northern Togo and existing societal tensions, casts a dark cloud over Togo’s future stability.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author alone and do not necessarily reflect the position of the Foreign Policy Research Institute, a non-partisan organization that seeks to publish well-argued, policy-oriented articles on American foreign policy and national security priorities.
In a stark exposition of the current state of Iran’s political landscape, the governmental newspaper Etemad has illuminated the metaphorical “taxidermy” of the country’s electoral system and parliamentary representation under the current regime. Before the widely boycotted parliamentary elections, Etemad articulated a concerning scenario, writing, “What is recently evident in the country’s electoral scene, from the process of disqualifications in the Assembly of Experts and the parliament, testifies to a danger beyond mere stage-setting and ‘taxidermy’ of the 2021 presidential elections… It has gone beyond merely hollowing out the interior and empty volumes, insisting that not even the appearance is to be preserved.”
From the inception of the mullahs’ regime, the president and the government have been perceived largely as mere facilitators for the Supreme Leader’s will. Recently, former President Hassan Rouhani conceded the nominal power of the presidency within this system, admitting that all his actions and appointments required Khamenei’s approval: “I checked all government ministers without exception with the leadership” (ILNA news agency, March 27, 2024).
The judiciary, too, has been instrumental in executing the Supreme Leader’s orders for executions, killings, and intimidation, aimed at maintaining control over societal unrest.
A few months ago, the Telegram channel “Uprising to Overthrow” revealed that Foreign Minister Hossein Amirabdollahian lamented the “weakening of the authority and position of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.” He requested that “orders be issued for all bodies to coordinate their foreign relations with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.” However, Khamenei’s office, in response to this minister’s demands, redirected him to Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf, essentially instructing him not to overstep his bounds.
On the subject of the Supreme Leader’s dictatorship, a recent interview with former Foreign Minister Mohammad Javad Zarif highlighted that all components and institutions of the regime are merely pawns in Khamenei’s hands, tasked solely with executing “the Supreme Leader’s directives,” essentially spreading crisis and terrorism as state policy.
Zarif, previously, had acknowledged the necessity of synchronizing diplomacy with military strategies, essentially admitting that “diplomacy” in the regime serves solely to facilitate the goals of Qasem Soleimani, the former head of the IRGC Quds Force who was killed in a 2020 drone strike in Iraq. He stated, “I had the honor of deep friendship and cooperation with Hajj Qasem for more than two decades, a relationship that not only did not fade until his martyrdom but always deepened” (Iran newspaper, April 29, 2021).
However, in a recent interview, Zarif, while showcasing his loyalty to Khamenei, revealed that everything is determined by the dictator himself, with others merely executing his orders. He remarked, “I believe the Foreign Ministry should be part of the decision-making system, and I accept the Supreme Leader’s opinion that the Foreign Ministry is the executor. But at least let it be the executor and not completely irrelevant in foreign policy” (Jamaran government site, March 24).
Zarif further disclosed that for years, even since the Khatami era, “sensitive foreign policy files” such as those concerning Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, and Yemen, which are directly related to the regime’s strategy of exporting terrorism and regional warmongering, have been transferred from the ministry to other branches directly under the Supreme Leader’s control.
Thus, it’s evident that despite being ousted and humiliated by their masters in several instances, the so-called reformists, deeply complicit in the regime’s crimes, have never truly pursued genuine reforms. Instead, they have played decorative roles to make the regime’s atrocities presentable to foreign counterparts. While presenting a facade of change and reform internationally, they remained the regime’s loyal soldiers, donning suits instead of military uniforms.
The entire regime can be envisaged as a monstrous taxidermy, with only the Supreme Leader actively making decisions and speaking out, while the rest are but subservient pawns. This grim portrayal underscores the profound crisis of legitimacy and representation within Iran’s regime, calling for a reevaluation of the current state of affairs and the need for genuine reform and democratization.
Filmmakers adapting non-fiction work—especially those on conflict and terrorism—often struggle to stick to the original story. Filmmaking admittedly allows for the dramatisation of factual nuances given the need to tell a long story in a short timeframe. The struggle, however, is even more stark when a film doesn’t rely on adequate research, and is in fact seen as being based on reality.
This article looks at the recent example of ‘Bastar, the Naxal Story’ (referred to as ‘Bastar’ hereafter), which claims to have been based on the “real-life incidents of Naxals in Chhattisgarh,” to highlight how such films, because they are so poorly researched, can lead to a distortion of facts on the ground—including official policy. This can have negative consequences both for public perception and official government narratives. That Bastar has received extremely negative media reviews is therefore neither unreasonable nor harsh. Reviews by critics, in broad terms, also underline the film’s failure to adhere to established facts and figures about conflict dynamics.
Most films aim to deliver a message, socially relevant or otherwise. To drive home such a point, filmmakers have the liberty to exercise artistic license, which may stray from a strict and ‘within-the-set-boundaries’ interpretation of the subject. However, ‘artistic license’ becomes irrelevant when the film markets itself as based on reality. Bastar draws attention to left-wing extremism (LWE), once dubbed as India’s biggest internal security challenge. Director Sudipto Sen, during the pre-release publicity for the film, described it as a “personal story.” He said he “followed what is happening in Naxalism,” and had seen the “evolution of this movement.” The lead actor Adah Sharma insisted in her interviews that the movie is based on reality and should therefore “shake people” who have “patriotism in their hearts.” There is no ambivalence that Bastar is a mere work of fiction. Rather, it is a film that seeks to bring attention to a threat it believes looms large on India’s horizon.
That, however, isn’t fact. That LWE is no longer the threat it used to be is apparent in the government’s repeated assertions. There were 32 LWE-related incidents of killing in 2023—a significant reduction. The home minister has also predicted that whatever remains of the LWE threat will be eliminated in 2-3 years.
In Bastar’s narrative, however, LWE is a thriving existential threat to the country, having claimed the lives of 50,000 to 60,000 innocents, including 15,000 security personnel. Interestingly, official fatality figures in LWE theatres are a fraction of this highly exaggerated claim. According to the South Asia Terrorism Portal (SATP), which keeps track of Home Ministry data and also compiles information from open sources, the total LWE-related fatalities in the period 6 March 2000 to 12 March 2024 is 11,294, including 2,681 security personnel. The film even compares LWE with terror groups like the Islamic State and Boko Haram, which portrays an extremely fragile understanding of how the extremist group operates and extracts support from tribal constituencies.
Inflated figures and false comparisons aren’t Bastar’s only shortcomings. The film errs grievously in identifying the context within which LWE thrived, the real perpetrators of LWE violence, and the drivers of an extremist movement that once captured nearly one-third of the country’s landmass. While the film focuses on armed rebels in forested areas, equal attention is directed to ‘left-liberals’ at educational institutions like Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU)—the name is beeped out but made quite clear in the film’s teaser—who apparently are central to the plan of breaking the country from within.
One of the reviews points to how the film is all about the “same story, new villain.” Although the female protagonist doesn’t explicitly verbalise the term, at a certain point she appears to be referring to so-called ‘urban naxals’, a highly contested political expression that even the Home Ministry has categorically denied ever using. The CPI-Maoist has an ‘Urban Perspective’ document which outlines the steps necessary to build the movement in India’s urban areas, as a precursor to overthrowing the government of the day. This plan however never came to fruition as the group’s influence—even at the height of the movement—was confined to the country’s forested areas. Bastar, on the other hand, embraces the conspiracy theory that the strength of the LWE movement is based in urban academic institutions like JNU, where student activists conspire to break the nation. Such attempted vilification of public-funded and academically boisterous institutions like JNU point to the filmmakers’ benightedness, if not an agenda-driven artistic endeavour. It is a reflection of their gross ignorance of the context within which LWE once prospered and subsequently weakened.
In the film, the female protagonist’s only prescription to eliminate the threat seems to be to shoot the perpetrators and their supporters. This simplified solution to a complex problem is a wholesale misreading of the threat. More importantly, it is a trivialisation of the government’s efforts to not only contain the threat but also eliminate it from large parts of the country. The number of police stations reporting LWE-related violence has reduced from 465 in 96 districts in 2010, to 171 in 42 districts in 2023. As per government statements, this was achieved through a “multi-pronged strategy involving security-related measures, development interventions, and ensuring rights and entitlements of local communities.” Bullets didn’t deliver these results, but Bastar would have us believe otherwise.
Before Bastar, Bollywood films on LWE were either built around around the impact of conflict on people’s lives or stuck to the film industry’s formula of reductionism—i.e. making a single villain responsible for the entire conflict, which ended with his killing in the hands of the male protagonist. The film ‘Newton’, India’s official entry to the Oscars in 2018, narrated the story of an election official in charge of a polling station in LWE-affected Chhattisgarh. It did so subtly and with great effect, without compromising the film’s dramatic value or the reality it drew from. Another LWE-focused movie, ‘Chakravyuh’, made in 2012, on the other hand, as a typical, action-oriented potboiler, didn’t make any claims to be based on reality.
Bastar errs grievously by sticking to neither of these formulas. Its claim to be portraying reality falls short on multiple grounds. It is an attempt to provide a diatribe against communism, which instead merely adds to the ever-expanding pool of fake news, misinformation, and disinformation, all of which the government is in fact trying to address.
This article was published at IPCS
#Azerbaijan has returned to reporting ceasefire incidents in numbers, yesterday 30 was mentioned, today 16 incidents. They had stopped giving numbers after the 2020 #NagornoKarabakh war.
— Nagorno Karabakh Observer (@NKobserver) April 7, 2024