A recent Hindu headline:
Court anguished at Soni Sori’s medical report
After reading about the stones inserted inside her, the courts decided not to hand her over directly to her torturers. The (tear-soaked) medical report inspired the weeping judges to continue keeping her in a different prison instead.
After beating and torturing her unconscious during police custody, the official response was that Soni Sori had slipped and fallen in the bathroom.
In the face of overwhelming evidence of custodial torture that included indisputable sexual assaults, the National Human Rights Commission has taken up the task of “probing further”. As if truth was not witnessed (filmed) at all, but was hidden and knotted (which, of course, it is).
Via Free Binayaksen
Soni Sori is the aunt of Lingaram Kodopi, a young journalist who was arrested on September 9th 2011, on charges of collecting money for the Maoists. Her three young children, aged 6, 10 and 12 years, are now in the care of her brother, Ramdev, since her husband has been imprisoned in Chhattisgarh on false charges. Sori fled the state fearing for her life and reached New Delhi seeking legal assistance. She was arrested on October 4th by the Delhi police acting under the directions of the Chhattisgarh police. The police allege that Sori is involved as a conduit for money transfer to the Maoists from the Essar group; a charge openly denied by Essar. She has also been falsely charged under several other cases of aiding the Maoists. An examination of publicly available materials demonstrate that the charges against both Sori and Kodopi are false and politically motivated.
Amnesty International has declared both Soni Sori and Lingaram Kodopi prisoners of conscience and has demanded that the charges against them be dropped and that they be freed unconditionally.
A shared colonial relic — a trick, wherein our collective sympathies are bargained for, a case is made for metaphoric pain. The non-existent grief of systems and institutions is used to understand real human wounds and scars, which in turn become symbols for oppression.
Adivasi bodies, poor people’s bodies — their spaces, their voices — are political narratives first, human later.