On November 17, 2012, as news of Bal Thackeray’s death was announced, Mumbai braced itself for the inevitable shutdown that was to come. Politicians across the spectrum sang his praises. And police and government officials scrambled to make arrangements to ensure that the imminent funeral ceremony at Shivaji Park didn’t wreak havoc on the law and order scene in Maharashtra. Announcements were made telling people to only travel “in case of emergency” and shops around the city downed shutters.
The city came to a grinding halt inconveniencing the lakhs of people who call Mumbai home. Shaheen Dhada, a 21-year-old college student, no doubt miffed at not being able to do whatever it is Mumbaikars her age do on a regular day, took to facebook to vent her ire at the unofficial clampdown.
Her post read as follows:
“With all respect, every day, thousands of people die, but still the world moves on, just due to one politician died a natural death, everyone just goes bonkers. They should know, we are resilient by force, not by choice. When was the last time, did anyone showed some respect or even a two-minute silence for Shaheed Bhagat Singh, Azad, Sukhdev or any of the people because of whom we are free-living Indians? Respect is earned, given, and definitely not forced. Today, Mumbai shuts down due to fear, not due to respect.”
Her friend, Rinu Srinivasan, ‘liked’ the post. It must be mentioned that on receiving scathing feedback, Shaheen even posted an apology stating that she had meant no offence but apparently the time for apologies had long since passed.
On November 19, 2012, a mob of approximately 5000 people marched to the Palghar police station demanding action be taking against the two girls. At the same time, a smaller mob, using sleuthing techniques reminiscent of Thompson and Thomson ransacked Dhada Hospital in Palghar, believing it to be run by Shaheen Dhada’s father. It was actually her uncle’s.
The two girls were arrested and charged under sections 295(A) and 502(2) of the IPC and were later charged under section 66(a) of the IT Act 2000. They were granted bail the following day but this was not before Rinu Srinivasan was slapped by an unknown woman while in the custody of the police. Nine people were later booked for the vandalism of the clinic and all charges against the girls were dropped a month later.
The police later justified their misdirected actions by claiming that they did so under pressure from a mob that threatened violence, yet no report was filed stating the same. Surprised? Of course not, rational readers probably used up their entire months quota of surprise about halfway through this article.
The ambiguity and scope for misuse of Section 66 (A) was once again highlighted by this case following which the Centre issued directives to the states that Section 66 (A) cases could now only be registered by high ranking officers (IG and above). A directive which has now been made official by the Supreme Court. While this directive was definitely needed, it lays bare the fact that our average police officers are not trained to interpret the laws they are hired to enforce and that they are easily influenced by those in power.
The Centre’s directive is undermined by the fact that the rampant misuse of 66 (A) is not caused solely by an under-educated police force, but rather by the loose wording of Section 66 (A) that was framed by our law-makers. The ambiguity of Section 66 (A) of the IT Act as well as Section 79 means that even a high ranking officer could interpret the law to favour the “offended” party in a case such as this.
Despite trying to contact the two girls repeatedly to get their version of the events, we received no response from them. The Shiv Sena, aided and abetted by the police, should be proud that they managed to achieve making the online world a safer place by making two women hold their tongues.
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