The silent panic behind SIR

Not everything, it seems, is fine with the way the Election Commission of India is engaging with the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls. In fact, as reports from West Bengal indicate, it has led to severe stress and anxiety among ordinary citizens as well as booth level officers (BLOs).While the death of several BLOs by suicide because of unbearable work pressure is really a matter of concern, it is equally important to note that ordinary, peaceful citizens are terribly worried about the kind of documents they must produce to ensure their names are not deleted from the revised voter list. Opposition parties allege that dozens of people have already died from this fear.Is it that, through the act of SIR, the state is asking us to prove that we are Indians, our parents are Indians, and we are not illegal immigrants? And particularly in border states like West Bengal, this anxiety seems to have acquired a new dimension.Imagine how infectious this anxiety is. Although I live in Delhi, I too have begun to keep all my documents in order: the documents that can prove that I was born in India, my parents were Indians, and my name was included in the 2002 voter list. My father was a government officer. For more than three decades, I taught in a Central university.I still recall the day I stood in a long queue to apply for my Aadhaar card after satisfying the officials concerned with all the valid proofs of my residential address, the date of birth and the father's name. My PAN and Aadhaar are linked. I pay my income tax regularly. I have my passport. Yet, I am not free from the chronic anxiety. Who knows if tomorrow the State might tell me that these documents are not enough?Imagine the fate of Aadhaar. It is needed everywhere — banks, schools, hospitals, airports and even crematoriums. But now we have been told that Aadhaar is not a proof of citizenship.We are also told that even if you have an EPIC (Elector's Photo Identity Card) number, but for some inexplicable reasons, your name could not be found in the 2002 voter list, you are in trouble. Indeed, I am worried. If a privileged person like me cannot escape this anxiety and insecurity, imagine what a migrant labour, a transgender person, a slum dweller or a simple farmer is passing through.However, this is not just about my anxiety or your anxiety. In fact, if we wish to go deeper, we ought to understand the very nature of the modern state that, despite the tales of freedom and human rights, seeks to establish absolute control over its citizens through the normalisation of surveillance and ceaseless documentation of everyday life.No wonder, as ordinary citizens, we are continually trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear. We are compelled to run from one office to another and keep our 'documents' in order.Yesterday, it was Aadhaar; it was almost like a vital organ of your body; and without it, you were nothing! Moreover, with the development of technology, your email address or your mobile phone number began to define your identity. It must be linked with your Aadhaar, PAN and bank account.Imagine you have lost your smartphone and the intensity of anxiety that begins to confront you. It is not just the loss of your phone; it is the loss of your identity; it is like experiencing some sort of separation from the world.Furthermore, there seems to be nothing private or personal anymore. In the age of data sciences, your email address or your mobile phone number has reached everywhere.Your every act is being constantly monitored and observed. Is it, therefore, surprising that you and I continue to receive all sorts of messages — from property dealers to financial experts, and even from the Prime Minister's Office?To be a part of this surveillance machinery is not a nice feeling. It intensifies fear, stress and anxiety. It invades your private domain.In fact, this very act of reducing your human essence into your biometrics or your identity proof —be it your ration card, your passport or the utility bill that proves your residential address cause a severe damage to what makes us humane — the therapeutic power of trust. It erodes the very spirit of a civil society.Think of it. I know a Muslim neighbour in my hometown in West Bengal. I know that his parents and grandparents were born here.But then, for inexplicable reasons, he doesn't find his name in the 2002 voter list. The state begins to suspect him; and those who wish to keep the virus of communal politics alive begin to allege that here is an illegal immigrant from Bangladesh.For a state that believes in the so-called valid 'documents' more than the judgment of a civil society, your view and mine hardly matter. What else is techno-authoritarianism — the supremacy of the 'documents' over the authenticity of human experience?Possibly, we need some sort of libertarian political culture and education to resist the normalisation of surveillance and documentation or the reduction of the human essence into an 'officially approved' identity proof. We need to restore and value the therapeutic power of community life, the vibrancy of civil society, and the magic of communicative rationality.It is high time we realised this. Otherwise, we will live with fear and anxiety; we will suspect everybody; we will doubt ourselves; and even at the moment of death, we will try to keep all our 'documents' in order so that an 'official' death certificate can be issued!

The silent panic behind SIR

We are trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear, forced to prove who we are again and again.

Avijit Pathak

The silent panic behind SIR

We are trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear, forced to prove who we are again and again.

Avijit Pathak

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