“….But Anuradha was different.” -Arundhati Roy
That is what everyone who knew Anuradha
Ghandy says. That is what almost everyone whose
life she touched thinks.
She died in a Mumbai hospital on the morning of
12 April 2008, of malaria. She had probably picked
it up in the jungles of Jharkhand where she had been
teaching study classes to a group of Adivasi women.
In this great democracy of ours, Anuradha Ghandy
was what is known as a ‘Maoist terrorist,’ liable to
be arrested, or, more likely, shot in a fake ‘encounter,’ like hundreds of her colleagues have been. When
this terrorist got high fever and went to a hospital to
have her blood tested, she left a false name and a dud
phone number with the doctor who was treating her.
So he could not get through to her to tell her that the
tests showed that she had the potentially fatal malaria
falciparum. Anuradha’s organs began to fail, one by
one. By the time she was admitted to the hospital
on 11 April, it was too late. And so, in this entirely
unnecessary way, we lost her.
She was 54 years old when she died, and had
spent more than 30 years of her life, most of them
underground, as a committed revolutionary.
I never had the good fortune of meeting Anuradha Ghandy, but when I attended the memorial
service after she died I could tell that she was, above
all, a woman who was not just greatly admired, but
one who had been deeply loved. I was a little puz-
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Philosophical Trends in the Feminist Movement
zled at the constant references that people who knew
her made to her ‘sacrifices.’ Presumably, by this, they
meant that she had sacrificed the comfort and security of a middle-class life for radical politics. To me,
however, Anuradha Ghandy comes across as someone
who happily traded in tedium and banality to follow
her dream. She was no saint or missionary. She lived
an exhilarating life that was hard, but fulfilling.
The young Anuradha, like so many others of her
generation, was inspired by the Naxalite uprising in
West Bengal. As a student in Elphinstone College,
she was deeply affected by the famine that stalked
rural Maharashtra in the 1970s. It was working with
the victims of desperate hunger that set her thinking
and pitch-forked her into her journey into militant
politics. She began her working life as a lecturer in
Wilson College in Mumbai, but by 1982 she shifted
to Nagpur. Over the next few years, she worked in
Nagpur, Chandrapur, Amravati, Jabalpur and Yavatmal, organizing the poorest of the poor—construction workers, coal-mine workers—and deepening
her understanding of the Dalit movement. In the
late 1990s, even though she had been diagnosed
with multiple sclerosis, she went to Bastar and lived
in the Dandakaranya forest with the People’s Liberation Guerilla Army (PLGA) for three years. Here, she
worked to strengthen and expand the extraordinary
women’s organization, perhaps the biggest feminist
organization in the country—the Krantikari Adivasi Mahila Sanghatan (KAMS) that has more than
90,000 members. The KAMS is probably one of
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Foreward
India’s best kept secrets. Anuradha always said that
the most fulfilling years of her life were these years
that she spent with the People’s War (now CPI-Maoist) guerillas in Dandakaranya. When I visited the
area almost two years after Anuradha’s death, I shared
her awe and excitement about the KAMS and had
to re-think some of my own easy assumptions about
women and armed struggle. In an essay in this collection, writing under the pseudonym Avanti, Anuradha says:
As we approach March 8, early in the dawn
of this new century, remarkable developments
are taking place on the women’s front in India.
Deep in the forests and plains of central India,
in the backward villages of Andhra Pradesh and
up in the hills among the tribals in the state, in
the forests and plains of Bihar and Jharkhand
women are getting organized actively to break
the shackles of feudal patriarchy and make the
New Democratic Revolution.
It is a women’s liberation movement of peasant women in rural India, a part of the people’s war being waged by the oppressed peasantry under revolutionary leadership. For
the past few years thousands of women are
gathering in hundreds of villages to celebrate
8 March. Women are gathering together to
march through the streets of a small town like
Narayanpur to oppose the Miss World beauty
contest, they are marching with their children
through the tehsil towns and market villages in
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Philosophical Trends in the Feminist Movement
backward Bastar to demand proper schooling
for their children.
They are blocking roads to protest against rape
cases and confronting the police to demand
that the sale of liquor be banned.
And hundreds of young women are becoming
guerrilla fighters in the army of the oppressed,
throwing off the shackles of their traditional
life of drudgery. Dressed in fatigues, a red star
on their olive green caps, a rifle on their shoulders, these young women brimming with the
confidence that the fight against patriarchy is
integrally linked to the fight against the ruling classes of this semi-feudal, semi-colonial
India, are equipping themselves with the military knowledge to take on the third largest
army of the exploiters. This is a social and
political awakening among the poorest of the
poor women in rural India. It is a scenario that
has emerged far from the unseeing eyes of the
bourgeois media, far from the flash and glitter
of TV cameras. They are the signs of a transformation coming into the lives of the rural
poor as they participate in the great struggle
for revolution.
But this revolutionary women’s movement has
not emerged overnight, and nor has it emerged
spontaneously merely from propaganda.
The women’s movement has grown with the
growth of armed struggle. Contrary to gen-
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Foreward
eral opinion, the launching of armed struggle
in the early 1980s by the communist revolutionary forces in various parts of the country,
the militant struggle against feudal oppression
gave the confidence to peasant women to participate in struggles in large numbers and then
to stand up and fight for their rights. Women
who constitute the most oppressed among the
oppressed, poor peasant and landless peasant
women, who have lacked not only an identity and voice but also a name, have become
activists for the women’s organizations in their
villages and guerrilla fighters. Thus with the
spread and growth of the armed struggle the
women’s mobilization and women’s organization have also grown, leading to the emergence
of this revolutionary women’s movement, one
of the strongest and most powerful women’s
movements in the country today. But it is
unrecognized and ignored, a ploy of the ruling
classes that will try to suppress any news and
acknowledgement as long as it can.
Her obvious enthusiasm for the women’s movement in Dandakaranya did not blind her to the
problems that women comrades faced within the
revolutionary movement. At the time of her death,
that is what she was working on—how to purge
the Maoist Party of the vestiges of continuing discrimination against women and the various shades
of patriarchy that stubbornly persisted among those
male comrades who called themselves revolutionary.
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Philosophical Trends in the Feminist Movement
In the time I spent with the PLGA in Bastar, many
comrades remembered her with such touching affection.
Comrade Janaki was the name they knew her by.
They had a worn photograph of her, in fatigues and
her huge trademark glasses, standing in the forest,
beaming, with a rifle slung over her shoulder.
She’s gone now—Anu, Avanti, Janaki. And she’s
left her comrades with a sense of loss they may never
get over. She has left behind this sheaf of paper, these
writings, notes and essays. And I have been given the
task of introducing them to a wider audience.
It has been hard to work out how to read these
writings. Clearly, they were not written with a view
to be published as a collection. At first reading they
could seem somewhat basic, often repetitive, a little
didactic. But a second and third reading made me
see them differently. I see them now as Anuradha’s
notes to herself. Their sketchy, uneven quality, the
fact that some of her assertions explode off the page
like hand-grenades, makes them that much more
personal.
Reading through them you catch glimpses of
the mind of someone who could have been a serious scholar or academic but was overtaken by her
conscience and found it impossible to sit back and
merely theorize about the terrible injustices she saw
around her. These writings reveal a person who is
doing all she can to link theory and practice, action
and thought. Having decided to do something real
and urgent for the country she lived in, and the
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Foreward
people she lived amongst, in these writings, Anuradha tries to tell us (and herself) why she became a
Marxist-Leninist and not a liberal activist, or a radical feminist, or an eco-feminist or an Ambedkarite.
To do this, she takes us on a basic guided tour of a
history of these movements, with quick thumb-nail
analyses of various ideologies, ticking off their advantages and drawbacks like a teacher correcting an
examination paper with a thick fluorescent marker.
The insights and observations sometimes lapse into
easy sloganeering, but often they are profound and
occasionally they’re epiphanic—and could only have
come from someone who has a razor sharp political
mind and knows her subject intimately, from observation and experience, not merely from history and
sociology textbooks.
Perhaps Anuradha Ghandy’s greatest contribution, in her writing, as well as the politics she practiced, is her work on gender and on Dalit issues. She
is sharply critical of the orthodox Marxist interpretation of caste (‘caste is class’) as being somewhat intellectually lazy.
She points out that her own party has made mistakes in the past in not being able to understand the
caste issue properly. She critiques the Dalit movement for turning into an identity struggle, reformist
not revolutionary, futile in its search for justice within
an intrinsically unjust social system. She believes that
without dismantling patriarchy and the caste-system,
brick by painful brick, there can be no New Democratic Revolution.
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Philosophical Trends in the Feminist Movement
In her writings on caste and gender, Anuradha
Ghandy shows us a mind and an attitude that is
unafraid of nuance, unafraid of engaging with
dogma, unafraid of telling it like it is—to her comrades as well as to the system that she fought against
all her life. What a woman she was.
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