Protest? Learn it from the Junior Doctors
The junior doctors of West Bengal have shown the world the true meaning of peaceful protest. In a climate dominated by political squabbling, their determined and dignified stand against injustice following the tragic rape and murder of a colleague has captivated the public.
In a world where political rallies have descended into nothing more than playground brawls—name-calling, finger-pointing, and whataboutery—the junior doctors of West Bengal have given us all a masterclass in what it means to protest with dignity. Frankly, I’d been holding my breath for years, wondering when we might see such fresh air in public discourse, and here it is—delivered not by seasoned politicians or diplomats but by those in white coats, standing tall and resolute. So, let’s tip our hats to them. The junior doctors, dear reader, are showing the world how it’s done.
More than a month has passed since these medics took to the streets, and the event that spurred their protest is as tragic as it is enraging. A junior doctor, renamed as Abhaya, was brutally raped and murdered in her very own workplace, the R.G. Kar Medical College and Hospital. To add insult to injury, efforts were made to tamper with evidence—a sorry attempt to bury the truth. But this only sparked a new awakening, one that not only shook Bengal but echoed far beyond its borders.
It started with a movement ‘Women Reclaim the Night,’ marches were organised across the state. Yet, as it happens, some unsavoury characters tried to mar the movement. Hooligans infiltrated the protests, vandalising the site at R.G. Kar. Now, in any other instance, one might expect the movement to falter. But not this one. Oh no, the attacks only strengthened the resolve of the protesters. In a scene reminiscent of an old Bollywood film (minus the melodrama), the people of Bengal stood together: common folk, civil society, artists—even sex workers. The march swelled in size and spirit, and soon it gained unstoppable momentum.
One of the more gripping moments came when these very junior doctors marched to Lal Bazar, the headquarters of the Kolkata police, to submit a petition calling for the resignation of Commissioner Vineeth Goel. The police, in their infinite wisdom, decided to play ‘fortress’. A makeshift wall of iron was erected to prevent the march from reaching the headquarters. You could almost hear the officers muttering, “That’ll show ’em.” But what followed was, dare I say, pure genius. Instead of throwing a tantrum or retaliating with force, the doctors did something that was both clever and hilarious. They placed a symbolic dummy spine against the iron wall—an unsubtle yet utterly brilliant message: “We’ve got spines of steel.”
There stood the police, kitted out with tear gas shells and water cannons, as ready for a riot as a boy scout for his first campfire. But alas, their toys were useless against a peaceful, determined group of protesters armed only with slogans, songs, and unwavering resolve. Bengal’s protest culture, so often fuelled by passion since the days of the freedom struggle, was in full swing. Eventually, even the most obstinate authorities had to relent. The iron gates were opened, and the junior doctors, in a delightful irony, marched straight into Lal Bazar. The so-called fortress had been toppled, not by violence but by sheer, unshakeable will.
And then, of course, the politicians had to have their say. True to form, they quickly divided themselves into two camps: those trying to capitalise on the situation and those attempting to pin the blame on the junior doctors for leaving patients unattended. What followed was a masterclass in wit and logic from the protesting medics. Armed with facts, figures, and a healthy dose of reason, they dismantled each accusation with surgical precision. And as for those who tried to shake hands with the doctors for a bit of political grandstanding, well, they were given the cold shoulder outright, with chants of ‘GO BACK!’ ringing in their ears, leaving the politicians looking like right plonkers.
But politicians are nothing if not persistent. When their public attempts to malign the protesters failed to stick, they took to social media, where they flailed about with all the grace of a fish out of water. And when that didn’t work, they tried a classic diversion: “Will the civil society members involved in the protests return the awards given by the government?” Ah, the old bait-and-switch! The response? Several civil society members promptly returned their awards, causing more than a few politicians to choke on their morning chai.
Of course, the spectacle didn’t end there. “This rally isn’t for justice,” the politicians cried, “it’s an attempt to dethrone the government!” The doctors, with a bemused smile, simply asked: “Which of our demands mentions toppling the government?” Quite.
Even when the Supreme Court ordered the doctors to return to work, setting a deadline of the 10th of September, they refused to bow. Finally, the government had no choice but to engage in talks. The first attempt fizzled, as the doctors insisted on live streaming the proceedings. When the Chief Minister herself visited the protest site, inviting the doctors to a meeting at her residence, one might have thought progress was imminent. Alas, that too failed—the government, apparently, could not provide the video recording requested by the protesters due to the fact that the case is in progress at the Supreme Court. How terribly convenient.
But yesterday, after a six-hour marathon of negotiations, a breakthrough emerged. The government agreed to remove Vineeth Goel from his post as Commissioner by the 17th of September and to make further changes in the police and health departments as demanded. The junior doctors, for their part, agreed to end their protest and return to work only once the government’s promises were fully implemented.
In this entire saga, there was something of both Subhash Chandra Bose’s fire and Gandhi’s calm. It was a lesson in perseverance, patience, and, above all, courage. So, dear junior doctors of Bengal, I raise my metaphorical cup of tea to you. You’ve shown us all that a noble intention, coupled with a spine of steel, can move mountains—or in this case, dismantle an iron fortress. Bravo.
Cover Picture by Shyamal Bag.
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