The coverage of Nepal’s recent upheavals has focused on “nepo kids”. Widespread viewing of their lifestyles on social media played a big role in building up the resentments that led to the explosion. But the actual match was lit by an incident on September 6 when an official government jeep carrying a provincial minister hit an 11-year-old girl in Lalitpur.
CCTV footage showed the girl thrown on the road and the jeep speeding off. The dark, blocky, almost menacing vehicle seemed to symbolise how politicians cut themselves off from regular citizens. This was compounded when the then prime minister, KP Sharma Oli, dismissed it as a “normal accident” and only said the girl’s medical costs would be covered. Before the social media clampdown, the images spread, reminding people of the many times such cars had sped past them, potent reminders of an arrogant and unaccountable political class.
It was reminiscent of the incident in Jakarta last month when a police jeep hit and killed a young rideshare motorcycle driver. The jeep belonged to the Mobile Brigade Corps, a division often linked to state-sponsored harassment. The protest against excessive allowances for parliamentarians i n Indonesia was explosively fuelled by the incident. Just as in Nepal, government buildings were burned down and politicians targeted across the country. A rapid response from President Prabowo Subianto, cancelling the allowances and making other concessions to the protesters seems to have calmed things for now.
CALLOUS CONVOYS
The role played by official vehicles in both protests is no coincidence. Across the world, the spectacle of cars for politicians speeding past regular people has become a potent symbol of the excesses and failures of the ruling class. India was familiar with the lal-batti culture, where the flashing red light on top of cars was a sign of official privilege. This has diminished, partly because of Supreme Court rulings and government directives limiting their use, but their place has been taken by the big dark vehicle, assumed to be armoured, that speeds past gridlocked motorists —often, to make it worse, specifically held up due to way being cleared for the bigwig.
Even worse is the motorcade, or car convoy, for very senior dignitaries. This procession of vehicles, usually flanked by motorcycle police, often causes mass traffic disruption due to its size, with roads often closed off in advance. This is most associated with the monster convoy that accompanies the American president, but it has probably reached its peak in Africa.
A 2012 article in the Economist noted how Ugandan president Yoweri Museveni’s motorcade included “eight or nine cars, a couple of mine-resistant South African armoured personnel carriers and a large silver Mercedes truck with a mobile laboratory”.
Even those who couldn’t see the motorcade would learn of it when their mobile signal died, probably because of a phone jammer onboard. Museveni is still in power, but Zimbabwe’s Rubert Mugabe was deposed before his death and one of the factors cited against him was his motorcade, known for driving fast and causing accidents. Zimbabweans satirically called it after Bob Marley’s band, calling it Bob Mugabe and the Wailers, for the sirens that came with it. Nelson Mandela specifically criticised it, refusing to allow himself to use such a motorcade.
Yet, there are reasons why motorcades exist. It’s no coincidence that the more corrupt and authoritarian the ruler and the poorer the country, the greater the security threat he or she feels, which gets manifested in a motorcade. Rulers can barricade themselves in high-security residences, but it’s when they move outside that they become more vulnerable. The growth of the US presidential motorcade is directly linked to its worst failure, with the assassination of President John F Kennedy while driving through Dallas. That event largely ended the use of open vehicles and brought in the era of heavily reinforced bullet-proof limousines.
LAL-BATTI LESSONS
A balance must be maintained between safety and causing resentments, and India seems to have learned some lessons in this from the worst of the lal-batti era. In 2010, for example, five people were killed and more injured when the then Union minister of state for defence MM Pallam Raju’s escort hit an autorickshaw in East Godavari district.
A Times of India article from December 1995 lists incidents, involving politicians of all parties, where Black Cat commandos beat up, and even shot, people on the road for coming too close to a VIP convoy.
Sociologist Veena Das was quoted as saying: “Our leaders don’t understand that modern power is not about visibility. They are sticking to old methods of display. Two, as the state becomes weaker, the display of power increases.”
IF SOMETHING GOES WRONG
It is possibly a sign of a more confident, and media-savvy political class, that incidents like this seem relatively rare now in India.
Vikram Singh, former director-general of police (DGP) of Uttar Pradesh, acknowledges that mishaps occur even during highly regulated VIP movements, but notes that drivers are now rigorously trained, prohibited from consuming alcohol and bound by strict protocols. “There is always a standard operating procedure (SOP) for handling such situations,” says Singh.
“If a VIP cavalcade is involved in an accident, a backup team immediately stops to assist the injured, ensures they are taken to a hospital, and registers a police case. This is mandatory.” However, Singh emphasises that moral responsibility in such cases is as significant as legal obligation.
“In any civilised society, it is expected that the VIP tenders an apology to the victim’s family, ensures the injured receive the best possible medical care and provides adequate compensation,” he says. At the same time, he concedes that it is not always feasible — or safe — for the VIP to personally stop at the scene, as public anger after an accident can quickly escalate and endanger the dignitary’s security.
ET also spoke to two serving police officers with prior experience in VIP security, both of whom requested anonymity. “I recall an instance where a minister (of a state) personally stopped his car and took an accident victim to the hospital,” says an officer. “But that’s not always how it happens.
In the event of such an accident, a police case is registered and it’s ultimately the court that determines the compensation. Unlike private vehicles, government cars are not required to carry third-party insurance. However, the government is obliged to pay whatever compensation the court awards,” he adds.
“If someone is injured or killed in a road accident involving a VIP convoy, there is no special provision for enhanced compensation,” says the second police officer. “However, there have been instances where the politician concerned has gone out of their way to offer additional financial assistance to the victim’s family to defuse tensions and prevent the situation from escalating.”
In India, the security of prime minister, former prime ministers and their immediate family members is handled by the Special Protection Group (SPG), an elite a g ency under the Cabinet Secretariat. The dos and don’ts governing their movement are meticulously detailed in a classified manual known as the Blue Book. Security arrangements for other politicians and high-profile figures are graded as Z+, Z, Y and X, depending on the assessed threat level, with corresponding SOPs included in the Yellow Book.
“For the prime minister and a select few VVIPs, roads are thoroughly sanitised ahead of movement, making it unlikely that a cavalcade will hit anyone unless there’s a deliberate intrusion,” explains former DGP Singh. “Most accidents involving VIPs occur in the lower security categories. But the law remains the same for every road accident, whether it involves an ordinary driver or a VIP motorcade.”
CCTV footage showed the girl thrown on the road and the jeep speeding off. The dark, blocky, almost menacing vehicle seemed to symbolise how politicians cut themselves off from regular citizens. This was compounded when the then prime minister, KP Sharma Oli, dismissed it as a “normal accident” and only said the girl’s medical costs would be covered. Before the social media clampdown, the images spread, reminding people of the many times such cars had sped past them, potent reminders of an arrogant and unaccountable political class.
It was reminiscent of the incident in Jakarta last month when a police jeep hit and killed a young rideshare motorcycle driver. The jeep belonged to the Mobile Brigade Corps, a division often linked to state-sponsored harassment. The protest against excessive allowances for parliamentarians i n Indonesia was explosively fuelled by the incident. Just as in Nepal, government buildings were burned down and politicians targeted across the country. A rapid response from President Prabowo Subianto, cancelling the allowances and making other concessions to the protesters seems to have calmed things for now.
CALLOUS CONVOYS
The role played by official vehicles in both protests is no coincidence. Across the world, the spectacle of cars for politicians speeding past regular people has become a potent symbol of the excesses and failures of the ruling class. India was familiar with the lal-batti culture, where the flashing red light on top of cars was a sign of official privilege. This has diminished, partly because of Supreme Court rulings and government directives limiting their use, but their place has been taken by the big dark vehicle, assumed to be armoured, that speeds past gridlocked motorists —often, to make it worse, specifically held up due to way being cleared for the bigwig.
Even worse is the motorcade, or car convoy, for very senior dignitaries. This procession of vehicles, usually flanked by motorcycle police, often causes mass traffic disruption due to its size, with roads often closed off in advance. This is most associated with the monster convoy that accompanies the American president, but it has probably reached its peak in Africa.
A 2012 article in the Economist noted how Ugandan president Yoweri Museveni’s motorcade included “eight or nine cars, a couple of mine-resistant South African armoured personnel carriers and a large silver Mercedes truck with a mobile laboratory”.
Even those who couldn’t see the motorcade would learn of it when their mobile signal died, probably because of a phone jammer onboard. Museveni is still in power, but Zimbabwe’s Rubert Mugabe was deposed before his death and one of the factors cited against him was his motorcade, known for driving fast and causing accidents. Zimbabweans satirically called it after Bob Marley’s band, calling it Bob Mugabe and the Wailers, for the sirens that came with it. Nelson Mandela specifically criticised it, refusing to allow himself to use such a motorcade.
Yet, there are reasons why motorcades exist. It’s no coincidence that the more corrupt and authoritarian the ruler and the poorer the country, the greater the security threat he or she feels, which gets manifested in a motorcade. Rulers can barricade themselves in high-security residences, but it’s when they move outside that they become more vulnerable. The growth of the US presidential motorcade is directly linked to its worst failure, with the assassination of President John F Kennedy while driving through Dallas. That event largely ended the use of open vehicles and brought in the era of heavily reinforced bullet-proof limousines.
LAL-BATTI LESSONS
A balance must be maintained between safety and causing resentments, and India seems to have learned some lessons in this from the worst of the lal-batti era. In 2010, for example, five people were killed and more injured when the then Union minister of state for defence MM Pallam Raju’s escort hit an autorickshaw in East Godavari district.
A Times of India article from December 1995 lists incidents, involving politicians of all parties, where Black Cat commandos beat up, and even shot, people on the road for coming too close to a VIP convoy.
Sociologist Veena Das was quoted as saying: “Our leaders don’t understand that modern power is not about visibility. They are sticking to old methods of display. Two, as the state becomes weaker, the display of power increases.”
IF SOMETHING GOES WRONG
It is possibly a sign of a more confident, and media-savvy political class, that incidents like this seem relatively rare now in India.
Vikram Singh, former director-general of police (DGP) of Uttar Pradesh, acknowledges that mishaps occur even during highly regulated VIP movements, but notes that drivers are now rigorously trained, prohibited from consuming alcohol and bound by strict protocols. “There is always a standard operating procedure (SOP) for handling such situations,” says Singh.
“If a VIP cavalcade is involved in an accident, a backup team immediately stops to assist the injured, ensures they are taken to a hospital, and registers a police case. This is mandatory.” However, Singh emphasises that moral responsibility in such cases is as significant as legal obligation.
“In any civilised society, it is expected that the VIP tenders an apology to the victim’s family, ensures the injured receive the best possible medical care and provides adequate compensation,” he says. At the same time, he concedes that it is not always feasible — or safe — for the VIP to personally stop at the scene, as public anger after an accident can quickly escalate and endanger the dignitary’s security.
ET also spoke to two serving police officers with prior experience in VIP security, both of whom requested anonymity. “I recall an instance where a minister (of a state) personally stopped his car and took an accident victim to the hospital,” says an officer. “But that’s not always how it happens.
In the event of such an accident, a police case is registered and it’s ultimately the court that determines the compensation. Unlike private vehicles, government cars are not required to carry third-party insurance. However, the government is obliged to pay whatever compensation the court awards,” he adds.
“If someone is injured or killed in a road accident involving a VIP convoy, there is no special provision for enhanced compensation,” says the second police officer. “However, there have been instances where the politician concerned has gone out of their way to offer additional financial assistance to the victim’s family to defuse tensions and prevent the situation from escalating.”
In India, the security of prime minister, former prime ministers and their immediate family members is handled by the Special Protection Group (SPG), an elite a g ency under the Cabinet Secretariat. The dos and don’ts governing their movement are meticulously detailed in a classified manual known as the Blue Book. Security arrangements for other politicians and high-profile figures are graded as Z+, Z, Y and X, depending on the assessed threat level, with corresponding SOPs included in the Yellow Book.
“For the prime minister and a select few VVIPs, roads are thoroughly sanitised ahead of movement, making it unlikely that a cavalcade will hit anyone unless there’s a deliberate intrusion,” explains former DGP Singh. “Most accidents involving VIPs occur in the lower security categories. But the law remains the same for every road accident, whether it involves an ordinary driver or a VIP motorcade.”
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