Twin tragedies

President Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam with the parents of S. Manjunath. - SHANKER CHAKRAVARTY

The murder of two young professionals in Karnataka bring to the fore a basic question: How are we going to reassure people who enter public services with zeal and a sense of duty?

A YOUNG sales executive of the Indian Oil Corporation (IOC) in Uttar Pradesh is murdered in Lakhimpur because the oil mafia was incensed at his anti-adulteration drive. The victim was a product of the Indian Institute of Management Lucknow. An equally young software engineer was raped and murdered in Bangalore by the driver of a vehicle that was taking her to the call centre where she was employed. Coming so close to each other, the two incidents should badly demoralise our youth on whom India's future depends so much. Both the young man and woman died almost on duty. The former stood for rectitude in government. The latter was the symbol of self-confidence and self-reliance that the modern Indian woman now portrays, much to the amazement of her counterparts both in the developing and developed worlds. While one was the clear victim of the downright corruption that stalks our public life, the other was felled by the vicious hand of crime that dominates our cities and which chooses soft targets at will. From all accounts, both came from middle-class families, which had tremendous hopes about their future.

The two shameful incidents cannot go unnoticed by the millions of youth in the country who are about to embark on their careers. They would like to be assured that State governments and the Centre would take every step to see that Lakhimpur and Bangalore do not repeat themselves.

Not enough is known about Pratibha, the software professional. We know a lot more about Manjunath of Kolar, the IOC official who was appalled and stirred into action by the activities of those who had a high stake in adulteration. Manjunath's parents are of modest means, and possibly financially dependent on him. The IOC has been gracious to acknowledge that Manjunath was a dedicated official who stood for values, and his family therefore deserved to be compensated for its inestimable loss.

Apart from awarding a sizeable compensation, it has undertaken to pay up the loan that Manjunath had taken to finance his higher studies. This is good as far as it goes. But the basic question remains. How are we going to protect those young citizens who enter public service with zeal and a sense of duty, and refuse to fall in line with some of their colleagues who prefer to share the booty of predators rather than fight the latter's misdeeds? Many in this small group of idealists start their careers believing that they would be able to stem the rot. In course of time, however, disillusionment sets in. Manjunath was struck down even before this stage. We can ignore Manjunath only at our peril.

The question that his grieving mother asked of President A.P.J. Abdul Kalam the other day - so poignantly caught by the TV camera - as to how the government was going to prevent such tragedies still rings in my ears. The President's response was genuine, coming as it did obviously from the bottom of his heart. He brings to the assurances of executive action not only the weight of his office but the moral authority that he unmistakably wields. Is this enough? I do not think so. Many of us are now more than convinced that having a noble President and an equally noble Prime Minister has only a marginal impact on an ambience that has become so vitiated by duplicity and chicanery. They are nearly looked upon as aberrations, which the system will not tolerate for long.

We have a reasonably sound system to put down lack of integrity in public service. Unfortunately, this has been sabotaged by elements for whom earning money is the be-all and end-all of life. The two recent scandals surrounding some Members of Parliament amply illustrate the point that I am driving at. The situation cannot be graver than this. Many of us who have the good of the community at heart need to act before it is too late.

Manjunath worked for a successful public sector undertaking (PSU), one of the so-called `Navaratnas', a name that often amuses me because it successfully masks the venality that has a stranglehold over such organisations. Actually, governments do not want to privatise these undertakings, not out of any laudable desire to make them stronger. The lure of perquisites that they offer and the discretionary power that is available to the controlling Ministry to browbeat those who manage them on a day-to-day basis are two reasons why governments will spurn sound economics and do everything to tighten the jugular control. The link between the head of a PSU and the Minister under whom it comes can be described in many volumes. Very often it is unholy. Some heads succumb to illegal demands for favours from out of the corporate coffers and other resources because of their own frailties. They often play a collaborative role. The others who may resent such demands are so timid that they are reconciled to be mute spectators. This sorry state of affairs in PSUs is all too well known. When there is such permissiveness, what happened to Manjunath does not come as a surprise.

Where do we go from here? There are several ways we can tackle the situation. Each PSU has a Chief Vigilance Officer (CVO), who is an outsider to the company and in whose appointment the Central Vigilance Commissioner (CVC) has a big say. From the knowledge acquired from my Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) days, I can say with some authority that the CVO is invariably an honest official with a good reputation. Rarely has he himself come to adverse notice. There is a need to strengthen his hands. He reports directly to the CMD and keeps him informed of all unsavoury happenings within the company. These include nepotism in appointments, irregularities in purchases and violation of established procedures in any matter. As long as the CMD is straightforward, the CVO has no problem. Where, however, the former himself is suspect, the CVO is neutralised. In such circumstances, the CVO has the right to keep the CVC informed. It is for this reason that the CVO is considered a spy, and he rarely enjoys independence of reporting. The accusation of CMDs is that CVOs indulge in nitpicking and thereby obstruct the functioning of the company. There is more than a grain of truth in this complaint. CVOs are not to blame. The fault lies more in the concept of PSUs that unrealistically tries to marry private sector efficiency with public sector accountability. This is an impractical arrangement to work. The consequence is the mess that we see in PSUs and the ambience of corruption that it promotes.

I LOOK upon the arrival of the Right to Information Act (RTIA) as the best thing that has happened to check profligacy and other evils in the public sector. Used judiciously it will be a good weapon in the hands of many of us who want to see greater transparency in the functioning of PSUs. It may not root out corruption and irregularities such as adulteration. It will definitely put on notice those who occupy positions from where they can misuse office. The misdeeds at petrol pumps that Manjunath unearthed were probably not new. If they had gone undetected earlier or were not acted upon, it was possibly because there was no means by which IOC officials could have been held accountable. Now we have legislation that empowers every citizen to ask inconvenient questions of PSU top brass. If the latter dodge such questions, there is scope for taking them up the hierarchy. I would, therefore, prescribe the RTIA as one means by which we can act against dishonest officials and protect the honest ones. The only note of caution is that any excessive resort to it will rob the anti-corruption lobby of its credibility.

The two recent scandals involving parliamentarians were unearthed through sting operations launched by TV channels. The media in our country cannot be more proactive. This is the strength of our democracy. Possibly, PSUs also need such intense media scrutiny. There is the caveat that any excessive use of clandestine filming could be counterproductive. This is my misgiving about the two operations against MPs. A good case can be spoiled by overkill.

THE Pratibha murder has raised serious questions about the safety of working women in the country. This issue is as important as public servant corruption. The software industry has its peculiar features. The number of women who work for it is large, and it will keep rising. There is also no way we can impose restrictions, such as that women cannot be put on night shifts. While it can generally be ensured that fewer women work during the night, it may be difficult to place a total embargo. Actually, large numbers being present at any point of time in a call centre, for instance, gives women an element of safety. However, the salutary rule that while commuting to and from their workplaces the lone occupant of a vehicle cannot be a woman needs to be implemented strictly. It will require the ingenuity and organisation skill of an employer to ensure that this rule is never violated. When it is breached, the onus will be on him to prove that he was not negligent. But the employee's own scrupulous adherence to the drill overrides here the role of his employer.

Our heart goes out to Pratibha's family. Let her case stand out as a deterrent to employee-employer apathy to safety in the future.