The image of the revolution,” it was called. The snapshot is of 22-year-old student Alaa Shah addressing a crowd standing atop a car during the Sudanese protests earlier this year. Akin to the photo of the ‘Sudanese Statue of Liberty’ is the one that has become the image of our own revolution — Ayesha Renna, Ladeeda Sakhaloon and Chanda Yadav standing on a wall under the statue of poet Mirza Ghalib and addressing other students of Jamia Milia in the protest against the Citizenship Amendment Bill, that has since become an Act.
The police crackdown and brutality on the students in Jamia has led to a series of protests in other parts of the country. Solidarity is pouring in for protests against the Act and the crackdown on dissent from all corners of the world. Another iconic image — of Ladeeda raising a finger and shielding her friend from being attacked by the police — has since inspired scores of graphics, including one that hails the ‘one finger revolution’ and another that has Ladeeda shielding India from the police.
There are several other iconic photos from protests. In the recent past, is the one of the women in Kashmir a few days after the abrogation of Section 370 that reminded me of the Mothers of Manipur image from the protests against the Indian Army rapes, which reminded me Amirtharaj Stephen’s photo from the anti-nuke protests of Kudankulam, that led me back to the ones from the Nirbhaya protests, the Bhopal vigils for justice, Esther from Kodaikanal grieving the loss of her son due to mercury poisoning. I can go back further, and come up with photos from people’s struggles, images that haunt and remind us of what was, and how it came to be.
There are photos from Dalit struggles, marches for equality, the Chipko movement, the Odisha Niyamgiri movement, the unforgettable photos from Bastar and Dantewada at the height of Operation Green hunt — photos which are a way of invoking nostalgia, and in that they have the power to say, “I was and therefore I am”. Collectively, they help us map movements, what came before and what may come after. Photos help make sense of the world divided by many seas, especially one in which the Internet is shut down, and connect individual experiences in different languages but meaning the same — speaking truth to power. During the protest, a photo can be a call for action; afterwards it is a record. In the age of smartphones, a photo may very well ignite a revolution — the one of Ladeeda has.
Between Sudan and Delhi, there was Chile — a woman held a poster that read “Neoliberalism was born in Chile and will die in Chile” — that has since gone viral, and there were the climate strikes led by women and girls.
The woman in the red dress in Turkey, Ieshia Evans at Baton Rouge, Tess Asplund in Sweden are some more from the recent past. These photos allow us to draw inspiration and hope, borrow the fire to keep the fight alive, and serve as a reminder of what has been sacrificed.
Most importantly, the images I speak of represent women standing up, speaking up, breaking the silence, putting themselves on the line, picketing, remaining unfazed by the power wielded by the state and each man with a baton, lathi, gun, or tear gas to use, and in all their glory, reminding us what it is to ‘fight like a girl’. It is as they show it to us, it’s not an insult to fight like a girl; it is in fact the only way forward. To fight like a girl we all should, and to fight alongside Ayesha and Ladeeda we all must.
archanaa seker
seker.archanaa@gmail.com
The writer is a city-based activist,in-your-face feminist and a media glutton