Month: July 2013

The juvenile justice system needs many changes to reflect social reality. Namita Bhandare writes.

This is what worries me. Three years or two years or how so ever many months from now, the juvenile who at 17 years and six months of age gang-raped, brutalised and eventually killed a 23-year-old physiotherapy student in December will walk free. We will never know his name. We will never know if he emerges repentant or hardened after his time served. His criminal record will remain forever sealed in a dusty file somewhere.

No matter what the juvenile justice court rules on July 25 this is a done deal. The law which sets 18 as the age when people are tried as adults does not have retrospective effect. It does not make a distinction between petty crimes and adult crimes like rape and murder. This past week, in response to a public interest litigation to consider lowering the age to 16, the Supreme Court said no, a move that finds favour with many child rights activists and with the Justice JS Verma Commission. It doesn’t matter if you’re one day short of 18. It doesn’t matter if the crime you commit is murder. Laws do not allow for exceptions. Sometimes, they also make no allowance for justice.

Step outside the borders of national outrage over one gruesome crime and contemplate cold statistics to understand what is really wrong with our Juvenile Justice Act: it is disconnected with social reality. National Crime Records Bureau data shows that the number of under-18 people getting arrested has increased from 30,303 in 2010 to 35,123 in 2012. In 2010, under-18s were involved in 858 cases of rape. In 2011, it was 1,149. Two of every three crimes committed by juveniles were by people aged between 16 and 18.

The concept of juvenile justice is based on the fact that children can’t always distinguish right from wrong. But a child who falls into wrong ways can be reformed. Because of their potential for change, children require separate laws for crimes committed by them. In many cases, juvenile perpetrators have themselves been subjected to abuse and are, therefore, victims. Juvenile justice is society’s opportunity to reclaim them.

But in India we are confused about who is a child. You have to wait until you’re 25 before you can legally drink in Delhi but may marry and vote at 18. Child labour laws are set at 14.

Around the world, countries rely on their own imagination to set the age of criminal responsibility — 12 years in Canada, Ireland and the Netherlands; 14 for Germany and Italy; 10 in England and Wales. In the US, states like North Carolina set the bar at six, though most states go with seven, according to the website of Haq, a child rights organisation. This is the cut-off age when children face trial in any court, regular or juvenile. Many countries also distinguish between petty and serious crimes. In the US and in England, juvenile courts do not generally adjudicate on rape and murder, preferring to send them to regular courts.

Lost in the 18 versus 16 din is the actual condition of juvenile homes. A report by the Asian Centre for Human Rights in April this year found that sexual offences in children had reached epidemic proportions, with many being committed in juvenile ‘justice’ homes. According to Suhas Chakma, director of the Centre, these homes are ‘hell holes where inmates are subjected to sexual assault and exploitation’. With such a damming report, how can we expect the prospect of rehabilitation and reformation?

There is a case for treating juveniles between 16 and 18 in a separate category. There is also a case for treating serious crimes committed by older children in a separate category. And there is certainly a case for systemic changes in the juvenile justice system, including the condition of juvenile homes.

A civilised nation cannot frame laws based on the emotion generated by one case. Yet, change often hinges on a tipping point. A brutal gang-rape has resulted in tougher laws, particularly in crimes relating to women. That debate, however, is far from over.

The views expressed by the author are personal

A State can make it mandatory to look after the elderly. But what about emotional care? Namita Bhandare writes.

In the sepia-tinted narrative, the parents grow old, earn their place of respect and have hordes of dutiful, loving children and grandchildren worship at their feet. The Grand Indian Family is alive, well and happy. The golden years are 24 carat gilt-edged.

Contemporary reality is uglier. A grey generation is less valued for its wisdom and experience. Our obsession with youth – count the number of anti-ageing cosmetic creams – continues. A new brash India has little time or patience, especially for the elderly. And with stretched resources and even scarcer time, we are increasingly vocal about our resentment for caring for parents at a time when we as caregivers have begun feeling the twinges of our mortality.

The findings of a survey conducted by HelpAge India in which nearly one in four elderly people report abuse at home shouldn’t come as a surprise. A worrying 39% also report physical abuse. Worse, continues the report, nearly 70% simply don’t report abuse (neglect, disrespect, economic exploitation and verbal abuse) out of fear of retaliation or maintaining family confidentiality. And the abuse isn’t happening in some remote hinterland. It’s happening in metros from Hyderabad to Chennai. It’s happening in Tier 2 cities with Madurai and Kanpur reporting the highest levels of abuse. And it’s happening by sons and daughters-in-law, though daughters in 17% cases are the perpetrators too.

In the absence of institutionalised infrastructure, as many as 80% of the elderly surveyed in the report Elderly Abuse in India 2013 live with their families. With an inordinate focus on India’s ‘demographic dividend’ – 41% of our population, according to the 2001 Census, is below the age of 34 – and the employment, training and aspirational needs of a pushy, me-first generation, there simply hasn’t been as much attention on India’s greying population.

Yet, according to government data, it is going to get increasingly hard to ignore India’s population of people aged between 60 and 80, predicted to increase by 326% between 2000 and 2050 (those over 80 years by 700%). Life expectancy has increased from just 32 years at the time of Independence to 67 years in 2001. Meanwhile, the joint family system is breaking up as younger people migrate in search of jobs or just prefer to live independently. More and more women, still the primary caregivers though this is slowly changing, are working with less and less support at home to look after ageing parents and young children. Families are smaller and there are fewer children to pick up the slack and share parent-care duties amongst each other.

What does a rapidly ageing population mean? It means increased spending on health and welfare. It means specialised geriatric healthcare which as of now is taught in only a handful of medical colleges. It means a policy that recognises and respects the elderly as useful, productive citizens not cast-offs dependent on the state and their families. Sadly, the Economist recently placed India last among 40 nations, behind even Uganda, for end-of-life care services, including access to drugs and caregivers.

Social inclusion, dignity and companionship top the list of what older people need says Kabir Chadha, founder-CEO of Epoch Elder Care that provides precisely these services to families: coffee out, a trip to the movies, assistance in skyping grandkids.

China has this past week made it mandatory by law for children to visit their ageing parents. In India, the maintenance and welfare of parents and senior citizens has been a law since 2007. But the care of parents goes beyond laws and policies. You can make it compulsory to feed, clothe or house the elderly. How do you make it compulsory to care for them? How do you ensure that dignity is not compromised and self-worth is protected? Even the language we use is negative: ‘drain on resources’, ‘twilight years’ etc.

The real challenge, even for ‘good’ kids who don’t abuse parents, is to make sure they continue to be valued and relevant. Not a burden but a signpost we are all going to inevitably face.

The views expressed by the author are personal