Power to the people

Indulekha Aravind spends three days in Koodankulam and nearby villages early this week and sees firsthand how the area has become a battleground between the government pushing nuclear power and the people who fear its impact. The ringtone of M Kasinath Balaji, site director of the Koodankulam Nuclear Power Project, is a jingle extolling the virtues of nuclear power and is part of the publicity campaign to counter the protests against the plant. “Aha aha anushakti, azhakai varuthu minshakti...” it goes (wonderful nuclear power, which generates electricity beautifully...). When Balaji finally answers, he says he expects some kind of directive from the state government after the Sankarankoil assembly bypoll on Sunday. On probing further, he clams up. “I will explain when you come here.” Click here for Cloud Computing Also Read Related Stories News Now - First shale gas exploration bidding by 2013-end: PM - Parliament to settle Lok Pal issue in Budget Session recess - All-party meet on Lok Pal underway - PM favours multi-layered approach - PM under fire, CAG does firefighting on coal report - Govt must act as the guarantor of universal health coverage: Srinath Reddy In the propaganda war over the nuclear plant at Koodankulam in southern Tamil Nadu, Nuclear Power Corporation (NPCIL) is being outshouted. What chance does a ringtone, however catchy, have against a chirpy little 14-year-old holding aloft a photo of a disfigured baby and reciting that she does not want electricity from a nuclear power plant that can cause cancer and kill all fish in the sea. The little girl is one of many who have gathered on Sunday afternoon under the large thatched roof outside the 108-year-old Lourde’s Church in Idinthakarai. Even though the nuclear plant is in Koodankulam, it is the neighbouring village of Idinthakarai that is Ground Zero for the anti-nuclear protests. The local population at Koodankulam was reportedly supportive of the plant initially, in the hope that there would be plenty of jobs for them, while the people in coastal Idinthakarai, who are dependent on fishing for their income, have always opposed it because of apprehensions that hot water generated by the plant and radiation would affect the fish, and thus their livelihood. Support for the agitation grew, locals say, after the disaster at Fukushima last year. This Sunday has been reserved for youth protestors, and the front courtyard of the church that is now the stage is full of youngsters. Anti-nuclear banners are all around, as are posters that express solidarity for the agitation, including a banner by students from MG University in Kerala, full of palm prints, and another from the Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist). The audience is not very large, small groups are scattered here and there in front of the stage. In between speeches, children walk up to the mike and raise slogans against the plant and nuclear energy. Talking to the protesters, whether it is the vocal 24-year-old schoolteacher Uma (name changed), soft-spoken Sister Yolande working at the village hospital or L Dasan, a fisherman who has been protesting against the plant since the 1980s, a few things become evident: the people here are absolutely convinced that the plant, if opened, will destroy their livelihood; the bogey of foreign money bankrolling protests raised by none less than Prime Minister Manmohan Singh is rubbish and the campaign is being funded by contributions from the locals; and the only acceptable solution is closure of the plant. The protestors openly play the Tamil victimisation card. This is a masterstroke, and one that gets easily mixed with other “victimisation” issues. Indeed, Uma’s eyes fill with angry tears when she says the Centre has done nothing about the fishermen from Ramanathapuram (in Tamil Nadu) who have been killed by Sri Lankans. Rumours and conspiracy theories too abound. One is that of the 2,000 MW of power the first two units of the Koodankulam plant will generate, 1,000 Mw is intended for Sri Lanka — something that would get the blood of many a Tamil boiling. Another is that the Mullaperiyar dam issue was raked up between Tamil Nadu and Kerala to prevent supporters from Kerala reaching Idinthakarai. The man everyone turns to in Idinthakarai when it comes to the agitation is SP Udayakumar, coordinator of the People’s Movement Against Nuclear Energy. The bearded, bespectacled Udayakumar, who has a PhD in political science, has been camping here for seven months since 127 people went on a 12-day hunger strike in September. When we meet at the pastor’s office near the church, he minces no words in condemning the Centre. On the allegations that the protests are being fuelled by foreign funds he says, “As the prime minister of the largest democracy, he should have the integrity to admit that poor people too have the right to protest... If anyone can show a voucher for having received funds with my signature, I am ready to self-immolate.” He says there has been no transparency on the part of NPCIL about the plant, that there was never any kind of consultation with the local people and that even the environment impact assessment report was not made public. The issue of Tamil victimisation crops up again: “If the plant here is 100 per cent safe, why not set one up in Kerala or (West) Bengal? Why are we Tamils being made scapegoats?” The Jayalalithaa government has been supportive so far, he says. Father Jayakumar, the local parish priest whose office we are sitting in, says he became involved in the protests because the people asked him to lead them. “In these coastal villages, where 99 per cent of the population are Catholic, it is the priest who represents the village,” says the 36-year-old who has been in Idinthakarai since October 2010. “The church has ensured that the movement remains non-violent. Left to themselves, the people would have made it violent,” he adds. Does he have a personal view on the potential benefits or harmful effects of nuclear energy? “As a priest, I cannot take a stand against nuclear energy; but as a man, I am opposed to it.... It will ruin everything.” While emotions run high in Idinthakarai, the neighbouring village of Vijayapathi maintains a sleepy calm. The imam of the Muslim-dominated hamlet of around 100 houses says he does not know enough about the issue. One of the villagers says Idinthakarai is their biggest neighbour and they are dependent on it, so people here would naturally follow its lead. “They asked us to send a few people from here for the protests; so we did.” But he adds that if the nuclear plant offers jobs, people would be willing to take them. Around five in the evening, a rally is taken out by all those who have gathered at Idinthakarai; it will go to the next village three kilometres away. Many of the slogans raised are anti-Congress and the swelling crowd soon covers the entire width of the road. * * * * * On Monday morning, NPCIL’s Sagar Milan guesthouse in Anuvijay, the nuclear plant’s township for the staff, is worlds away from the heat and dust of the previous day. Ever since the protesters declared that they would not let any staff apart from the bare minimum required for maintenance enter the plant premises from October 13, the guest house has been doubling as the office for the Koodankulam Nuclear Power Plant brass. Balaji explains the various measures that have been taken to ensure the safety of the plant. The two Russian VVERs (meaning Voda Voda Energy Reactors, or water-cooled, water-moderated energy reactors) NPCIL chose are third-generation reactors with advanced safety systems and more passive features (passive here refers to systems that will not be dependent on electricity), including four diesel generators in separate buildings for each unit, a passive heat removal system that would enable air to cool the heat exchangers naturally, and 154 passive hydrogen recombiners that would prevent the accumulation of hydrogen and the kind of explosion that happened at Fukushima. All structures are located above seven metres, which makes it unlikely that a tsunami will cause the plant to be flooded. Any operational waste, says Balaji, would be stored at the plant itself. Talking about the protests, V Sundar, the station director, says in a slightly bewildered tone: “Immediately after Fukushima, we called 50 villagers to the plant and explained to them why something similar would not happen at the plant here because it is built to withstand earthquakes and tsunamis. At that time, no questions were raised about health hazards, or radiation, or safety concerns. They only wanted to know about employment opportunities, electricity generation and welfare measures.” But he admits that perhaps more steps could have been taken to raise public awareness. At the township gate, there are a couple of vans of policemen, and outside, more are coming. Soon, there is a sea of khaki outside. The small restaurants outside are emptied of food by the hordes. A policeman reveals that the reinforcements have arrived because the state government has declared the plant can start functioning. It transpires that Jayalalithaa had indeed been waiting only for the Sankarankoil bypoll to get over...* In Koodankulam, the church bell is ringing furiously and villagers have gathered in large groups in the grounds. The parish priest, Father Thadaeus, says that at 12.45 pm, nine anti-nuclear activists stationed outside the plant to monitor developments were arrested by the police. He was the tenth in that group but was let off at the last minute. Once a sufficient number of people gather outside the church, they want to proceed en masse to Idinthakarai where Udayakumar has begun a fast unto death. Among the milling crowds, there is anger at Jayalalithaa’s volte face. She has declared that the plant can begin functioning because the Cabinet is satisfied with the latest evaluation committee’s findings about the safety of the plant, while attempting to assuage concerns with a Rs 500-crore development package for the region. The road through Koodankulam is lined with policemen, with one row of policewomen sitting and licking ice-cream while waiting in the blazing sun. There are police jeeps and vans at every junction. It is easy to understand why Udayakumar has been able to win people over — the man has just launched a fast unto death but the first thing he asks on seeing me is how I was feeling since our interview the previous day had been interrupted by innumerable sneezes. Udayakumar says he does not know how many people are joining him in the fast but they have a list of six demands: the release of those detained, withdrawal of the Cabinet resolution declaring that the plant can commence operations, consulting Indian and international experts on hydrology and geology, conducting safety and evacuation drills within 30 km of the plant, releasing a copy of the inter-governmental agreement signed between Russia and India and stopping harassment by the police. While there is outrage and uncertainty among the protesters, the nuclear plant staff is jubilant. “We are very very happy... I’m back in my office for the first time since October 13,” says an overjoyed Sundar on the phone. The police presence, meanwhile, continues to swell, with vans of Rapid Action Force and even Kerala police jeeps driving in. It would be a long night for those at Idinthakarai. * * * * * On Tuesday, the government has imposed a mini-curfew in Koodankulam and adjoining villages in the Radhapuram taluk, prohibiting unlawful assembly with armed weapons. That is perhaps why Koodankulam resembles a ghost town with all shops having downed their shutters, and hardly any vehicle on the road. On enquiring about Father Thadaeus, someone says he has left the village, while another adds that he is in Idinthakarai. Several checkposts have been set up between Koodankulam and Idinthakarai. According to S George, the additional director general of police, 33 companies of the Tamil Nadu Special police, 30 platoons of Armed Reserve personnel and four companies of paramilitary forces have been deployed in the area. Just outside Idinthakarai, police are lined up in riot gear. Beyond the police blockades, it is the turn of the protesters who have put boulders and thorny bushes at intervals. At the tsunami rehabilitation village, two kilometres outside Idinthakarai, the road has been blocked with concrete benches and the only option is to go on foot. I join a group of women walking to Lourde’s Church, some cradling infants. The blockade is to prevent the police from entering the village — they had reportedly come at night and warned the villagers against protesting so the villagers are now determined not to let them enter again. If there had only been a smattering of people in front of Lourde’s Church on Sunday, there is hardly room to stand today. At least a couple of thousand people have congregated, and the sea of faces is turned to the stage where speaker after speaker condemns the decision to open the plant. Udayakumar is sitting calmly in the middle of the stage, reading the newspaper and talking to local journalists. So far, 185 people had been arrested from Koothakully village and another 18 from Koodankulam, he says. Seven women and eight men have joined him in the fast. One of the women, Merlotte, says they are determined to close the plant and that they do not want any kind of charity. The matter-of-fact determination is shared by many gathered there. Udayakumar says he is still hopeful the plant will be closed. “I firmly believe it will be shut down, if not by us, by something else,” he says, almost beatifically. But driving away, in the shadow of the towering windmills that dot the region, this seems credible only till the next posse of policemen in riot gear come into view. At the plant, meanwhile, work has begun in right earnest. “The full strength of 1,000 staff including 70 Russians are working in three shifts and we are mobilising people from other sites to make up for the time we lost,” says Balaji. “We will continue to engage with the local population; once upon a time, they were all with us...