Umar Khalid and the Power of Collective Spectatorship
By BHUVI KALLEY
A few friends and I attended the screening of ‘Prisoner No. 626710 is Present’ by Lalit Vachani on the 14th of September in Bangalore and left with a feeling I can only describe as “rageful love.” The one-hour documentary centres on the work and subsequent incarceration of Umar Khalid, who was falsely implicated in the Delhi pogrom case. Umar was unjustly imprisoned 4 years ago for being a powerful voice and leader in the movements against the CAA- NRC. As we sat there, we were keenly aware that Umar and his comrades, Gulfisha Fatima, Khalid Saifi and others had spent 4 entire years in prison, with no assurance of an end in sight.
I had just finished school when the protests against the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) and the National Register of Citizens (NRC) erupted in response to what many saw as a direct assault on the secular foundation of the Indian Constitution. The CAA, which granted fast-track citizenship based on religion, and the NRC, which imposed a threat of statelessness, were heavily criticised for marginalising Muslims and other vulnerable groups. These laws ignited one of the largest civil rights movements in recent Indian history.
However, the Delhi pogrom of February 2020, filled with stories of brutal violence against Muslims in northeast Delhi was soon used by the state to paint a false narrative that the anti-CAA movement in Delhi was a ploy leading up to the violence. Activists like Khalid, who spoke out against these laws, were singled out and falsely accused of inciting the violence. Now, four years later, a room of over 150 people sat reflecting on these events, united in their focus on an individual, a movement, and a nationwide resistance.
As the screening began, one of my friends turned to me and said, “I wonder if the police will let us get through this one.” We laughed, but there was a palpable sense of nervousness in the room. Everyone was aware that just weeks before, reading circles, artists gathering and other activities had been forcibly dispersed by the police in Cubbon Park, and several screenings in the past month had been shut down too. Bangalore’s restrictions on the right to protest had instilled a constant sense of anxiety that lingered with us. So sitting in a room full of people watching a documentary felt like an act of rebellion. There was undeniable power in it.
The documentary began with a video of Umar saying, “If you are watching this, I am already in prison,” followed by his loved ones and professors narrating his journey through university leading to his arrest. They spoke of how the state and the media imposed a narrative that portrayed him as anti-national. This narration was accompanied by nearly ten news clippings labelling him a ‘Desh Drohi,’ including a clip of Arnab Goswami calling him onto a panel, where he literally muted Umar’s speakerphone and yelled at him and his “anti-national friends” and another one which accused him of being a spy for Pakistan.
These clippings felt surreal—not only because we had all been active consumers of this hateful rhetoric on our screens, but also because they were starkly contrasted with Umar’s actual speeches, in which he spoke of love and pride for Ambedkar and Gandhi, consistently advocating for peaceful protests, and talking about how he chooses to be an Indian and to fight for the nation he loves.
I believe it was during the various news clips that the audience became one. I entered the room as an individual, like anyone else, with my own beliefs about the CAA, the nation, and so on. But as we all sat together watching the film, I slowly let go of the things that made me cling to my individuality. I became immersed in what was being presented before me. I was part of an experience, united with the room and everyone sharing it with me. I felt connected to something larger than myself. This reminded me of Julian Hanich‘s paper on collective spectatorship. She describes how emotions can either connect us to the world or isolate us. Hanich speaks of a phenomenologist Hermann Schmitz who notes, emotions can shift our sense of connection to the world, causing us to either expand outward, seeking to connect with others through feelings like joy, love, or rage, or contract inward, isolating us.
This dynamic has significant implications for how audiences relate to one another during a screening. While watching this documentary, all of us were experiencing a profound mix of love and dissatisfaction, creating an overwhelming openness that led to attentive listening to the events being portrayed. I found it curious how emotions like rage and love can have a similar effect on people.
We watched as the documentary showcased the strength of student activism and the solidarity it fosters, ending with Umar’s face once again on screen. He spoke like a prophet who had foreseen his future in prison, who had predicted the state’s reaction to his fight for justice, and who was undeniably, hopelessly consumed by a furious love for his nation’s future.
The moment the screening ended, a group to my left began chanting slogans, and soon, most of the room joined in. You could feel the palpable will to fight for justice in the air. The room buzzed with a hunger for freedom for this young man and his comrades. The discontent had seeped into the audience. People were enraged, their anger rooted in a profound sense of care, as they grabbed at the registration sheet circulating the room. What had begun as a room full of nervous spectators had transformed into a gathering of fearless individuals, driven by rageful love and the desire to take action.
There was a one-hour discussion that followed the screening, during which people shared their feelings, memories of the movements, their guilt, and how this screening was especially significant given the restrictions on protests in Bangalore. What shocked me was that almost no one left after the film was over; the room remained packed, as if collectively crying out for a call to action. We finally dispersed around 8:30 PM, a group of strangers united, shaken by how cruelly a state can treat its own people.
(Bhuvi Kalley is a recent graduate from Azim Premji University who has interned with the Alternative Law Forum and is passionate about human rights issues.)