'Felt Suffocated, Had No Hope': Journalist Siddique Kappan on Life in Jail

Siddique Kappan was arrested in October 2020 while on his way to cover the gang rape of a Dalit girl in Hathras.

Siddique Kappan speaks to The Quint at the Kerala Literature Festival held in Kozhikode.

(Photo: Namita Chauhan/The Quint)

"After being jailed, I could contact my family only after 40-50 days. What I told my wife then was that I could be jailed for a minimum of five years because it was a UAPA [Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act] case ... But good people – lawyers, media professionals, activists, politicians – they all came together to help me. It is because of them that I spent only 28 months in jail," Siddique Kappan, now 44, tells The Quint.

Kappan, a journalist from Kerala, spent 846 days in Uttar Pradesh jails after he was arrested in October 2020 while on his way to cover the gang rape of a Dalit girl in UP's Hathras.

Kappan, who has been out on bail for the past year, tells The Quint there were moments in jail when he had lost all hope.

"It was during those days that I thought about God the most. I used to think: why and how did I end up in jail? There was no one to talk to. There was nothing to say. There was no hope."

Read the edited excerpts of the interview.

You were incarcerated for 846 days in Uttar Pradesh jails. Could you describe to us what those days were like?

My first jail was a school in Mathura; it was a quarantine centre. It was actually a small classroom where at least 50 others were kept. I never dreamt that I would end up in a place like that. The idea that we have of a jail – what we have seen in movies – is completely different. In this classroom, there was no toilet, there was no such facility.

My family didn't know where I was, and I couldn't inform them. It was a terrible experience, those initial days.

It was 21 days later that I was taken to an actual jail – like how we see in the movies. And I felt suffocated. Because up until then, I was in Delhi working as a journalist, going around places. I used to report on the police, courts, and prisons. Even during the COVID-19 pandemic, I was out and about reporting on migrant issues in Delhi.

I have had three different types of 'jail lives'. One, in that classroom in Mathura. I used to wake up early in the morning and stay up late in the night, just thinking about things. We used to get food twice a day – roti and dal. It was during those days that I thought about God the most. I used to think: why and how did I end up in jail? There was no one to talk to. There was nothing to say. There was no hope.

After that, I came to Mathura jail, and I was put in a quarantine barrack. All day long, we were inside that barrack. We used to get food at around 11 am and then at around 5 pm. Those are the only times we could step out.

There were no books to read, there was nothing.

From there, I was moved to the Lucknow jail after a year and two months. I had to undergo another 15-day quarantine. And there, too, we were locked up for 24 hours a day and could step out only for food.

"As a journalist, I used to ask other prisoners about their lives and experiences. I wanted to jot these experiences down, but I couldn't even get a pen or paper. It was all in my head. Now, slowly, it is all coming out."

Siddique Kappan

In the latter part of my jail life, they would confiscate all the things my family sent me from home, whether it is books or food items. Sometimes they would give me books that they think are 'okay' to give me. Once, I was sent Aakar Patel's Anarchy Cookbook in jail, but the authorities refused to give it to me.

But on the other hand, commodities like cigarettes, beedi, tobacco etc. are readily available. A matchbox costing Re 1 is sold for Rs 5. A cigarette packet costing Rs 90 is sold for Rs 150. This was the culture.

"When I was there, I knew many prisoners who didn't know how to write Hindi. I used to teach them how to write basic things, like to write their name. But we had to do this secretly because this is also a crime there."

You had staged a hunger strike in jail. Could you elaborate on that?

When the STF [Special Task Force] was bringing us back from police custody, for one week, four of us [co-accused] were put in an isolation ward. It was a small room. An Indian-style commode was installed in that same room. That was where we have to do our business. They would not give us food properly; they would just shove it inside with their hand through an opening in the door. We then launched a hunger strike, demanding that we are given food with dignity. The news of our hunger strike soon spread across the jail.

Even though it was during COVID, no protocol was being followed inside the jail. If you gave Rs 100, you could go back to the barrack without undergoing quarantine. But the four of us were still forced to do it in that small room. The jailer came to see us and threatened to give us glucose by force. But we stuck to our hunger strike. Two days later, the jailer agreed to open the door and give us food with dignity.

You had alleged that you were subjected to physical and mental torture when you were COVID-positive. Could you share that experience?

It was in 2021 that I caught COVID-19. My whole body was aching. So, I went to a clinic inside the jail, but the doctor merely administered a painkiller injection. The body pain subsided, but that very night, I fainted.

Then they took me to a hospital. I still remember – I was not taken on a stretcher; I was dragged along the floor. There were bruises on my hands and legs.

My diabetes was very high at the time, and I was later taken to KM Medical College in Mathura. The hospital authorities, however, were not willing to admit me. They claimed I was 'acting' that I was sick because I wanted to 'escape' jail. It was after the police spoke to the hospital authorities that I was finally admitted there.

After admitting me, they handcuffed me to a bed. There was no washroom around. There was a bottle lying around, and I had to pee in that – because I was not allowed to move around.

Once, when the urine was all over the place, the ward boy felt bad for me. I actually had to pay the ward boy so I could make a phone call back home. I told my family what was happening, and that was how the whole world got to know I was being mistreated at the hospital.

Media professionals and lawyers, along with my family, approached the Supreme Court and urged it to issue an order to discharge me and send me back to jail.

"I wasn't even demanding a release from jail, but a return to jail. I just wanted to relieve myself in dignity at that time; that was my only request."

Did you ever lose hope?

After being jailed, I could contact my family only after 40-50 days. What I told my wife then was that I could be jailed for a minimum of five years. I told her it was a UAPA [Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act] case. One of the most dangerous provisions of the UAPA is 43D (5). As per this provision, the court has the discretionary power to deny bail to an accused. Prima facie, if a judge feels that the person has committed the crime, bail can be denied.

So, I told my wife I might be in jail for a while. Thanks to the intervention of lawyers, media professionals, activists, and politicians that I spent only 28 months in jail. Otherwise, it would have been longer.

You were arrested for reporting on a story. Why do you say you are still motivated to be a journalist, despite what happened to you?

Honest journalism – and I am not referring to PR work or government-funded media – is not just about earning money. It is a social service. It is for the oppressed, marginalised, the people who need us.

Back then, I reported on issues related to draconian laws like the UAPA, AFSPA [Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act], POTA [Prevention of Terrorism Act], etc. I also used to cover issues in Kashmir as well as Dalit, Adivasi, and women's issues.

Journalism is not a 'hatemonger' job. It is probably only after 2010 or 2014 that journalism got to this stage. Today, people are even ashamed to say they are journalists.

After I was released on bail, a lot of young journalists approached me and said I am an inspiration to them. That itself is my inspiration to be in this profession.

What is your message to other political prisoners like Umar Khalid and Sharjeel Imam, who continue to be incarcerated?

Don't lose hope. Umar Khalid, Sharjeel Imam, and my associate Masood [one of the co-accused in Kappan's case] are still languishing in jail.

At the same time, a world-renowned journalist like Gautam Navlakha and other intellectuals are under house arrest. GN Saibaba and Hany Babu are in jail. Stan Swamy was judicially murdered in jail.

Even in such a hopeless situation, my message to them is not to lose hope.

Do you believe that you would be cleared of all charges? If not, are you afraid to return to jail?

The extreme stage of fear is fearlessness. Fear has died in me. Once my trial is done, considering the state of affairs in UP [Uttar Pradesh], most likely I might be punished. If I am found guilty, I will have to go to jail again. I am mentally preparing myself for that. I don't know what will happen after 2-3 months.

Now, new law amendments have been brought in as well. In that, even a hunger strike is a criminal offence. Even in that situation, I have to move forward without fear – and that is a revolutionary act.

I strongly believe I may have to return to jail. If my trial happens, it is unlikely that it will happen in a fair manner.