To deflect attention from the catastrophic failures of law and order, a community can be cast as both the victim and the perpetrator

Fidayeen attack or accidental explosion? RDX or ammonia gel? Jaish-e-Mohammad or Al Qaeda? The blast at Delhi’s Red Fort called to mind a vocabulary of violence that was familiar in the 1990s and 2000s but was blurred in public memory by a decade and a half of relative peace. Now, the continuing vulnerability of metropolitan India to terrorist assault has been explosively revealed. As concerning as the bombing itself is the inevitable fallout, in terms of its impact on the public psyche and the creation of a climate of fear and suspicion.

The blast is a fearful reminder that insurgents evolve to remain one step ahead of law enforcement. They can always slip through the interstices of border security, counter-terrorism measures and technology-enabled surveillance. Even worse, they can infiltrate social institutions, thereby lurking undetected. For every hundred foiled plots, there is one that might succeed. 

Earlier this year, Union Home Minister Amit Shah inaugurated the Multi-Agency Centre (MAC) to coordinate counter-terrorism efforts of government bodies across the board. Some 28 agencies share minute-to-minute intelligence on this platform. No doubt intelligence agencies have upped their game. Back in 2020, the National Intelligence Grid (NatGrid) was set up to monitor the mobility, financial transactions and telecommunications of known terror cells.

Media reports suggest that the integration of security-related databases and the application of AI/ML to analyse trends and predict attacks should go a long way in tackling terrorism and organised crime. Meanwhile, under the very nose of this complex intelligence apparatus, a group of doctors stockpiled three tonnes of explosive material and executed a high-profile assault that claimed nine lives in the shadow of the Red Fort. 

Many unanswered questions remain; forensic experts and investigative agencies will doubtless unravel the mysterious nature of the explosion and the events leading up to it. But three significant features have emerged. First, a home-grown terror cell was operating at the very borders of the capital. At least four of its members were doctors, three of whom were on the faculty of the Al Falah University’s School of Medicine in Haryana.

One had been a senior resident at the Government Medical College in Anantnag and was a known sympathiser of the terrorist outfit Jaish-e-Muhammad (JeM). Two members, including the lone female, were from Uttar Pradesh. In effect, those involved were white-collar professionals who had apparently been radicalised by a cleric associated with the Government Medical College in Srinagar. 

Secondly, a large quantity of chemicals, as well as timers, batteries, remotes and circuitry—everything needed to create multiple big bangs—appears to have been moved undetected close to the Delhi-Haryana border over two months. Not to mention arms, including automatic rifles, and ammunition. Thirdly, and this is important, rented residential premises were used for storage. Neither neighbours nor police had the least suspicion. Obviously, this terror cell had been in situ for a long time before it was discovered. 

Recruitment of well-educated J&K locals to terror modules is not new, but doctors enjoy a special status that makes it easier to evade questioning. Landlords and police are not likely to be suspicious of qualified professionals working for a highly regarded institution, especially one recognised by the central government. Investigating agencies tend to proceed with caution, well aware that activists and journalists are more likely to take up allegations of civil rights violations when they involve minority community members of a higher social standing.

The alleged involvement of a white-collar terror cell might have the deleterious effect of profiling an entire community. In public perception, jihadists—like Khalistanis—are a small fraction of malcontents. They are people who have an axe to grind. But here we have a group with no apparent problems; they are well-educated and employed and obviously bright enough to obtain an MBBS. The message is that just about anybody can be radicalised and controlled by foreign agencies across the border. 

Regression to the 1990s, when bearded men in turbans or kufis triggered a quiver of unease, is avoidable. Back then, stepping out to a market or train station carried an element of risk, and an abandoned bag was an object of fear. From 1988, Delhi experienced a rain of terrorist bombs; in a single month in 1991, there were blasts. In 1997, there were ten separate incidents with 74 fatalities. Markets and train stations were attacked to maximise casualties. The courts, government buildings—the Army headquarters, CGO complex and Parliament itself—and the Red Fort were targeted to symbolically undermine India’s sovereignty. Mumbai, as the financial capital, suffered high-magnitude assaults from 2006, including the horrors of 2008 and 2011. 

Metropolitan India picked itself up and moved on to a narrative of development and progress. The discourse revolved around jobs and GDP growth. Pulwama and Pahalgam disturbed the peace, but we had the satisfaction of a decisive response. Now, old fears and old prejudices have been revived, and this is where the government’s tightrope walk begins. We know from past experiences that public perception can be moulded to some extent. To deflect attention from catastrophic failures of law and order, a community can be cast as both the victim and the perpetrator. 

The challenge is to conduct an uncompromising crackdown on the praxis of terrorism while minimising collateral damage. It cannot be eliminated altogether, as law enforcement agencies can hardly walk on eggshells, but they should be seen to be doing their best to avoid injuring innocents.