When the Protectors Become the Accused: What the Bolangir Kidnapping Case in Odisha Says About Trust in Our Institutions
There are some crime stories that disturb us because of what allegedly happened. And then there are others that disturb us because of who is accused of being involved.
The kidnapping case involving a 62-year-old businessman from Bolangir in Odisha falls into the second category.
Police say the businessman was allegedly abducted on August 14 and taken to Bhubaneswar. Four people have so far been arrested, including a serving woman police sub-inspector and a journalist. Investigators say more people may have been involved.
The allegations are serious, and they remain allegations that must be tested through investigation and the courts. But the case raises a question larger than the guilt or innocence of any particular individual:
What happens to society when people belonging to institutions we are supposed to trust themselves come under suspicion?
Because a police officer is not simply another employee.
A journalist is not supposed to be simply another professional.
One is entrusted with the power of the State. The other is entrusted, informally but importantly, with the power to inform society.
When either position is allegedly misused, the damage extends beyond an individual crime.
It damages trust.
A policeman represents something larger than himself
Think about an ordinary citizen’s instinct when frightened.
We tell our children: Call the police.
When someone is threatened, cheated or attacked, the police station is supposed to be the place where fear ends and protection begins.
That is why allegations involving a serving police officer have a different social impact.
According to investigators in this case, the police sub-inspector allegedly had a role connected to the episode and is also accused of attempting to interfere with evidence. A journalist has also been accused of involvement, including allegedly presenting himself as a police officer.
These claims have yet to be established in court.
But imagine the effect such allegations have on an ordinary citizen.
If a police uniform itself can allegedly become part of a criminal plan, whom does the victim trust?
That is the real institutional danger.
And what happens when a journalist crosses the line?
Journalism also operates largely on trust.
A journalist routinely asks strangers to speak openly, share documents, describe wrongdoing and sometimes take considerable personal risks to expose powerful people.
Why would anyone do that?
Because they believe the journalist is there to report the story not become part of it.
That distinction is fundamental.
A journalist can investigate criminals.
A journalist can know criminals.
A journalist may have to speak to people accused of terrible things.
But the moment a journalist allegedly begins participating in wrongdoing, the boundary between observer and actor disappears.
And every genuine journalist pays a price for it.
The next time a reporter knocks on someone’s door, that person becomes a little more suspicious.
Police-media relationship has always been complicated
There is another uncomfortable aspect worth discussing.
Police officers and journalists naturally interact closely.
Crime reporters need information from police. Police sometimes need journalists to communicate information to the public. Over years, professional relationships develop. Phone numbers are exchanged. Sources become friendships.
None of that is necessarily improper.
In fact, journalism would be extremely difficult without sources.
The danger begins when professional access becomes personal influence.
When does a source become a friend?
When does friendship become favour?
And when does favour become complicity?
These questions are not limited to Odisha. They apply to journalism and policing everywhere.
Healthy institutions therefore cannot depend entirely upon the personal goodness of individuals. They need strong systems that make misuse of authority difficult and accountability unavoidable.
Power has changed but our fascination with it hasn’t
This case also tells us something about contemporary society.
Power today does not belong only to politicians or wealthy industrialists.
A police officer has institutional power.
A journalist has informational power.
A social-media personality has attention.
A bureaucrat has administrative authority.
A businessman has financial influence.
Different kinds of power increasingly intersect.
And whenever power exists without sufficient accountability, there is an opportunity for misuse.
Perhaps that is why society must stop thinking about corruption only as envelopes of cash changing hands.
Modern corruption can be about access.
Who can make a phone call?
Who knows whom?
Who can get something done?
Who can make a problem disappear?
Who can influence the narrative?
That informal economy of influence can sometimes be more powerful than money itself.
The strange story of the alleged “Hanuman Paisa”
The background being investigated makes the case even more extraordinary.
Police are examining claims that the dispute was connected to an alleged antique popularly described as a “Hanuman Paisa”. One accused has claimed that a large sum had earlier been paid in connection with such an object. The businessman has reportedly denied that allegation.
Those competing claims remain under investigation.
But the very appearance of such a belief in a case involving educated adults raises another question about modern India.
We are sending missions into space.
Artificial intelligence is entering our workplaces.
Payments happen instantly through smartphones.
And yet rumours surrounding supposedly miraculous objects, instant fortunes and mysterious valuables can continue to circulate.
Modernity and superstition, strangely, can exist in the same person.
A smartphone does not automatically produce a scientific temperament.
Education does not always eliminate irrational belief.
Technology can actually make an old rumour travel faster.
Desire for shortcuts is becoming a social problem
Behind many apparently unrelated stories today lies one common temptation:
the shortcut.
A shortcut to wealth.
A shortcut to fame.
A shortcut to influence.
A shortcut around the law.
There is nothing new about greed. Human beings have always wanted money and power.
What has changed is the speed at which society now appears to promise them.
We constantly see stories of overnight fortunes, viral fame and sudden success.
The slow route education, work, savings, reputation built over decades appears almost boring by comparison.
Yet institutions survive precisely because some things are supposed to take time.
Trust takes time.
Reputation takes time.
Professional credibility takes time.
And they can disappear remarkably quickly.
Don’t condemn an entire profession
There is an important caution here.
One police officer accused of wrongdoing does not make the police corrupt.
One journalist accused of a crime does not make journalism criminal.
India has thousands of police personnel who perform difficult and sometimes dangerous duties every day. There are journalists who continue to investigate uncomfortable truths despite enormous pressure.
Collective condemnation would therefore be both unfair and counterproductive.
The correct response to institutional misconduct is not to stop trusting institutions altogether.
It is to demand that institutions earn that trust continuously.
And one of the strongest ways of doing that is by acting decisively when someone within the institution is suspected of violating its rules.
In fact, the arrests themselves matter.
The fact that a serving police officer could be investigated and arrested is also evidence that accountability mechanisms can function.
That part of the story should not be ignored.
Trust is invisible until we lose it
Democracies run on laws, courts, governments and constitutions.
But underneath all of them lies something much less visible:
trust.
We hand enormous authority to strangers because of the institutions they represent.
We stop when a traffic policeman raises a hand.
We tell a police officer personal details when filing a complaint.
We tell journalists things we might not tell our neighbours.
We believe a doctor because of the white coat and qualification.
We trust a judge because of the chair they occupy.
Society simply cannot function if every citizen begins assuming that every institution is working against them.
That is why allegations of this nature matter far beyond one kidnapping case.
The uniform and the press card are promises
Ultimately, a police uniform and a journalist’s press card have something surprisingly important in common.
Both are symbols.
They tell a stranger:
You can trust me to perform a particular public role.
That trust brings access and influence that ordinary citizens may not possess.
And therefore it must bring greater responsibility as well.
The Bolangir case will now move through investigation and the judicial process. The allegations against each accused must be proved according to law, and conclusions should not be reached before that process is complete.
But society does not have to wait for a verdict to consider the larger lesson.
Institutions are not strengthened by pretending misconduct never occurs.
They are strengthened when misconduct is investigated without fear or favour.
Because ultimately the most precious possession of the police is not its authority.
The most precious possession of journalism is not its reach.
It is public trust.
And once that disappears, neither a uniform nor a press card can easily bring it back.