CERTAIN types of message never lose their sting. Take for example the forbidding sign that used to hang at the entrance of British-only clubs during the days of the Raj: ‘No dogs or Indians allowed.’ Could any message have conveyed more tartly the condescending mindset of a ruling class?
Since then times have changed, rulers have changed, but that message has not. The only change if any has been that what was unspeakable then is now conveyed unspoken. Those words of derogation have been substituted, better camouflaged, but their essential meaning remains: No barking Pakistanis allowed.
Two and a half incidents that occurred separately in Lahore recently will illustrate the point. The first occurred during the visit of the British activist, Mr Tariq Ali, a Pakistani by origin who returned to Pakistan in May to give three lectures at Lahore, Islamabad and Karachi.
Mr Tariq Ali is better known outside Pakistan than he is here. He achieved prominence in the late 1960s, while still an undergraduate at Oxford University, when he discomfited the British establishment by holding a debate at the Oxford Union on whether the house would be prepared to fight for Queen and Country. It was an emotive topic, chosen deliberately because it disinterred a controversy (thought safely buried) that had been argued with vehemence in the same forum, many years earlier in the 1930s, while the wounds of the Armageddon experience of the First World War were still raw and the prospect of a bloody encore too horrible even to contemplate.
Before he was twenty-five years old, Tariq Ali was already well-known as a volatile, abrasive left-winger, the brown counterpart to his German comrade-in-arms ‘Red’ Rudi Dutschke, and name enough as a student leader to be wooed by Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and J.A. Rahim.
They tried to coax him over a lunch at the patrician Claridges Hotel in London into joining their fledgling Pakistan People’s Party.
Tariq Ali preferred challenging governments, not joining them. Two years later, following the resignation of Ayub Khan, Tariq Ali made a triumphant tour of West and East Pakistan becoming the darling of the student community, and the bane of the military establishment under Yahya Khan.
For the past thirty years, however, Tariq Ali has been operating from the safety of British suburbia, a never-never land of intellectual rebellion. He has switched from penning pamphlets to publishing commercial works of fiction. In lieu of making history himself, he has made a living chronicling the history of others. His biography of the Nehru dynasty was one such foray.
To his numerous admirers, he has matured into a symbol of perpetual revolution; to others, he remains an ageless Peter Pan of student rebelliousness - a mixture of boyish bravado, of courage, of open-mouthed frankness. He functions best as an articulate advocate of causes, preferably current ones.
The theme of his lectures, titled ‘Infinite War and American Imperialism,’ could not have been more topical, nor his credentials more appropriate, for Tariq Ali, now in his sixties, has been a US-baiter since its ill-fated involvement in Vietnam.
The lecture was promoted by an English daily and should have been held at the Pearl Continental Hotel except that on the morning of the lecture, the venue and rather surprisingly the sponsorship was changed it was said, to assuage the government’s sensitivity. An NGO assumed sponsorship of Tariq Ali’s lecture at short notice and arranged a new venue.
Tariq Ali spoke for more than an hour and a half, without notes and with a practised fluency, lambasting the United States for its unconscionable rape of Iraq. He quoted in extenso from a memoir published by a retired US Marine Corps major-general, Smedley Butler, whose book ‘War is a Racket’ provided a belt of factual ammunition that Tariq Ali fired with deadly accuracy.
He would have been devastatingly effective, if only his targets — bellicose President George W. Bush and his belligerent US government - had been within range, and had the ammunition not been obsolete. General Butler’s post-service confessional had in fact been published in 1935, before the Second World War.
It was the kind of speech, that in Tariq Ali’s younger street fighting days would have ignited a demonstration, but for the fact that the audience ranged before him in that air-conditioned marriage hall in Lahore consisted of ageing admirers, his loyal family, and NGO-types in ethnic outfits and accompanied by same-sex companions.
They were not the kind (like the impulsive Scarlett O’Hara in ‘Gone with the Wind’) to remove their gold rings and to donate them for the cause, or to rush out into the street to enlist against the coalition forces invading Iraq.
It was certainly not the kind of speech that should have increased a government into inducing the sponsors taking pre-emptive action the way they did. Someone should have advised the government that while punctuality may no longer be the politeness of our princes, listening to someone else’s opinions might be a harmless substitute.
The second incident of government low-handedness occurred at the Punjab provincial assembly on May 26, when members of the PPP opposition were prohibited from entering the assembly premises. Again, as with the bungled attempt at muffling Tariq Ali, it was a misguided, irresponsible and in the end superfluous display of muscular authority. Democracy, however superficial, cannot mean filtering out the voices of others so that only the singularity of one’s own voice can be heard.
By barricading first the approaches to the assembly building itself and then ‘imprisoning’ the official car of the opposition leader, Qasim Zia, within a corral of barbed wire, the provincial government in effect shifted the forum of debate from within the assembly hall where it should have been, to the pedestrian level of the public footpath outside. That may be where public leaders are born; that is not where they expect to conduct public business or to represent their voter’s mandate.
The disgruntled PPP-Parliamentarians, thus debarred from the assembly, then repaired to a nearby five-star hotel to discuss what should be their strategy. There occurred half of another incident, half because a full incident was prevented from happening. According to them, the management of the hotel informed them that they could not be permitted to enter the empty coffee shop, because it was ‘already occupied.’ Thwarted, they decided to take the matter a level higher, and walked towards the tubular glass lifts to go to the upper floors where one of the parliamentarians had a suite.
At the lifts, again they were denied admittance, this time on the grounds that their collective presence in the suite would be ‘a security hazard’ and any resultant disruptive behaviour would disturb the other guests. The compliant hotel management had taken legal cover under the small fig-leaf of a sign that everyone passes at the entrance of every hotel or restaurant but that no-one ever notices, leave alone reads: Rights of Admission Reserved.
And most recently, in Islamabad, in another act of denial, a hover of black-robed lawyers was stopped by the federal government from approaching the Supreme Court building, presumably to prevent them from repeating the same act of judicial desecration perpetrated on the same building by the uncontrollable stalwarts of the Pakistan Muslim League (N) six years ago, on November 28, 1997.
When any government begins to feel so insecure that it needs to resort to measures as extreme as physical exclusion and vocal suppression, it is time either for that government to be changed, or for the people who elected it into office to change, it themselves.
The present administration may not have wanted anyone to hear Tariq Ali speak. It has not yet gone to the lengths of proscribing his books, to prevent them being read. Had anyone in the government read his book Street Fighting Years: An Autobiography of the Sixties (1987), he might have noticed the stanza Tariq Ali had included from a poem titled ‘The Solution’ by the German poet and playwright Bertholt Brecht, written after the death of Stalin in 1953. Worker and students in East Germany had rebelled, demanding the democratic rights denied them under the Soviet dictator. The uprising was crushed, and the miscreants were then told by the communist government that ‘the people /had forfeited the confidence of the government/and could win it back only/ by redoubled efforts.”
Brecht’s stanza continues by cynically asking a question that must have crossed many a weary autocrat’s mind since the voice of dissension first made itself heard:
Would it now be easier in that case for the government to dissolve the people
and elect another?
Could there be a more perfect way of ensuring in a democracy that every government has an electorate of its choice?
I CANNOT make out why the Congress has not said “sorry” even 28 years after the Emergency. The then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi imposed it on June 25, 1975, to save herself from a judicial verdict that her election was invalid because of misuse of government machinery.
The party knows about the excesses which some of its leaders and public servants committed at its asking. The Justice J.C. Shah Commission has told it all — who did what — in black and white in its three reports. But none has been punished. Nor has the party expressed any regret over the unwarranted actions which caused untold human misery and suffering.
Yet it is known how helpless Sonia Gandhi, now the Congress president, and her husband, Rajiv Gandhi, felt at that time. Then why is this reluctance to say sorry? In the land of Mahatma Gandhi, any move to make amends lessens anger.
If Sonia Gandhi could express sorrow even now, she would do a good deed to the party which has not been able to live down the reputation of being authoritarian. She would not be denouncing Indira Gandhi but telling the nation that she (Sonia Gandhi), for one, would never condone the misuse of power.
When she criticizes the BJP-led government, justifiably, for making inroads into the field of people’s rights and freedom, it sounds one-sided. During the Emergency, the Congress government had extinguished all freedoms, — personal, judicial and the media’s. It is an irony that many BJP ministers, who suffered during the Emergency, should be copying Indira Gandhi’s methods. They are changing the concept of liberty itself as she did and they are concentrating power in the hands of bureaucrats and the police.
Pliable as they are to carry out the errands of ministers, they have made the system increasingly intolerant and oppressive. The Prevention of Terrorism Act (POTA), like MISA during Indira Gandhi’s regime, is being misused. One wonders whether any case has been referred to the much-publicised RS Saharya committee for review.
A large number of officials - district magistrates and commissioners of police - who had appeared before the Shah Commission admitted they obediently carried out the instructions emanating from politicians and administrative heads. Orders were issued on personal and political considerations.
What is happening now is not very different. The police and officials at the centre and in the states are at the other end of the telephone to implement the fiat. Their stock explanation is that in the circumstances which prevail, they have no alternative. A similar plea was made by the errant police and other officials before the Shah Commission.
Recently when I talked to the state chief secretary and the home secretary at Gandhinagar within a few days of the Gujarat carnage, they did not hide the laxity and even the complicity of the administration and police. But both of them expressed helplessness. The Sri Krishna report on the Mumbai riots even named the guilty officers. But no action was taken.
Only now, nearly a decade later, has some movement taken place. Gujarat is under the BJP and the action on the Sri Krishna report was stalled by the Shiv Sena-BJP coalition in Maharashtra. These instances are no different from what happened during the Emergency. They too reflect the bias, prejudice and disrespect of law. Scores of inquiry reports remain unimplemented.
In fact, from the days of the Emergency, a new culture has developed whereby public servants, particularly the police, anticipate the wishes of rulers and act. Whenever there is an uproar against the state’s excesses or complicity, the rulers, their godfathers, see to it that none in the administration or police is punished. The rule of law has become a relative term.
It is apparent from the manner in which the Lok Sabha has passed a bill on the Central Vigilance Commission that all political parties are riding the same boat. They favour prior government permission even to initiate an inquiry, let alone acting against officials of the rank of joint secretary and above. This is despite the Supreme Court’s judgment which struck down the prior permission part.
One can understand steps to immunize public servants from pressures or threats. But one cannot understand a law which will throw them to the whims and fancies of the ministers. Those who do not display courage to face the truth when they are under pressure, they simply do not have the character to face the truth. Safeguards can be given to officers against wrong proceedings. How can a minister, primarily a politician, say whether action should be taken or not?
Why pick on the officials alone? What happened during the Emergency was the subversion of the system. It was not excesses committed by a few individuals. It was a general erosion of democratic values. It was a takeover by a few who enjoyed extra-constitutional authority. Democracy was assaulted then. Now secularism faces the same danger. The ruling BJP is saffronizing every aspect of life and every tier of the administration.
For example, Human Resource Development Minister Murli Manohar Joshi is not only rewriting history but selecting the Gandhian institutions for his attack because they still teach the truth. Take the attack on the Gandhian Institute of Studies at Varanasi which represents an attempt to link Gandhian pluralism with social sciences.
Indira Gandhi too attacked during the emergency the Gandhi institutions like the Gandhi Peace Foundation in Delhi. Had those who derailed the democratic structure between 1975 and 1977 been punished, both politicians and civil servants would have learnt a lesson. There might have been a serious thinking on why the administration collapsed. The distortions in the system might have been sought to be corrected.
Instead, Indira Gandhi withdrew every case of complaint of excess when she returned to power in 1980. The few officials who had done a spot of honest work and had resisted political pressure were hounded and harassed. Every trace of resistance to the Emergency was effaced.
What was wrong then is wrong today. Both politicians and officials have to confine the operation to their acknowledged fields. They must know the limits which they cannot cross. Otherwise, the nation cannot be safe. Nor can the working of a democratic system.
This consciousness has to permeate all strata of our society. Otherwise, even with the best of intentions, the recurrence of the type of tragedy like the Emergency may not be prevented. The first thing is to restore the institutions. They were beginning to recover from the trauma of authoritarian rule during the Emergency. But the BJP, which had fought against the rule, is not letting the recovery take place. Leaders like Home Minister L.K. Advani and Joshi love to wield power to the detriment of institutions.
Imagine the height to which the institutions would have risen if the two had resigned from the government when the CBI had filed the charge sheet against them on the demolition of the Babri Masjid. They should have quit at least when a supplementary charge sheet was submitted before the Special Court a few days ago.
The moral is that those in power do not respect any norm or value when it comes to them or their party. It is all the more necessary for Sonia Gandhi to say at least sorry so that the process of owning responsibility begins. The BJP may learn from her example. Let me tell them what Martin Luther King said: “The day we see the truth and cease to speak is the day we begin to die”.
The writer is a leading columnist based in New Delhi.