A plea for Indian Liberalism? Rethinking the Left’s role in the Liberal Exercise

I don’t think I’ve called myself a liberal. I am, I believe, rooted more in the neo-Marxian tradition of Marcuse and Althusser; unabashedly Foucauldian in some sense, and a huge fan of Žižek. There are, of course, other intellectual strands that have inspired me, and continue to do so; in many ways, I’m still in my formative years. That said, I’m not a Leftist: I do not believe that the Left would (or far less, could) achieve a working version of a Marxian utopia. And I certainly am not on the Right. So, I guess that makes me a de facto liberal.

Last night, I had the opportunity to listen to one of India’s foremost and widely respected intellectuals, and an unabashed liberal, himself: Ramachandra Guha. I had, for quite some time, been anticipating his lecture, ‘The Rise and Fall of India’s Liberal Tradition’ at the Max Mueller Bhavan, Mumbai, especially after having reading an excerpt from his latest book, Patriots and Partisans, in the Outlook Magazine. Unlike the Left’s (that is, the CPI(M)’s) practised archaic polemic against the state, or, for that matter Kejriwal’s anti-corruption rhetoric, Guha’s opinions have always been a curious blend of sociological analysis and are, as he claims, polemical.

This essay isn’t a review of Guha’s lecture. Here, I borrow some of his most influential thoughts from last night, to argue out a different conception of Indian liberalism, positing my ideas of challenges and limitations. I am, of course, deeply indebted to Guha for entertaining my rather long question in the Q&A segment – something which shall form the basis of my present argument.

Guha, as the title of his lecture goes, began speaking of the rise of India’s liberal tradition – tracing a genealogy from Ram Mohan Roy, to Gokhale, Tagore, Gandhi, Ambedkar and Nehru, to his teacher, Dharma Kumar. He then traced the major threats to Indian liberalism in the post-Independence era – the first, being the Hindu Right-wing extremism, exemplified by Ghodse’s assassination of Gandhi; and the second, the radical Left-wing extremism which, Guha claimed eloquently, never had any fondness for the Indian state in the first place. In the 70s, however, there was another threat. The threat from the democratic centre, Guha argues, began with Indira Gandhi’s authoritarian rule, culminating in the Emergency years, and finally, the rise of dynastic politics in India – which, Guha suggests, impeded the governance mechanism, the bureaucracy and public institutions, most of all. Increased arbitrariness and violence by the police and armed forces in conflict zones, too, was and does, constitute a significant threat to liberalism in India (Guha's essay 'The Absent Liberal', in the Outlook Magazine provides the context for his this argument).

Guha ends up underwriting more problems than he does in resolving them – something I admire about him, and a position, which I believe, is rooted in his training as a sociologist. And it is in this respect that he has no qualms making a polemic for liberalism – which, he argues, must reclaim patriotism from the Hindu Right-wing chauvinists. Increased dialogue and a more dynamical political process, he suggests would help assert liberalism in India, where people aren’t reduced to being “useful idiots” (in Lenin’s terms), or apologists. In this regard, Guha is incredibly patriotic, rejecting any label of “global citizenship”. Liberalism’s strength, Guha asserts, is its incremental nature; the fact that it never remains tied to an ideology, like the radical Left and the Right, rejecting any claims of creating a utopia. It is precisely this criticality, I believe, that allows Guha to posit the democratic centre as a threat to liberalism.

In The End of History and the Last Man, Francis Fukuyama, working extensively with Hegel's dialectics, argues a very strong case for liberal democracies: with the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the Soviet Union, we have, he suggests, arrived at the end of history in the Hegelian sense. Of course, Fukuyama’s arguments, as we read them twenty years since he made them, do appear to be weak, if not entirely naïve. The crisis in the Balkans, ethnic cleansing and genocides in Africa, the United States’ invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan, its rising debt crisis, the resurgence of the radical Right, like the Tea Party Movement, or the National Rifle Association (NRA) in the United States, and a general increase in parochialism in other parts of the world, China’s rise as a dominant global power, to name a few. In this respect, I am undoubtedly more inclined to a Marcusian-Althusserian critique of the capitalist/neoliberal political economy than what Guha seems to suggest – which, in his terms, would be Left-leaning liberalism, but liberalism nevertheless.

Clearly, then, with the concerns Guha raises, Fukuyama’s arguments do not hold very well. Liberal democracies may well be the dominant political-economic paradigm, but with the threats from the democratic centre itself, from multinational corporations and unregulated capitalism, there’s a lot Fukuyama left  under-theorised (to no fault of his own, as he did revisit his arguments in Our Posthuman Future). Although Guha’s arguments for Indian liberalism are incredibly contextual, hinged on his idea of reclaiming patriotism, in my view rethinking liberalism requires a more discursive, global engagement. In defending my stance, however, I take recourse to another of Guha’s suggestions: that there’s a lot the world could learn from Indian liberalism as well. Indian liberalism, Guha argues, moves beyond the narrow rubric of economic organisation. India’s pluralism, its diversity, its cultural heritage – the fact that as the world’s largest democracy we’ve achieved so much, stands as testimony to the strength of Indian liberalism. Sure, there have been problems with democracy, many from outside, and some from within; but Guha’s faith in the rule-bound, impersonal public institutions is something I cautiously share. Žižek, whom I cited in a previous essay, also expresses similar views, mostly stemming from his distrust of civil society (which he calls fundamentalist, right-wing, and most of all, unaccountable).

Guha’s polemic suggests that Indian liberals be more vocal, unafraid; that incremental social change and political pluralism, should inform Indian liberalism – not narrow economic models of profit maximisation or paranoia-driven governance, and certainly more faith in its democratic institutions. In my opinion, however, for the Indian Left to make crucial contributions to this liberal programme, it needs to shed its apologist stance and fealty to classical Marxism. While there’s a lot that Indian liberalism could contribute to the world, the Indian Left, I feel, must eschew its superficial fealty to classical Marxism and whatever illusions it harbours of achieving a utopia. In an earlier essay, defending the relevance of Marxian sociological tradition, I have argued that the Left in India is intellectually bankrupt (perhaps with the exception of a few figures like Sitaram Yechury, or Prakash Karat, to an extent) – the very idea of a Marxist political party (no matter how great a multi-party system we are – a fact that the early Left hated) is a contradiction-in-terms and an anathema. For instance, increasing corporate hegemony in the political sphere, or multinationals influencing foreign policies (aspects Guha didn't discuss in his lecture), or the threat to environmentalism (an idea he engaged with, in his book, This Fissured Land, with Madhav Gadgil) are issues that the Leftist scholars (with their Gramscian influence and turn to subaltern studies) have engaged with. I have, therefore, no apologies in arguing for a more academic grounding, or praxis, for Leftism in India. Guha, with that charming smile of his, attests my argument as a point for liberalism.

I’m not sure how much of a convincing argument I’ve made in this essay. In many ways, I am indebted to Guha for presenting a case of liberalism in a way that I hadn’t thought of before. What I will, undoubtedly, take back from my brief encounter with Ramachandra Guha (apart from a signed copy of Patriots and Partisans. Yes, I am gloating), is the memory of a rich and engaging discussion, which I believe constitutes another vital intellectual strand in my formative years.

Postscript & notes: 

Guha's book, Patriots and Partisans, in fact dedicates a chapter in discussing the problems with the Indian political Left, and what it could have done to have made a more lasting contribution of the multiparty, democratic process in India - a fact I came across later, as I read through the book. However, in my arguing more a more academic praxis for the Left in India, I am slightly skeptical of the political Left's  partaking in the democratic process (partly, as they are still bound to various Communist ideologies). Perhaps, what we need is a robust intellectual tradition, informed by post-Marxian and Critical thought, primarily that of the Frankfurt School (apologies, for this is my bias and limited knowledge speaking), and that of the Subaltern Studies. For such a move could potentially converse with the kind of liberalism Guha argues for, and inform the nature of public discourse in the country; the first step among the many, if we are to partake in a Liberal Exercise.

For most of Ramachandra Guha’s statements, I have, to my best efforts, found citations wherever possible. Many of his statements in this essay, however, are quoted verbatim, as I noted them during his lectures at the Times Literary Carnival in Bandra, on 7^th December 2012, and at the Max Mueller Bhavan, Kala Ghoda, on 8^th December 2012.

Education is sinking India: Some reflections on the state of education in India

Bloomberg TV’s The Outsider, featuring veteran journalist Tim Sebastian (of BBC’s HARDTalk fame), has undoubtedly been one of the more intellectually rigorous TV shows on Indian television in the last year. The episodes covered a wide variety of issues—dynastic politics, women’s rights, education, corruption, and so forth. However, since it is nearly impossible to do justice to The Outsider’s oeuvre in one piece, I shall restrict the scope of this paper to one of their motions: ‘Education is Sinking India’.

Education has always been an area that has intrigued me, both personally as well as sociologically; and being a part of this ‘system’—and I still am—I believed that questioning it from time to time was imperative; not necessarily to formulate answers, but to figure out what’s wrong with it.

The debate on The Outsider brought out some interesting insights; but it was, I felt, also terribly blinkered. For one, Mohandas Pai, who spoke for the motion, kept throwing Chinese figures and statistics, and lamented India’s lost “potential”, blissfully side-stepping the cultural and social repression that the Chinese state forces on creativity and critical thought. The panellists speaking against the motion, on the other hand, just had optimism on their side—or as Pramath Raj Sinha put it, in very clichéd terms: looking at the glass half full.

Education, just like most of the topic covered in previous episodes of The Outsider, in an incredibly complex issue; it is a systemic problem—intersecting with politics, governance, public policy, and infrastructure (issues covered by the panellists). But, it is more than just that: it is also an equally social and cultural problematic, embedded in discourses of inequality, power and hegemony. My argument is that the formulation of the motion itself is erroneous; that, it is imperative we identify the deeper problems in education, and not merely address the symptoms. My focus, therefore, is on three specific areas: the structural problems of higher learning; hierarchy among the so-called “streams” and constructed aspirations; and, finally, the impediments posed by state and political ideologies.

I

Firstly, it is important to look at education in totality, i.e., inclusive of infrastructure, ideology, state policy and culture. For instance, in the debate, Mohandas Pai, in his rather verbose style, threw a lot of names and figures (quite a few of them Chinese statistics), and he did make a lot of sense—particularly his idea of “cramming schools”, like Kota, which train, coach, and brainwash kids in the name of IIT-JEE (Indian Institute of Technology-Joint Entrance Exams) preparations. While Pai’s analysis is incredibly insightful and pertinent, it also runs the risk of being symptomatic. We know that 500,000 students apply for 500 seats. But it is equally important to ask why. I think I may have a part of that answer.

It is important to underscore the fact that education is embedded in cultural and social discourses. As a culture, we tend to give more value to a means-end education, which is one of the reasons why engineering and medicine (and to an extent, commerce as a “stream”) are so popular among the India’s middle-class: it is presumed that these courses come with a built-in industry that can absorb students once they’re done with “education”. In my school batch, out of a hundred-and-thirty odd students, I was among the five who opted for the “arts”—and that too voluntarily. Thus, in the social and cultural discourse, there is a predisposition towards categorising education in these “streams”, each with a predetermined trajectory, and internalised by the student as he/she grows up. The fact that so many lakhs apply to engineering and vocational courses—and not a bachelor’s or master’s course—is indicative of an extremely warped mentality among the general Indian public. Add to this the abysmal condition and lack of institutions for higher education in the social sciences and humanities, and to an extent, the natural sciences—although we do have Indian Institute of Sciences—and, the answer grimly presents itself.

Before I discuss the structural problems in depth, I would like to complicate this argument a bit more. Look at the general attitude towards what can be called alternative educational models, like applied arts or sports. The wider cultural and social system is rigged to continually discourage the student who wishes to make a career in any of these two broad fields. I know people who are slugging away in third-class engineering colleges (if they ever attend college, that is) who did not—were not allowed to, more appropriately—pursue arts or sports despite having tremendous potential.  On a social level, excellence in arts and sports does enhance the cultural capital of the student; but most parents are not very keen that their children pursue these interests professionally—indicative of this nice, little beautiful idea we have of “cultured beings”, who, at the end of the day, would conform and have nine-to-five jobs. Yes, there is a larger systemic fault as well, but I am underscoring the importance of the cultural and social systems precisely because I maintain that subjective interest can be equally empowering for the child.

II

Another important reason why I think education has hit abysmal levels in India is because of two reasons: one, the utter neglect of the teaching profession; and two, the increasing dissonance between schools and institutions of higher learning. One such glaring contradiction is that the term ‘education’, or ‘reforms in education’ fail to address teachers’ education, and the problems of the same. There are tremendous pitfalls and pressures on school-level teaching in the country, particularly the state of Maharashtra. In the course of the academic year, teachers are tasked with bureaucratic functions—within and outside formal academics—like census enumeration, election duty, an ever-changing syllabi and ridiculous pay packets. The majority of teachers, then, hardly have any incentive to engage in meaningful teaching activity (see my arguments in an earlier post).

Higher education, too, apart from a few select institutions and universities, does not attract talent; one reason is the relatively weak theoretical and research-based outlook in academia itself (or, an overemphasis on either); an excessively competitive model; and of course, red-tape, like UGC guidelines on appointing faculty staff—which is why many wealthy families find it more convenient to send their children to less competitive universities abroad, than have then study in, say, a place like Delhi. In order to address this problem, there needs to be an intervention at the schooling level itself; there is a need for flexibility in colleges and universities, which fosters critical thinking; an active pursuit of the re-integration of research and teaching activities. However, it is not merely structural problems that hinder the realisation of this vision for Indian education.

III

The largest and the most glaring failure, finally, is that we have allowed education to be subject to erratic control by political ideology. We are still entangled in the literacy-versus-education debate, failing to see what can be called alternative modes of education; we are also terribly enmeshed in these discourses and constraints: partly because it can be a very powerful tool of state propaganda, as we saw in Nazi Germany and still see in China; and mostly, as one of cultural and social orientation (read: training us as consumers in the capitalistic political-economy). That said, the arbitrariness of political control over education—like chief ministers and vice-chancellors banning specific theorists and authors from syllabi; or newspapers from libraries; or, of political parties “detoxifying” syllabi; or, in political families appointing heads of public institutions—is indicative of paranoia which seeks to affirm political hegemony by stifling the criticality of education (see Avalok Langer's brilliant critique of education in 21st century India; also, see the Delhi University’s latest move to reduce its ‘Indian History and Culture’ course to a “utility toolkit”, which [is] propaganda masquerading as history).

As cynical as we might be, the space of educational institutions still remains one where resistance to political ideology can be articulated. While criticality and creativity are very important points that education has managed to foster in individuals, there is also a need to contextualise “critical” thought, and dismantle its elitist connotations. The criticality of education should extend both outside, and within in. For example, a farmer in Vidarbha may have crucial and critical insights into the workings of state machinery and irrigation policies—better than most bureaucrats. But we do not see him on a show like The Outsider. Education must, therefore, alongside fostering criticality, also participate in an exercise of inclusion.

IV

It goes without saying that there is a pressing need for education to diversify; that it traverses both theoretical and practical planes, and aids in what social sciences call knowledge production—this time, free of ridiculous regulation; because, even with ideological restraints, and “cramming schools”, education may still contribute to the GDP or GNP (as it does in China, we should inform Mr Pai). But I do not think that is a future most of us should envisage for India—a point I cannot seem to underscore enough. Paradoxically, we must work towards problematising education; dismantle the hegemony of elite institutions, and between the so-called “streams”; and address the cultural and social problems. Only then will we be able to make the necessary steps towards constructively helping education to first, aid itself, and then, the country.

Note: This post has been modified since it's first draft, last year, on the occasion of Teacher's Day. The core arguments, however, remain the same. And as I am currently working in a reading intervention in primary school, where most students are from lower SES families, I have realised the need for a sustained argument on education - as a discourse, a profession, and increasing attempts to make it into an industry.

I do think that the question of primary education is most crucial in a country like ours, where many simply do not have access to education, or even that space of learning. Many inequalities, like that of caste, class or social stratification can be addressed more meaningfully and effectively in the space of primary education.

Putting one over the other does not get us anywhere. The failures of higher education can be traced to the failures in basic, primary education; and, our institutions of higher education are also responsible for the multiple failures and shortcomings in the most basic institutions on learning.

Shanghai-ed

I had a lot of expectations from Shanghai. Mostly because, in its initial days of production, I thought it was a political thriller involving the Chinese secret service and a plot to nuke India. But apparently, Agent Vinod and Ek Tha Tiger are dealing with the spooks angle. Shanghai, on the other hand, is better than I expected it to be. And its subject matter is much closer to home than the ISI or the Chinese secret service. 

Many critics have called the movie a metaphor. For me, the movie was a metaphor and beyond. Set in an Indian periurban village/town, presumably in north or central India, Shanghai tells the story of an aspiration that the Indian state envisages for its cities; an aspiration which pits decades of faulty governance, lack of infrastructure and a volatile Indian public psyche against the clean, geometric facade of civilization, and corporate governance. 

I won't go much into the plot right now, mostly because I wish to keep this review spoiler free, and partly because I intend to go beyond that. 

In many ways, Shanghai is about contrasts; more so, contradictions. Bharatnagar - the ground zero of the genesis, so to say is where Dr. Ali Ahmadi (a kurta-jhola-beard sporting Leftist) protests against the capitalist state turning the area into a SEZ. His detractors want him out. Not because of the ideological differences; because in India, politics is not about ideology anymore. It's a numbers game, as we see the ruling coalition trying to keep its aspirations alive for this Shanghai - to the extent of murdering the doctor. 

The principal characters Krishnan (Abhay Deol in his finest performance so far), Shalini (Kalki, who is more confused than anything) and Joginder (Emran Hashmi, a fine actor) are caught up in their own agendas; trying to find something to anchor themselves in the turbulent political climes of Bharatnagar. Yet, I would not call any of them protagonists; they're characters, each organically placed in their roles, which makes the film's progression more eased and natural without being caught up to explain their agendas. However what really contributes to the organic nature of the film is the fact that the supporting cast does a brilliant job; from the wily mandarin Kaul, to the Chief Minister and her coalition partner - his cronies, the cops, the unwitting murderers, and the plethora of angry political hooligans....it's a myriad picture, both violent and vibrant, and certainly something from which you cannot turn away. 

Cinematically, for me, the winning factor was the cinematography by Nikos Andritsakis. And frankly, for someone who managed to execute a movie like Love, Sex aur Dhoka, I would've expected nothing short of brilliance from Banerjee. There was a constant nervousness in the camera movements, a sense of unpredictability as it captured both the loud morcha scenes, and the quiet, narrow, yet palpable curfewed streets of Bharatnagar. I spoke of contradictions earlier, and it's notable that the cinematography contributes to the visual telling of these contradictions; the government offices, with glass doors, polished conference tables, and the municipal schools, non-functional toilets.

The score, I felt was apt for a movie as intense as Shanghai, and it is what really contributed to the intensity of the film. The most striking feature, however, was Banerjee's use of silence to fill in the gaps - which I believe is the first of its kind I've ever come across in Hindi cinema. My only complaint was Vishal-Shekhar's music which, despite sounding great in the promos on TV, did not have room in the film, and thus, resulted in a slightly jarring effect; the songs consumed more time than what was required. 

Coming back to metaphors, I think Shanghai does more than just talk about the Indian state's aspiration to compete with the world by converting its cities into Shanghais. It is a commentary on the inherent contradictions within the Indian state; contradictions between the welfare role of the state and its capitalistic nature. It is about more than just corruption in the system and the abuse of state power; the corruption runs far deeper, and into the Indian psyches itself. It is a commentary on very nature of Indian politics. Elsewhere, I've mentioned that political parties today are no longer connected to an ideology - be it the right-wing BJP, or the so-called liberal Congress or the Left, or any of India's regional parties - the politics of India in the 21st century is that of anti-ideology; about synthesizing a form by positioning itself against an ideology; increased westernization, neo-liberal policy, and so forth.

What makes Shanghai the film it is, is the fact that Banerjee manages to capture these fine nuances on screen, in its profoundness and yes, you guessed it, contradictions. For some reason, I think of Shanghai as a "muted" (or, as friend of mine put it aptly: understated) film, mostly because of its noted and brilliant use of silence, as I said before, and also because you feel a sense of futility, of being inured to its portrayal of corruption and state sponsored violence. The Delhi HC was right it calling it a accurate description of the state of affairs in India; look the Jaitapur, or Raigad - districts earmarked to become the sites where India would usher in modernity and seal its place in the global economic order.

Shanghai is a warning bell for some alarmists, a time where the Indian state would sell the very people who elect governments to raze areas like Bharatnagar and make them into technological and information hubs, clean buildings, planned streets, and most of all, a populace which is the product of India’s neo-liberal values, who are at best passive consumers and at worse, a stupefied, silenced people. It is also something that would intrigue cynics, because it holds no bars in giving an honest account of the country—that we cannot do without corruption, that we cannot build a township, a sea-link, a sky-walk without our governments and bureaucrats having mud (and often, blood) on their hands. It talks about a genesis, of a violent kind, when our cities become the hallmarks of the modern global world order, in a crass Nehruvian manner of speaking.

This is the India of the 21^st century; an amalgamation of contradictions. God, I love this country. And, it seems, the makers of Shanghai do so too. Shanghai is a rare gem of a movie. Many won't like it, because it raises uncomfortable questions. Many like to see the glass as half full. But optimism doesn’t change the fact that the water in it is dirty. 

So long, and Bharat mata ki jai.

Peepli. Politics. Etcetera

I think Peepli [LIVE] is a brilliant movie. It is one of the best satire-political commentaries in recent times; times where our political class has become more and more thin-skinned of late. Often resorting to slander, corruption, political one-up-man-ship, pointless anti-ideology, and so forth, they can't react to criticism without putting someone in jail or staging a parliamentary walkout. Yet, there's more to Indian democracy than it meets the eye. Sure, I've been critical of it in recent posts ('critical' is my attempt at being politically correct. Ironic, no?) but deep down, in spite of all its flaws, I think we would be a whole lot better if we stopped a lot of pretence, and just embraced these flaws. 

The other day, for example, RR Patil was in my hometown. Why? Apparently, it seems, to inaugurate a couple of hospitals. And one of these happened to be very close to my place. So yes, I was expecting a lot of music, boring speeches, a gazillion microphone tests, and annoying firecrackers. But Mr.Patil's convoy just made a humble touch and go—much to the disappointment of the local authorities, who set off the firecrackers anyway.

However, there was a flip side to Mr Patil's visit—the roads were all done up neatly, the sidewalks cleaned, traffic was being managed efficiently—apart from his 40-car convoy (exaggeration, but you know). And I wondered: maybe the visiting-politician is a good thing. I recall the roads being done up nicely when the Thackeray cousins were here recently (not together, of course). Years ago, Sharad Pawar visited town in a helicopter. The roads done up decently then, as well. Now this brings me to the larger issue I intend to deal with in this essay—something I like to call the Peepli [LIVE] effect. Simply put, in India, the culture of politics is like a glorified culture industry of sorts, thriving on public popularity. And there are some reasons for it.

One of the reasons, of course, is that being in politics is the most effective ways of getting noticed. We’re a country obsessed with politics and politicians (this post is a case in point). In a small, humble town like mine, everybody who is anybody does anything to get invited to a rally, opening ceremony and the likes, especially if there’s a big name attached; bureaucrats, municipal chiefs, SHG representatives, housing society presidents, youth club leaders—in short, everyone wants a piece of the proverbial pie (apart from the apolitical observer, like yours truly).

Sure, the largely urban population remains somewhat distant from politicians (if not the political process as a whole). But fact is: we are all intrigued by politics and politicians alike (I wrote this post, and you-hopefully-are reading it. See what I mean?). Today, politics is about being noticed. It's about being at the right place at the right time (or the wrong time, as many netas, like Abhishek Manu Singhvi, have made fashionable). Saying the right thing (or, the wrong thing; fashionable once again) at the right opportunity. If RR Patil makes a controversial remark, it becomes a trending topic on Twitter (sadly, on the day in question, Patil made none).

As I looked at the women in flashy saris, and men dressed pedantically in neatly pressed shirt-trousers, I wondered, rather naively: What are they doing here? More importantly, why are they here? One answer, I suspect is this: as Tarun Tejpal says in The Story of my Assassins, the government will always be the maibaap (mother and father) of the people.

I suppose such is the nature of the postcolonial, post-liberalized Indian nation-state. The Nehruvian ideals of nation building are long gone; politics is not about serving the nation anymore (was it ever so?). It is, in very obtuse terms, a business of the image. With liberalization and the boom in the number of media houses, TV channels and newspapers—many of them run by politicians themselves—it is very easy to get noticed. And, I suspect it is this very allure of getting noticed which makes Indian politics as intriguing as it is. Either in opposition or in bed with it (this is a metaphor and has nothing to do with the Abhishek Manu Singhvi sex tape doing rounds on YouTube).

Teri Marx Ki: Didi sees Red at every Left Turn.

The politics of West Bengal (or is it officially Poschim Bangla now?) have always intrigued political commentators in particular, and the nation as a whole. The last decade however was rather boring, because the Left front resorted to cheap publicity stunts, like withdrawing support to the UPA, only to lose the State Elections later on. Now, it seems, the politics of WB (PB) have become interesting once again. Thanks to Mamata Banerjee—the defender of the Bengali people, the bane of the UPA, and conspiracy-terminator par excellence. She, it seems, is never short of controversies and is an incredibly perceptive, and woman of substance (in this case, a healthy diet of machcher jhol and rice; or is she vegetarian now? Then again, name me one Bong worth his/her salt, who is one? And Didi, as we know, is worth quite a bit if, erm, salt—well, enough to spoil the best laid recipes of the UPA, at least).

There is no challenge big enough that Mamata Didi cannot handle (and not make them into trending topics on Twitter). After a shocking revelation that the Left was to blame for the number of crib deaths which plagued state-run hospitals, and that rape victims were in fact a part of a conspiracy to malign her state (those immoral, loose s****!), Mamata Didi has left no stone unturned to take the blinkers off the eyes of the rest of the nation. This woman is one the country’s most tenacious, albeit amiable chief ministers, whose seemingly “paranoia” driven, and “knee-jerk” reactions only appear so, because they are portrayed by a media bribed by the Left & the UPA.

And this time, history itself is on her agenda of reformation. Her target, the person after whom a Facebook group, ‘Why the fuck is Karl Marx in every freaking subject?’ is named: the German philosopher, Karl Marx and his partner, Fredrick Engels (the connotations of the term go beyond the academic nature of their, erm, partnership. Hey, the group says so, not me).

Now history, we know, is always constructed in an authorial voice, or the perspective of the “winner”, as many have labelled it. Therefore, claims Derek O’brien, Trinamool MP (and the once host of the best quiz show on TV; see, Mamata has intellectuals in her company; how can she possibly be anti-intellectual?) the decision to remove references to Marx (which is, about two paragraphs spread across three chapters, and roughly worth 10 marks in the state board exams) was an attempt to “balance history”. And that is indeed an amiable move, considering they now wish to burden children with the tales of Mahatma and Mandela (and Steve Jobs, too, if rumours on Twitter are to be believed). However, considering the whole issue, why Marx should be at the receiving end of this ‘balancing act’, still perplexes most people, as clearly the Soviets lost the Cold War, and China has embraced capitalism (so, if anything, Marx—or more so: the losing side always had him on their side. Even the Left-front was defeated). Such unprecedented political victory, that too by a woman (who does not have a wardrobe full of pink salwar-kameezes and expensive kanjivarams) has led a class of sceptical commentators (who have made the hash-tag: #arrestmenow as a trending topic in India) to question both, Didi’s motives and methods, the former they allege is paranoia, and the latter, fascism.

These sceptics could not be any more further from the truth. And the truth is: Mamata is one of the last remaining practitioners of Marx’s teachings. Yes, you heard that right. Recall the Singur fiasco: she ousted TATA Motors, a capitalistic enterprise, benefitting from the arbitrary and exploitative policies of a neo-liberal economy, and gave away the land to poor farmers. Of course, the fact that 9,000 people were deprived of a guaranteed job is but a minor divot in the credibility of her intentions. But as I always say, it’s the thought—or in this case, the ideological engagement—that matters. And this was actually a critique of the Left’s corruption of core Marxian values. Shame on them!

Now that she got a professor arrested for circulating cartoons of her online, she’s in the public cross-hair. Again (sigh). What she actually meant to do was, to chastise the man (erm, well, by beating him up, and arresting him; nobody’s perfect, you know) for not drawing a real cartoon and using Photoshop instead. She was also miffed at the wrong reference he made to Satyajit Ray’s story. After all, she has great respect of Bengal’s artistic and intellectual tradition. Why, she’s contemplating playing Rabindra-sangeet at traffic junctions even! What did the Left do for the intellectual and artistic tradition of Bengal? Nothing! (Note: this category does not include Jyoti Basu). This leaves us with a question, a hypothetical one, of course: would her…passion for Marx be any different had he been born in Bengal, and not Germany? Like I said, one can only speculate on this matter.

And tomorrow, if she decides to ban left-lane driving, it’s only because the new rule may perhaps improve lane-driving in Calcutta altogether; a long-shot, but a valid hope nevertheless. Even her decision to paint Calcutta in Trinamool colours, is based on the scientific notion that these colours happen to have a pleasing effect on the eyes. Nothing ideological in there, now, right? 

[This is a work of satire. And I do hope the Trinamool doesn’t understand what the word means and decides to hire me in their propaganda wing. Please don’t arrest me; I merely used the hash-tag to conform to Twitter trends, that’s all! Any resemblance/reference to people living or dead was, of course, intended—for the sake of credibility. And yes, you may think it’s unnecessary to write this little ‘note’, but you’d be surprised at the number of idiots who take satire seriously]

"My name is Karl. And I am not a Marxist"

Mamata Banerjee is no stranger to controversy. Conspiracy, it seems though, is what really bothers her. Well, personally I have run out of jokes on her conspiracy theories regarding crib deaths, censuring newspapers, and labelling rapes as orchestrated by her detractors. And now she had to go and remove references of Karl Marx and Fredrick Engels from the state higher secondary syllabus. And more recently—which is actually a day old—she got a professor arrested for circulating a “malicious, and derogatory” cartoon of her on the internet.

It was rather hilarious, until the Marx bit. But now, I’ve hit saturation point. I mean, there is a limit to how many times you can tweet about one person on Twitter. And like I said, I was running of jokes.

From a probashi (diaspora) point-of-view, I’ve always imagined how life in WB would’ve been like. I mean, apart from my annual trips to my ancestral home, and the two-day stay at Calcutta, I have never really explored the culture there, and nor have I had a chance to understand the politics of the state—at least, in a way I understand it back home, considering the Saffron legacy in Bombay and Maharashtra. Now, however, I am not too sure. I think being a distant commentator (and thus, far away from Mamata’s jurisdiction) is what I would prefer. Heck, I’m even trying to contemplate under what section she could charge me (to the utter horror of my dad). The thing is, honestly, I know that the politics of the Trinamool are fed by paranoia and paranoia alone; their ideology, so to say, is an anti-ideology—violently negating every (seemingly oppositional) belief system, be it political, ethical, cultural or moral.

So, without taking on the Trinamool and Mamata directly (mostly, because I don’t wish to recycle Arnab Goswami’s profound critiques) I think I should give a little thought to the ‘real’ victims of the Didi’s vendetta: Marx and Engels.

My first tryst was Marx was in the 10^th standard, when I first wished to read Das Kapital, as much as I wanted to read Rousseau, or Jefferson—because back then, history had a way of inspiring the mind of a fifteen year-old, and the idea that I could bask in the ideas of these great men, ideas which inspired revolutions, was just fascinating.

Fast forward four years, when I’ve actually read quite a bit of Marx, well enough to see the naivety and sheer stupidity of Mamata’s move. And I don’t think Mamata’s solely responsible for this—the more widespread outlook on Marx, and Marxism, are often very crass and diluted versions of Marx’s original ideas. For example, almost everyone—every layperson at least—would equate Soviet Communism with Marx. While Marx’s vision of the Revolution did indeed encapsulate the establishment of a communist stage,[1] but he never envisaged a communist state—which is a contradiction in terms.[2] The later works of Marx are often his more scientific one; that is, his vision of the revolution isn’t merely a utopian one, but a scientific and logical one, which is rooted in the class inequalities and exploitation of the capitalist political-economy.[3]

The Communist Party of India’s (Marxist) attempts have also been an ideological corruption of several of Marx’s core arguments; the bourgeoisie social location of its top leaders, like Karat, Yechury and their well-rehearsed arguments against the neo-liberal economics, are examples of a few. However, the real issue here is not the CPI(M), but the problem of putting a Marxian ideology (once again, a contradiction in terms, insofar as Marx’s works are concerned)[4] in the multiparty political scene in India.

I’ve had the privilege of learning under teachers who’ve presented both the strengths and weaknesses of the bulk of Marx’s works, and under them, I’ve had the confidence to engage with (and critique) some of his ideas, which I wouldn’t have, had I not been interested in the philosopher as a naïve 15 year-old. And by removing the reference to Marx (for, they’re exactly that: references to Marx and Engels, in context of the Russian and Industrial Revolution, where they all but mention Marx for a mere paragraph or two) she’s sending out a very wrong, and erroneous message to the to-be intellectual van guard of tomorrow: the fact that someone else gets to choose and thus, to shape what we would learn; the ideology of the state, an ideology of paranoia. I agree with Derek O’brien when he says equal weightage has to be given to Mahatma and Mandela. But is Marx any more, or less, important? I don’t think so. For, as a friend of mine put it, in education, balancing is not synonymous with deletion.   

In one sociology class, we were debating the relevance of Marxian thought, one side of the argument stating that Marx’s works have lost their relevance now that the revolution he predicted never happened, and that even universities abroad don’t study Marx. Then again, on the other hand, modification of Marxian thought, like the new-Leftism of the Frankfurt School,[5] and very recent movements against neo-liberal economics, like ‘Occupy Wall Street’ have showed that the central arguments of Marx’s works will always be relevant, because of their deep engagement with the struggles of humanity. And as long as the debate rages, young people will find one way or another to read up on Marx, and by god, we need educational institutions which can guide students without corrupting the core ideas of an intellectual tradition. 

Marx’s sociology was, in many ways, incomplete. But which theory is otherwise? I think (arguably) his most central idea—that of economic determinism, has been proved wrong by both his critics as well as his successors.[6] But that only enhances his relevance, not diminishes it. In a country like ours, until we’re able to tackle the most basic, and human issues, the German philosopher would continue to influence as well as intimidate, many like me and my peers. But I cannot see a reason why Didi should be so bothered. I mean, by the extension of her logic, the next step would be to ban left-lane driving in West Bengal. Then again, to those of you familiar with WB traffic, there is hardly any lane driving, in the first place.

Endnotes

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[1] Marx essentially sees history as dialectic, that is, it moves through stages with different competing interests between social groups; the stages he refers to are: primitive communism, where everyone owned everything; slave mode of production where the slaves had no rights; the feudal mode, where the serfs were tied to their lands; capitalistic mode, where the capitalist owned resources, including the labour of the workers; and, the stage of communism, where the capitalistic economy was dismantled, or overthrown.

[2] For the revolution to be successful, Marx predicted, it was necessary that the state, which is an apparatus to favour the capital-owning class, to “wither away”.

[3] In a capitalistic political-economy, it was in the state’s benefit to favour the capital-owning class as it ensured greater profits for the state. The population, for Marx, was effectively divided into the bourgeoisie and the proletariat (haves and have-nots, respectively) and the latter were exploited by the former. Class struggle was thus, the basic premise of the revolution, for Marx.

[4] For Marx, ideologies or the “superstructure” (e.g. religion, political systems etc.) stemmed from the “base”, viz. the material or the economic sphere, i.e. the relationship of man to the means of production.

[5] By the mid-twentieth century, proponents of Marxian thought were disillusioned with the Soviet state’s practice of ‘corrupted’ Communism, and the blatant capitalistic economies of the West. Thus, a new wave in Marxian thought emerged, of which one of the most well-known is the Frankfurt Institute (1930s to 1960s).

[6] The Frankfurt School, for example, used the ideas of another sociologist, Max Weber, and argued against the economic reductionism of traditional Marxian thought, saying that ideologies and ideas were equally important as, and not entirely dependent on, the economic sphere of life.

End-of-the-year-ramblings and a tribute to democracy

They say the year 2011 was the year of protests and revolutions; Time Magazine namedthe anonymous, face half-covered protester the Person of the Year. The Arab world witnessed what many have called the Arab Spring and the Jasmine Revolution. Wall Street was occupied by anti-capitalist protesters—the “99 percent”, as they call themselves. Back home, many claim that we witnessed the “second freedom struggle”, this one against corruption—of what kind, though, remains ambiguously unanswered. It seems that people were happy rallying around a messiah figurehead, and chanting anti-government slogans. “Politicians are thieves!” said millions of voices. This year has been one where our concepts of democracy, governance and freedom have been tested, challenged, changed and, rather paradoxically, taken for granted even.

A great year for democracy, a great year for revolutions—only, like always, there’s a catch.

About a year or so back, I scribbled these lines in a notebook, unaware of its significance in the context of last year’s protests. It goes like this: 
‘neither am I a son of a politician, nor an influential anywho...I am a voice in the crowd...one silent for too long...decided to speak up now. The kind of voice you should be afraid of. Very, very afraid.’

When I saw images of hundreds of thousands assembling in Tahrir Square in Cairo, in Tripoli, in Sanaa, in Damascus, I realised the profoundness of these otherwise meaningless lines. Democracy, it seemed then, was being salvaged from a deep, dark slumber it had fallen into in these regimes of tyranny and decadency. Today, while I still hold that romanticised perspective, I confess, I am a tad cynical. At least when I see democracy being taken for granted in my country.

Take the Parliament proceedings, for example. The Opposition and members of the so-called civil society called it a “midnight murder of democracy”. I beg to differ. I would refer to the same incident as democracy struggling to fight efforts that stifle it. Make no mistake, I am not a firm believer in democracy; it is, in Rousseau’s words, a system meant for gods. Thus, a democracy for a flawed species like ours can be only that: flawed. And it is also one which my countrymen have taken for granted. And this is the premise of this essay.

The year 2011 may well be the year of protestors, and it may be rightly so, too. But we can hardly feature in the same. India is notorious for processes which subvert the democratic principles on many, many levels; the bureaucracy has come to exist like a sui generis system, existing as a culture industry of sorts, subsuming talent, dissent and everything it can; which is, to all intents and purposes, running the country. People who speak up for rights are labelled as seditionists, anti-nationalists and what not; indigenous movements are labelled as being Luddite and anti-development; vast hinterland tracts of the country living without electricity, water supply and organised governance. 

This is the murder of democracy, or the rape of it. Having my rights trampled by the vociferous advocacy of someone else’s peeves - that is the molestation of democracy. All these are far from homicidal intents. And we should know one thing: the democratic setup (in the neo-liberal sense) is what allows the powered classes to retain control of power. So, for the better or worse, democracy in India is a self-serving, and a self-defeating mechanism simultaneously. It is alive, but crippled. Not murdered, mind you. Not yet, at least.

Which brings me to the next part of my argument: the future of democracy. Anna Hazare’s fast has been declared a revolution, freedom struggle and what not. Truth is: the only true oppression that we have ever seen, collectively, was pre-1947. There have been regional tensions in the past, four major wars, countless attacks, and tens of thousands of lives lost in all kinds of extremist violence. Yet, I think I’ll be brash—or foolish—enough to say that we will never see the same fate as Egypt, or Libya, or Syria. One, because the self-serving and self-defeating system would not allow for the state to become tyrannical; and two, because revolution has died in the minds of the Indian people.

Sure thousands gathered at Ramlila Maidan and protested, sang songs of unity and nationalism. But when push comes to shove—which we, in all probability, would not feel—the sarkar is the maibaap for the people. No matter which party is in power, the government will always be the patriarch of the Indian people. We won’t take to anarchy or revolution because (apart from the need for it not arising, in the first place) we are all too preoccupied with our nine-to-five jobs, our bubbled existences, the IPL, whilst partaking in profound criticisms of the government, holding candle-light vigils, staying indoors on election day, to name a few. And the other India—the one which, by government standards, earns less than 32 rupees a day—is too busy trying to make ends meet.

Self-serving and self-defeating at the same time.

A revolution is too time consuming, too unpredictable. We go to election with fixed, dichotomous results in mind: either the UPA or the NDA. Or, a caste or linguistic affinity. Religion, maybe.  And frankly, can there be another option? Unless Team Anna contests the Lok Sabha polls in 2014.

We won’t change the nation because that would mean changing our habits; inviting uncertainty, chaos and a possibility of missing the IPL and our daily dose of Bigg Boss.

This essay, or rambling—whatever you choose to call it—will not change the nation, nor aid the same in any way whatsoever. Because that is not my prerogative; as Oscar Wilde puts it, an artist’s job is to portray the world as he sees it, not to reform it as we know it. I cannot imagine a “changed” India. And I don’t think the 1.2 billion Indians can do so either—not without problems, at least. They may go to Ramlila or Azad maidan and protest for a romanticised vision. And I, on my arm-chair—or desk more so—will continue to be cynical about it. We are a paradoxical nation filled with hypocrites and starved souls. And by god, that’s a very morbid reason for why I love India.


Here’s to democracy, to revolution and to a freedom taken forever for granted. Happy new year and have a fantastic 2012!

Some thoughts on multiculturalism

As a nation, largely and collectively, we take personal pride in calling ourselves a multicultural or a pluralist society. Of course, why shouldn’t we—many rightly point out. We are a very large nation, with the states having their unique, distinct, yet collective heritage. The official state-sponsored secularism makes matters like religious orientation a question of choice and is thus, protected by law against discrimination. True, xenophobia is a reality in today’s society, but often so when it confronts states as politico-economic entities, rather than cultural ones; even the right-wing organisations are not strictly anti-other cultures per se—at least not now; the BJP would require Muslims and Christians be more Hindu, or Raj Thackeray would want migrants to be fluent in Marathi culture (as if that’d stop him and his north Indian bashing agenda). However, apart from such instances of ethnocentric discourses, our notion of multiculturalism, even within such complex structures and realities, is rather dogmatic and one-dimensional.

True, we may profess our multi-ethnic, pluralistic nature by saying that festivals or religious celebrations are more widely celebrated, and all; we may enjoy the cuisine of another state, or perhaps even dress traditionally for any such occasion. But, these attributes are external, as opposed to an internalised one, like say, language. People often remark that Marathi speaking skills are rather efficient, for a Bengali, that is. And I get even stranger looks when I say that I enjoy Tamil music.

“How can you?” they ask, wide-eyed.

“Because I like it, and I enjoy the music,” is my usually awkward reply.

“But you don’t understand the language...”

“Do I need to?”

Well, need I elaborate anymore?

We are programmed—as citizens, or Indians, or plainly as individuals in a multicultural society—to think that each culture, so to say, is endemic. In the real world, this would translate as one of those shows on SAB TV, where you have practically every linguistic state group residing in a cooperative housing society. And quite often, we are fooled to believe that such realities actually exist. If we are indeed so multicultural, why then, for example, are people from the north-eastern states conspicuously absent in Tarak Mehta’s cooperative society? More so, not only are we led to believe that each culture is endemic, but also that in being endemic, they are something external to us. We may enjoy Gujrati theplas being a Maharashtrian, or appams if we’re Bengali. We might even dress, in rare occasions, in the “garb” of another state. But internalised knowledge, say language, or music, is something unknown to our schema of understanding.

Maybe that’s why a certain professor of mine expressed her surprise when she met a student, who happens to be Catholic, and would sing Hindi songs—not the larger ‘Bollywood’, mind you—with ease, as opposed to, perhaps Christmas carols or Billy Joel.

In a broader international context, we may take insult when we are lumped as south Asians; because “we’re Indian, and we are a multicultural society.” But even within the multicultural framework of our own society, we respond only and largely to the state-sponsored idea of pluralism. More pressing issues, such as tribal identities were left unresolved during the period of state formation. And now that we are a properly functioning politico-economic union, with demarcated cultural hubs, and indeed the idea of what exactly may constitute culture, such questions would remain unanswered or unresolved.

A celebration of multiculturalism, thus, seems to require the marginalisation or negation even, of certain cultures. And I shall not expect a relaxation of those curious looks when I profess my likeness for Tamil music.  So much for unity in diversity, I suppose.

Freedom For Granted

There's a lot being said and done in India these days by a man called Anna Hazare. Millions of Indians are following him. They've found their messiah, it seems; one who will root out this evil called 'corruption' and restore India to her former glory. The entire nation is in a frenzy; a euphoria. "Enough," say a million voices. "End corruption now!" Pity, if only it were so easy.  

I have, or at one point had, tremendous respect for Anna Hazare; they way he transformed his native village Ralegan Siddhi into a near-perfect utopia, his honesty and sense of honour and most importantly, his belief in the Gandhian way of non-violence. Today, as he and his compatriots (and not to mention, thousands of sycophants) hog every news channel and news paper, I feel deceived. Not that my respect for Anna Hazare has diminished; it's actually a matter of principle: I have a thing against people who've got the Messiah Complex. And as is evident, Anna Hazare has a tremendous one. 

I realize now, as I am writing, I have not said a single word about the Jan Lokpal Bill--the reason why Annaji is a national phenomenon. Clearly, the man has overshadowed the cause. And that is what bothers me. 

Also, I do not consider Anna a second Gandhi. Just the same way I cannot call some racist neo-fanatic Hitler. To do so would be to show utter disregard to history. And I do not, and will never, don the insignia stating: 'I am Anna Hazare'. I am far too big a narcissist to assume someone else's identity. Besides, I already mentioned my dislike for people with the Messiah Complex earlier, no?

To get to the point, I do not endorse the Jan Lokpal Bill which has been drafted by the members of the so-called Civil Society (what are other Indians then, uncivil? or savage?). Neither am I in full support of the government's version. Both have some serious glitches. Though the latter, if drafted with direction and political will (note the 'if') would be more workable than the so-called Civil Society's. Most importantly because it would have the sanction of the Constitution and the Parliament behind it (the very powers that citizens vested in it). Sadly though, it is not to be this way. And mobs wearing Gandhi caps on Azad Maidan and elsewhere are also indicative of something gone terribly wrong. 

I will not criticise the Jan Lokpal Bill here; it is flawed, yes. And you know very well what the flaws are (unless of course, you're one of those Gandhi cap wearing anti-graft crusader ramblers sorts). What really bothers me, is that these mobs, and the pseudo-intellectual support that they're getting have dubbed this as protest as a 'revolution', even to the extent of calling it a 'second freedom struggle'. This, I feel, is misplaced idealism and the most explicit instance of optimistic stupidity gone awry. 

There are very few of us who have seen the Freedom Struggle for what it truly was; and Hazare is one of them. They rest of us just know stuff from textbooks and movies; including me. True, civil disobedience, non-cooperation, and Swadeshi formed the cornerstone and indeed the beacon-light for guiding the Freedom Struggle. But this was undertaken with a vision; the vision of a free and independent India. And today we are free and sovereign, albeit victims to a host of vices. And on this plane, a protest is justified. But who are we protesting against?

The people who you and I have elected to represent us? People who are defiling the most sacred and purest tenets upon which our nation is based? People who misuse and abuse their powers for their own selfish gains?

Or, people who resort to unjust means because they chose to serve us? The ones who abuse their power to bridge severe chasms of inequality? 

Truth is, corruption is not something which plagues only the superpowerful elite. It has penetrated every level of our social infrastructure because all who hold responsibilty have ignored the rights of all others who are entitled to rights. We have failed to address the basic causes of this 'evil' of corruption. Injustice and apathy. Corruption is not an evil; it was born of our own incompetence to hold up our morals. To obey the most basic and essential rules. And to cover up for this, we devised a way to work around the system. 

Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And this is not because corruption is inherent in power relations. This is because corruption is the fall child of power gone berserk.

By not stopping at a traffic light, by spitting on the road, by not paying taxes on time...by all these little mistakes, we have created a monster that now plagues all higher forms of power. And now that it hurts us most, we ask for power over these very institutions which we, so to say, corrupted. 

I agree, the reason I am giving is simple and straightforward; and that it may vehemently countered. But only if we were so vocal when corruption was at a nascent stage, if only some Messiah like Anna (or he himself) would have seen this and protested then...who knows?

We do not know what struggle really is; what it is like to have a foreign authority dominate us; to be reduced to a mere colony, existing to serve and only serve.

We also do not know what oppression really is. Yes, emminent persons like Dr Binayak Sen, and hundreds of nameless others, have been incarcerated because they opposed the injustice metted out to fellow countrymen; so also Hazare's brief jail stint. Persons like Irom Sharmila who have furthered the cause of fighting injustice have been persecuted brutally. And that is a huge and disgusting blot on the democratic fabric of this nation.

But this is a country which also is allowing people to gather in masse and protest against the government. It hasn't bruatally cracked down upon its own citizenry and bloodied its streets with innocent blood. A nation that is striving to reform a deplorable state of affairs in the face of adversity. A nation where every change in government has been peaceful (but in some places, was marred with violence. Yet democracy prevailed).

A nation where its own citizens have taken their freedom for granted.

I am, and have always been, a skeptic of democracy...and in all likelihood, would remain one. For a democracy is only as good as its people. And truth be told, we aren't exactly a good people. Yet, this democratic setup is the best hope we have at proper self governance (a term I am skeptical of, again). 

Then again, any system which tells me what I am to be and what I am to do is, in my eyes, a truly opressive one. And I'd much prefer a democracy to that, thank you very much. Or maybe, anarchy; like V would say.

If I were to choose between a messiah-led ochlocracy or being in league with an outlaw vigilante, I would choose the latter. Because a mob is made up of idiots; especially one which is led by a guy with a Messiah Complex, guided by a noble cause. 

And noble causes, we know, pave they pathway to hell. 

So long, and Freedom Forever!