| |
EDITORIALS
The Indian Iron Curtain
The official discomfort with information mocks democracy
 The
prime minister was right: "We are not looking for propaganda advantage
or seeking to score debating points." He had to say that in the wake
of the media blitzkrieg by the "hurt" and "disappointed"
General Pervez Musharraf. The General may not have gained a declaration
or won a dispute in Agra. But he gained column inches of Kashmir-and prime-time
propaganda. All along, there was a very Indian Iron Curtain between Agra
and the rest of the country, in spite of Foreign Minister Jaswant Singh's
spokesmanship. Post-Agra, as India continued to suffer from an acute case
of Musharraf fatigue, there was no Vajpayee intervention as relief. India
wanted to hear the Agra story from the prime minister himself, and the
Great Communicator had an obligation to communicate with the people. But
there was only silence. True, his statement in Parliament was brief, businesslike
and marked by restraint-there was no effort to match the shrillness of
the General. And rightly so. Still, a statement is not the same as talking
to the nation. Was he then deliberately underplaying Agra?
Even if "quiet diplomacy" is the answer
for the moment, it cannot be the full answer. And the question of transparency
in the affairs of the nation has relevance beyond Agra. An element of
secrecy may be all right-or inevitable-in a summit. But the nation's right
to know should not be denied by the Government, whose duty it is to keep
the nation informed. For a country that takes pride in its democratic
maturity, this institutionalised discomfort with information is a glaring
incongruity. Information-or the manipulation of it-may be an effective
instrument of subjugation for paranoid dictatorships. Not for a country
like India. Liberalisation of information is the obligation of any democracy
that has nothing to hide. Looks like the official Indian mindset refuses
to change.
Crime And Justice
The instant judgement of Phoolan's party smacks of political
irresponsibility
 She
was fairytale plus crime thriller. From dispossessed childhood to gun-toting
heroism to democratic legitimacy, the evolution of Phoolan Devi was a
story of power, passion and no peace. Her death was as dramatic as everything
else in her life. Daylight murder and she died not as an over-romanticised
oriental queen, but as a member of Parliament. Purveyors of oriental thrills
will go on "romancing the bandit" for a while. But the top guns
of the party she belonged to are not romancing, they are busy authoring
conspiracy theories and political motives. A Samajwadi Party leader wants
Home Minister L.K. Advani to resign for failing to protect her. Equally
responsible, says the same leader, is Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Rajnath
Singh, who had denied Phoolan Z-plus security cover. This instant judgement
is political irresponsibility.
And the judgement brings out a larger truth,
though an unpleasant one. It is about the state and the overprotected
politician. In this case the murdered was not an ordinary politician,
for no romance or fussy feminism can wish away the criminal legacy of
Phoolan. Though the Mulayam Singh regime in Uttar Pradesh had given her
amnesty, Phoolan at the time of her death was facing four cases, including
the notorious Behmai massacre in which she had gunned down 20 villagers,
mostly Thakurs. Phoolan Devi, MP, signified both the triumph and tragedy
of Indian democracy. Yet, can electoral power legitimise criminalised
politics, and is it the state's moral responsibility to provide lifetime
security to every politician with a criminal record? Certainly not. But
it is the state's responsibility to find her killers. As a bandit, Phoolan
had her own code of punishment. The state doesn't have to emulate her
to bring posthumous justice to her.
|
|
METRO TODAY
Web
Exclusives
