Can a terrorist sway a nation? …

Harish Khare

TODAY, the Frenchmen will be queuing up to vote for a new President. But just three days before the voting was to commence, shots were fired, and a policeman and an Islamist terrorist killed on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, right in the heart of Paris. There is a shadow of terror and death over France and this shadow threatens to overwhelm the vote. 

This time, the French voters will be electing more than a president; they are being called upon to make a choice as to what kind of France they want — or, equally importantly, do not want. 

The Frenchmen have for centuries prided themselves on their civilisational centredness. They have felt themselves to be unique. Others have conceded, however reluctantly, this claim.

The French nationalism has always presented itself as a self-contained nobility, directed against neither any other nation nor race. The Frenchmen take legitimate pride in their flag, food, fashion, wines, cheese, art galleries, and other countless fads; yet, all this is marked by a kind of self-assurance that is not mean-spirited. Now, terror threatens to undo this national rectitude. France has witnessed a number of terror attacks in the last two years. But so far, the French society has remained calm and undeterred. The people have not yet been tempted to turn their back on what is called the European project — collective salvation and collective sharing of prosperity and security. Each terror attack tends to strengthen the hands of those who are in favour of closing of the borders and relying on ‘national’ security resources. 

Today, the people the world over will watch whether the French voters would allow a terrorist or a bunch of terrorists to goad France away from this civilisational self-assurance — or they, too, would give in to xenophobia and vote for a right-winger like Marine Le Pen. If the vote turns out to be in favour of Ms Le Pen, then it would be a most astounding intervention in the French affairs.

Marine Le Pen seeks to tap extreme nationalism, of the kind that brought Donald Trump to the White House. The Islamist organisations would have reason to feel enormously satisfied if they manage to influence the French to vote against their better instincts. 

We in our own country are no stranger to the phenomenon. A handful of persistent terrorists and their malevolent handlers have intervened decisively in our internal politics — and, have opened up space and demand for ‘strong’ leaders who would deal ‘decisively’ with the terror-monger; the strong leaders, in turn, feel trapped by that temper and find themselves abandoning the tested virtues of moderation and mediation. 

Pakistan-based terrorists appear to have succeeded in making us jettison our own superior republican prudence and become very much like Pakistan. 

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IT is the bane of our times that everyone wants to play to the gallery. The Prime Minister has joined the crowd and has made his pronouncement about an end of the VVIP culture, as symbolised by the lal batti. In Punjab, the new Congress government is making a fetish of ‘lal batti gul.’ As if the so-called VVIP culture ends with the removal of lal batti or that the VVIP culture itself was at the root of the much larger crisis of governance. 

A letter to the Editor, from an excise and taxation inspector, in The Tribune (April 22) reminds us that there is much more to ‘government’ than a mere beacon. By the very definition, the ‘government’ represents the collective authority in a state or a country, and everyone exercises that authority in the name of the President. And, at times, it is absolutely imperative that this ‘authority’ be symbolised by an outward sign. The outward sign invokes awe in the citizen and fear in the culprit. 

A policeman is not a policeman without his uniform — nor, without his danda. And it is the danda that invokes fear among the criminals and confidence among the citizens. And that uniform gives the policeman the assurance that anyone messing with him would be deemed as challenging the iqbaal of the Indian state. 

All societies devise symbolism to separate the rulers from the ruled. A lal batti is only an outward symbol. 

While the lal batti does make an official, public or political, stand apart, it does not bestow upon him any unlicensed power. All authority needs to be exercised within the framework of rules and regulation. And this is what our civil society should be insisting upon rather than celebrating too much the removal of a beacon light.

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A few weeks ago, I was presented GS Cheema’s The Ascent of John Company — From Traders to Rulers (1756-1787). It turned out to be an absorbing read because it is a tale superbly told. 

In the very first few pages, Cheema sets the theme of his tale: the British were a bunch of outright looteras: “fraud and peculation is commonplace, while forgery, deceit, and brute force, are freely resorted to in the pursuit of wealth. Every European is there to make a fortune as fast as possible, and when an obstacle presents itself, it is ruthlessly crushed, often in connivance with the courts of justice.”

The picture of the English character we get from Cheema is very, very unflattering. The Englishmen are shown as always in the hunt for “great windfall opportunities.” The Englishmen, for example, could have taken over the subhadaree of Bengal (including Bihar and Orissa) but preferred not to “because they preferred to extort presents from the prince they had sponsored, presents which could be explained away as the customary presents given by a prince to his supporters and well-wishers. If they had taken over the suba themselves, the Company would have insisted upon the right to audit the revenues of Bengal, and any such presents would have required the approval of the Court of Directors.” What ruthless greed from the presumed advance guards of enlightened civilisation. 

Later, Cheema cites Edmund Burke’s indictment at Warren Hastings’ impeachment trial as how Hastings had finessed the art of extorting money from hapless nawabs and the begums. Hastings would get an allowance of two hundred pounds a day on a visit from a host. Burke would thunder: “I believe that there is not a prince in Europe who goes to such expensive hospitality of splendour.” 

Cheema also gives a glimpse of the nature of the justice system the English had put in place: “The Zamindari or Faujdari Cutcherry dealt with criminal matters. The procedure was again summary, the punishment could be fine, imprisonment, hard labour in chains upon the roads for any length of time, even for life, and by flagellation, in capital cases, even to death. The nawabs would not permit the execution of a Muslim by hanging, that being regarded as too ignominious, but they had no objection to the offender being flogged to death. The whip, which is called the chabuk, was wielded by the executioners with such dexterity that a man could be killed with two or three strokes!”

The Englishmen were the new nabobs. And, they lived it up. They could do it because they were, as Cheema puts it, “shaking the Pagoda Tree,” thinking of new ways of minting money, mostly illegally.

Anyone reading this book would be left wondering at what time did the presumably superior Victorian virtues start asserting themselves? The picture of the English character we get is certainly at odds with that depicted in Philip Mason’s classic, The Men who Ruled India.

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AND lastly, perhaps the most amazing news of the week has to be the revelation that Serena Williams was eight-week pregnant when she recently won the Australian Open. This should put to rest more than one myth about female fragility.

That calls for coffee, black and strong. Join me.

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