No flag or national anthem

IN the minutes and then seconds leading up to 6.04 pm on August 23, the heart beat quicker, racked by anxiety and fear of failure… Failure not of self, which we all endure in a limited scale or in private, but that of the nation, which is ignominious and unendurable because it’s of a global scale.

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But then, the spirit surged, there was euphoria — India had made it to the moon.

The soft touch of the Vikram lander on the moon, turned into a dramatic spectacle on live TV, was beamed live to millions across the world — a brave decision by ISRO’s scientists, for failure would have earned them commensurate ridicule. Their success felt like our own personal success — India’s becoming only the fourth nation to put a craft on the moon made Indian people’s heart swell with nationalistic pride. But making a strong case for internationalism, PM Modi termed it a “success of all of humanity”, not of India alone. This is a wonderful sentiment that signifies inclusiveness and must be vigorously promoted within the country as well.

The fact is that the human race belongs to one species, homo sapiens, that came out of Africa and evolved into very distinct ‘races’ across the world. But the spirit of separatism, of nationalism, is distilled and poured into our minds through subtle and crude acts of indoctrination.

Paradoxically, among people who give up their home country to migrate, this indoctrination — or the sense of belonging to a particular ‘home’ country — is quite strong, and frequently manifests itself in sports contests.

Several years ago, during the 2015 World Cup in Australia, this writer came across several kids of Indian heritage who wished to be flag-bearers to accompany the Indian team before its matches. Akshay Prasan, then 11, was born in Australia to a mother who herself was a child of Indian immigrants in England; Akshay, as Aussie as any other boy in his school, had learnt the Indian national anthem so that he would know the words when it was played.

I also met a Rohan Naidu, 14, whose father was born in Australia. He too wished to be among the six kids to carry the Indian flag before the match; he was visibly disappointed that he was made part of the bunch carrying the Bangladeshi flag, instead. He was a third generation Aussie — his doctor grandparents had migrated to Australia in the 1960s — yet the pull of the flag was strong. This love for the land of their forefathers could be a symptom of alienation with a very different culture; it could also signify that in liberal multicultural societies, people are quite comfortable with multiple identities. Their difference from the others is, crucially, emphasised by their skin colour and facial features, marking them as the ‘other’ in the eyes of the largely European-descent population, leading to a sense of alienation.

Flags seem to have originated to designate distinct armies or territories. The fall of one’s flag is a sign of defeat, the rising of the flag signifies triumph.

This symbolism is integral to sport. When the Indian flag went up in Beijing in 2008, and the Indian national anthem was played, after Abhinav Bindra won gold — India’s first Olympics gold in 28 years! — one felt pride and joy. The feeling is replicated whenever Indian athletes win gold in international events and the stadium falls silent and people stand up to pay respect to the athletes and the country.

If one is to consider oneself an internationalist, one would be happy if a great athlete triumphs even at the cost of an Indian athlete — as when Lovlina Borgohain was beaten by the excellent Busenaz Surmeneli in the boxing competition of the Tokyo Olympics in 2021.

Most athletes, however, are extreme nationalists for whom the flag and the national anthem are almost sacred. The fact, thus, that Indian wrestlers won’t be able to compete under the Indian flag at the World Championships — and that the Tricolour won’t be raised if an Indian wrestler wins gold — would be mortifying to them. But this is how it would be as the Wrestling Federation of India (WFI) has been suspended by wrestling’s global body, UWW, for not holding its elections in time. WFI, headed by a BJP politician — Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh — has been mired in controversy following charges of sexual harassment against him. He can’t hold on to power, but is jockeying to keep control. Elections have been delayed due to political and factional conflicts and litigation.

Singh, no doubt, would call himself a great nationalist who loves the flag even more than the wrestlers — perhaps an apt leader in these times of weaponised nationalsim.