Devotion is a desperately competitive business

Harold Wilson, Britain’s prime minister in the 1960s, would not utter a single word for the record when Fredda Brilliant’s statue of Gandhi was unveiled in London’s Tavistock Square. Since NRIs were not politically significant then, it was assumed he reckoned anything he said would be wasted breath

Gandhi is up for grabs. Amit Shah and Narendra Modi are not the only people who need a universally respected icon of inclusiveness. Controversial plans for a nine-foot bronze statue of the Mahatma outside Manchester Cathedral speak of other needs, as do the fierce objections of the so-called Decolonise Network at the University of Manchester, which accuses Gandhi of “anti-black racism and complicity in the British Empire’s actions in Africa”.

None of this has much bearing on who Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi really was, what he tried to achieve, and how far he succeeded in his self-appointed mission. It has everything to do with the perceptions and requirements of those who love or hate the myth into which he has been transformed. The proposed statue doesn’t celebrate the British conception of Gandhi either, although it might exploit it to promote the sponsor, the Shrimad Rajchandra Mission Dharampur. Since the mission’s website makes it sound devotional to the point of idolatry, it might seek a Western niche for its folk Hinduism. A less innocent explanation for its initiative is that “Gandhi is used as a propaganda tool to cover up human rights abuses by the current Indian government under Modi, which is engaging in an effort to erect Gandhi statues globally to create an image of India as an anti-imperialist state.” Objecting, the Indian Society of Manchester falls back on the conventional view of Gandhi as “a symbol of peace, non-violence, anti-colonialism, resistance and resilience”.

This is not the first time that man-worship and the addiction to graven images have dragged Gandhi into controversy. His first statue, planned appropriately enough for London’s poorer East End where he stayed in 1931, never happened. Thirty-seven years later, Harold Wilson, then Britain’s prime minister, flatly refused pleas to utter a single word for the record when Fredda Brilliant’s statue of a cross-legged Mahatma was unveiled in London’s Tavistock Square (picture). Since non-resident Indians were not a factor in British politics then, it was assumed Wilson reckoned that anything he said would be wasted breath. He wasn’t forced to ingratiate himself with ethnic South Asian voters. Unlike Theresa May, Samantha Cameron, Sarah Brown or Cherie Blair, Mary Wilson saw no need to flaunt sari or salwar-kameez.

As David Cameron’s chancellor of the exchequer, George Osborne, whom the wheel of political fortune has reduced to editing the Russian-owned freebie, Evening Standard, described Philip Jackson’s bronze Gandhi outside the Houses of Parliament in London as “a lasting and fitting tribute to his memory in Britain”. But a chance conversation exposed the falsity of the claim. Some weeks after the installation, a prominent English life peer with an interest in Indian affairs and highly-placed friends in New Delhi asked me at a dinner party in St John’s Wood in London what I thought of “the Gandhi statue”. When I began to say it seemed too tall for the plinth, he cut in with “But Gandhi is sitting cross-legged!” He meant the old Tavistock Square figure. Neither he nor anyone else round that table had heard of Jackson’s bronze which Osborne had called “a permanent monument to our friendship with India”.

Gandhi’s comments on that supposed friendship sounded too enigmatic, woolly and contradictory to permit conclusive interpretation. Asked whether he believed in England’s good faith, he replied he had faith in England because he had faith in the human race. Although “bitten” many times, he “trusted” England and “expected” the English to “be converted one day”. Despite that feeble testament, Gandhi was astute enough to know that the British connection will continue to flourish as long as Indians nurse worldly ambition and hanker for a slice of the pie of Western affluence and lifestyle. That has as little to do with Gandhi as a war-weary and bankrupt Britain’s decision to withdraw from an imperial role it could no longer sustain. If independence allowed Indians to invent a reason that reflected credit on the freedom movement and its stalwarts, it also allowed the West to claim the dignity of surrendering to the apostle of peace. The pacifism argument provides convenient excuses and alibis all round.

I haven’t seen the precise wording of the charge linking Gandhi with the Kashmiri plight. But Manchester’s Indian Society professes to be “deeply offended” by the suggestion that the statue was “insulting towards the Kashmiri community”. That seems to indicate that critics of the statue hold Gandhi responsible for the current situation there, possibly because he supported India’s war effort to repulse the Pakistani invasion. At the same time, some Hindu nationalists blamed Jeremy Raisman, the Leeds slum boy born to Lithuanian Jewish refugees who joined the Indian Civil Service and became finance member of the viceroy’s executive council, for Gandhi’s murder. It was Raisman’s thankless task to divide British India’s financial assets and Gandhi saw it as his moral duty to insist that India handed over Pakistan’s share. Given that background, it is anybody’s guess how Gandhi would have responded to the present crisis, especially after the impassioned speech that the “Ambassador of Kashmir”, as Pakistan’s prime minister called himself at the United Nations, made in September.

The Indian Society of Manchester dissociates Gandhi from “the political agendas on Kashmir” and “the actions of the current government in power”. Whether New Delhi accepts that dissociation is another matter. Gandhi is an even more prized asset than Vallabhbhai Patel in creating a past the Bharatiya Janata Party never had and shaping a future in which it looms large. It’s a question of one-upmanship and showmanship by those who are undeterred by the lone and level sands that stretch far away in Shelley’s Ozymandias. The Uttar Pradesh government rushed to reveal details of the Rama statue it plans for Ayodhya to upstage fraternal worshippers like the Shiv Sena and the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, which were suspected of plotting a massive temple. Devotion is a desperately competitive business. The new Rama on the banks of the Sarayu river, replete with pedestal and canopy, is expected to tower over the BJP’s own figure of Patel in the distant Narmada valley. Anna’s king of Siam would have been delighted with this childish obsession with height. So would the North Korean delegates who dragged out higher and higher stools at the Panmunjom truce talks at the end of the Korean War. In Patel’s case, there is the additional incentive of poaching on the Opposition to create the illusion of a lifelong Congressman being a secret pracharak.

Three incidents suffice to explain Gandhi’s pragmatism which makes all such self-serving posturing irrelevant. First, ignored by nationalistic editors when he returned from South Africa, Gandhi allowed the correspondent of London’s The Daily Telegraph to smuggle him into the whites-only Bengal Club for an interview. Second, when Jatindra Mohan Sengupta’s English wife, Nellie, complained that people were gossiping about her husband spending too much time in the Calcutta Club, Gandhi retorted it was a very nice club, and he wished he himself were a member. Finally, having read about Gandhi’s exploits as a student in London, Richard Symonds, the Oxford historian, was pleased to see the murals outside his place of martyrdom showing him dancing with demi-mondaine women in decollete dresses. “They haven’t deified Gandhi!” he said. “They are showing him as he was.” The dancing images had gone on his next visit: Gandhi was presented as the epitome of middle-class Hindu respectability.

He isn’t an easy personage to encapsulate. South Africa’s Jan Smuts commented when Gandhi returned to India, “The saint has left these shores, I hope forever.” A lesser leader would have tried to co-opt Gandhi to create a history in which nothing occurred before 2014.

courtesy : "The Telegraph", Published - 02 November 2019

Category :- English Bazaar Patrika / Features

Gandhi versus Lenin, in their time and ours

Ramachandra Guha

Among both the scholar and the 'aam admi', Gandhi’s posthumous global reputation is rather better than Lenin’s

Visitors at an interactive digital exhibition on the 150th birth anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi in New Delhi. The anniversary was marked by praise and a fair degree of retrospective criticism. It will be interesting to see how the world celebrates the 150th anniversary of Lenin's birth

(PTI photo)

I have been reading the diaries of the diplomat, Ivan Maisky, who served as Soviet Russia’s ambassador to the United Kingdom from 1932 to 1943. A scholar of history and philology, a fluent speaker of English with a wide circle of influential British friends, Maisky was at the Court of St James through the period of Hitler and Stalin, through the forging of the Soviet-Nazi pact and its break-up, through the first, fierce, years of the Second World War.

Maisky’s diaries — edited for publication by the Israeli scholar, Gabriel Gorodetsky — are naturally focused on British and European events and personalities. However, on Page 12 of the book, there is a single, but very intriguing, reference to an Indian politician. On November 4, 1934, after hearing the news that Mahatma Gandhi had (temporarily) retired from the Congress Party, the Soviet diplomat wrote in his diary: “Gandhi! I have Fülöp-Miller’s book Lenin und Gandhi, published in Vienna in 1927. The author sketches the two leaders with considerable talent, juxtaposing them as the two equal ‘peaks’ of our time. Seven years ago this comparison seemed absurd only to communists, and perhaps to a few of the more perspicacious representatives of the European bourgeoisie. But now? Who, even among the ranks of bourgeois intellectuals, would dare equate Lenin and Gandhi? Today, any man, even an enemy, can see that Lenin is an historical Mont Blanc, who will forever remain a radiant guiding peak in the thousand-year evolution of humanity, while Gandhi is just a cardboard mountain who shone with a dubious light for some ten years before rapidly disintegrating, to be forgotten just a few years later in the dustbin of history. This is how time and events separate authentically precious metal from its cheap imitation.”

Maisky was of course a zealously loyal employee of the Soviet State founded by Lenin. Yet, thirteen years before him, a young Indian with no reason to be obliged to Lenin wrote a tract exalting him over Gandhi. This was Shripad Amrit Dange of Bombay. In 1921, Dange published a slim book called Gandhi vs. Lenin. Notwithstanding his personal sincerity, argued Dange, Gandhi was a reactionary thinker obsessed with religion and the individual conscience. On the other hand, Lenin had identified the structural roots of economic oppression and sought to end it through collective mass action. While Gandhi looked to recreate the past, Lenin would preserve the ‘existing achievements’ of modern civilization, further building upon them by organizing the proletariat in a revolutionary transformation of society. Dange had never been to Russia and never set eyes on its leader. And yet, without knowing either man or country, he could confidently assert that “[t]he Bolsheviks have fulfilled their promises. ‘Land, Bread and Peace,’ they have given to Russia.”

Six years later, a Communist member of the British Parliament, himself born and raised in India, wrote an ‘Open Letter’ to Gandhi. Shapurji Dorabji Saklatvala accused the Mahatma of “misguided sentimentality” and — through his charkha movement — of launching “an attack upon machinery, upon physical sciences, upon material progress”. Saklatvala compared Gandhi unfavourably to Kemal Atatürk, Sun Yat-sen and, above all, Lenin. Whereas those other leaders had “express[ed] boldly and fearlessly the unexpressed voice of the people”, Gandhi, claimed this Communist, had prepared Indians “for servile obedience and for a belief that there are superior persons on earth”.

Saklatvala published his ‘Open Letter’ in 1927. Two years later, came along Bhagat Singh of the Hindustan Socialist Republican Army. In a statement made after his arrest for throwing bombs in the Central Assembly, Bhagat Singh claimed that his own act presaged “the end of the era of utopian non-violence, of whose futility the rising generation has been convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt.” This Lahore revolutionary explicitly urged young Indians to turn their backs on Gandhi and embrace Lenin’s path of violent revolution instead.

Like the Soviet diplomat, Ivan Maisky, Indian Communists of the 1920s and 1930s worshipped Lenin, while scorning Gandhi. Seeking to drag their own, ancient and ossified society into the modern world, they thought the erudite Bolshevik to be a more appealing guide than the mystical Mahatma. Thus Saklatvala claimed that Lenin’s Russia had shown the way to all humanity. He insisted that the “[c]lass war is there, [and] will continue to be there till any successful scheme of communism abolishes it.” Gandhi was advised to drop his own programme, and “come and organise with us... our workers, our peasants, and our youths, not with a metaphysical sentimentality but with a set purpose, a clear-cut and well-defined object and by methods such as by experiment are making success for all human beings.”

As it turned out, Lenin’s successor, Stalin, brutally persecuted workers and peasants, and many youths too. By the late 1930s, it was evident to clear-eyed observers that the Soviet Revolution had been a dystopian disaster, in both a political and an economic sense. But among a certain sort of Western liberals, a metaphysical sentimentality about the Revolution’s founder persisted for a long time thereafter. I recently came across an essay published in The Sunday Times of London in January 1972, by the then well-known literary critic, Cyril Connolly. Reviewing new books on Lenin and Gandhi together, Connolly remarked that the two were comparable in the scale of their significance, as “each changed the world by bringing a new direction to two of the great land masses.” However, the Englishman was certain that Lenin was much the greater man. Of the Bolshevik’s early death, at the age of 53, Connolly wrote: “If Lenin had lived as long as Gandhi, there would have been no Stalin. Would there have been a Hitler?” This English writer thought that Lenin, by the force of his will and the power of his ideology, would have prevented the rise of Hitler and Nazism.

Like Dange, Connolly admired Gandhi for his personal decency; quoting George Orwell’s famous remark on the Mahatma’s death: “[R]egarded simply as a politician, and compared with the other leading political figures of our time, how clean a smell he has managed to leave behind!” However, (like Dange again) Connolly was sure that Lenin’s legacy was far more relevant to the modern world. These were the concluding sentences of his review essay: “If part of Lenin’s legacy is the ‘doctrinal element of irreconcilability’ Gandhi’s is one of compromise. Yet if we were an oppressed worker in a sweated industry, would we not prefer Lenin to take charge of our cause?”

This was written in 1972. Workers had, by this time, enjoyed absolutely no rights of any kind for the past fifty-five years in Lenin’s Russia. Whereas in Gandhi’s India, they could at least strike for higher wages and better working conditions. Ironically, unlike paid-up partymen like Dange and Maisky, Connolly was himself an upper-class British liberal, fond of good food and fine wine. He was among the first likely victims of Leninism if Leninism actually came to his country. (Incidentally, Lenin liked good food and fine wine, too. One of the ironies of the Indian Communist denunciations of Gandhi was the fact that the so-called bourgeois reactionary lived like an ordinary worker or peasant, whereas Communist leaders in power in Soviet Russia lived opulently, like the Tsars who had preceded them.)

Gandhi was born in October 1869. Lenin was born six months later. They were near contemporaries; one reason they were so often judged together when they were alive. A second (and more important) reason is that they were the major leaders of two large countries with rich civilizational histories, each seeking to overcome political oppression and economic stagnation.

India (and the world) has just celebrated the 150th anniversary of Gandhi’s birth, with much praise being offered, some manifestly sincere, some shallowly instrumental — and along with a fair degree of retrospective criticism forthcoming too. It will be interesting to see how Russia (and the world) celebrates the 150th anniversary of Lenin’s birth. But I think it is fair to say that, on the whole, among both the scholar and the aam admi, Gandhi’s posthumous global reputation is rather better than Lenin’s. Pace Ivan Maisky, in 2019, it is the Indian prophet of non-violence and inter-faith harmony — and not the Russian proponent of armed revolution and class hatred — who is more likely to be seen as a moral and political exemplar, as — to so say — a “radiant guiding peak in the thousand-year evolution of humanity”.

e.mail : [email protected]

courtesy : "The Telegraph", 12 October 2019

Category :- English Bazaar Patrika / Features