Explaining Neo-Malthusianism?

Mohan Rao

Introduction

Politically correct, influential people in policy making circles in the First World do not, any more, talk of the yellow peril, or use phrases such as population explosion, or metaphors like the population bomb. Nevertheless, neo-Malthusian thinking frames other policy discourses, those on welfare, immigration and the environment being prominent ones.  Soon after the London riots last year, commentators were talking of the undeserving poor, whose council housing should be razed if their children had participated in the riots. The children themselves were referred to as vermin, who needed to be dealt with firmly, with real bullets. At the same time, partly due to the very reach and influence of such doomsday demographic discourses emanating from the West in the past, and the modified ones today, the elites and the middle classes in much of the Third World remain convinced that the cause of social and economic problems in their countries stem primarily, if not only, from population growth.

It is also clear that there is an anxiety among elites in our country about population growth, the belief that this lies at heart of a range of social and economic problems that we face. This belief enjoys widespread appeal in the media and among middle class professionals, including of course doctors. What explains the enormous appeal of this argument? Is it propaganda over the last 50 years, initially stemming from the West, but now deeply internalized in our country?[i]

Many of these beliefs are sanitised in public pronouncements, made acceptable, and yet it is undeniable they represent powerful undercurrents of thinking in an astonishingly wide range of areas. This paper, preliminary and tentative in nature, attempts to explain what seems to be inexplicable. Do these ideas stem from other atavistic anxieties, about tribe and race? This too was evident after the London riots when commentators spoke of a Caribbean culture of violence and laziness taking over the streets of London. Do they arise from their evident simplicity in explaining a deeply fractured world?  Why are they such overwhelming tropes in the discourse of fundamentalisms of various sorts? Does neo-liberalism provide them with impetus?  Why are they entangled with other anti-feminist discourses? How do issues of identity, currently au courant, get imbricated in this?

I begin, then, with the almost irrelevant, if achingly tantalizing, question: what explains this abiding and widespread belief in neo-Malthusianism?  This question, though terribly moot, is difficult to answer with any certainty, since it involves feelings, opinions and prejudices that are not always easily explicable. How does one, for example, explain racism? Or, in India, the profound hold of casteism, the hatred and distaste for the lower castes, especially dalits? Or, the recent growth of suspicion, anxiety, and indeed, hatred and fear, for anything to do with Islam? There are many and complex reasons, some inter-linked. Is it primarily about with economic factors?  It is obviously not only to do with economic factors, although these are no doubt contributory. There are many more reasons, and population arguments also feed into this: the creation and hardening of prejudices, and of fear. In neo-imperial times, creation of fear is a growth industry (Lipschutz and Turcotte 2005)[ii] with sometimes utterly transparent political ends.

II

I begin this paper attempting to explain the neo Malthusian appeal by examining the astonishing case of Anders Behring Breveik. On the 22nd of July 2011, following the setting off of bombs in central Oslo, this young white man cold bloodedly killed 69 young men and women attending a youth camp organized by the ruling Labour Party at the island of Utoya, not far from Oslo. He wanted to draw attention to the dystopia that awaited Norway because of the appeasement of Muslims by what he called, with utterly no irony, “multi-cultural Marxists”.

When the bombs went off in Oslo, the New York Times reported, and everyone assumed, that this was the handiwork of Muslim terrorists. When the terrorist was identified as a White supremacist, the explanations quickly proffered were the familiar: while not all Muslims were terrorists, most terrorists were Muslim. But of course this is equally untrue. In 2007, two out of a total of 581 terrorist attacks in Europe were carried out by Muslims; in 2008, not one of the 441 documented terrorist attacks was by a Muslim. In 2009, there were 294 terrorist attacks, out of which one was committed by a Muslim. The vast majority of terrorist attacks (237 out of 297) were perpetrated by White, non-Muslim separatist groups mainly in Spain and France ( Europol 2010).[iii]

What is interesting is that Breveik, a Right wing Christian fundamentalist, has left a 1500 page manifesto entitled 2083: A European Declaration of Independence, an event he was attempting to usher in by his barbaric act. The year 2083 that he chose is also symbolically interesting: it represents the 400th anniversary of the Battle of Vienna in 1683 where the invading troops of the Ottoman empire suffered a defeat, ensuring that most parts of Europe did not come under Islamic rule. It is equally interesting that a Polish king took part in that holy battle. Today of course Poland, ruled by extreme Right wing twins, is seen as the heart of pro-family values, a Catholic nation besieged in a Europe that is awash with feminists, pro-abortion and gay- rights people, together emasculating Christianity as much as the Christian male. Poland, it is believed, is the last bastion of pro-family values that will rescue Europe from demographic doom that awaits it if women refuse to breed. The 2008 World Congress of Families was held in Warsaw, where the film Demographic Winter was screened (Posner 2011).[iv] The film, echoing Mark Steyn’s bestselling book America Alone: The End of the World as We Know It, predicts the death of European civilizations and the extinctions of her races “too self absorbed to breed” as they are engulfed by tides of Muslim immigrants, leading to the transformation of Europe into Eurabia. This will, it is argued, lead to the paradoxical situation in the future when European feminists will be ruled by Islamic patriarchy, robbing them of reproductive choice that they now exercise to weaken the family, the nation and the race. One other bestselling book is Leon J.Podle’s Church Impotent: The Feminisation of Christianity. Breivik has a solution to the problem posed by Podle. The issue of the hyper-masculine Muslim male and over-fertile oppressed Muslim female is of course familiar to us, immured to long years of saffron demography. I will come back to this later.

Breveik believed that Norway would be a Muslim majority country by the year 2050 since her spineless elites had, in a multi-cultural fit, succumbed to permit endless Muslim immigration.  The fact of the matter is that on the basis of the current population growth rates, Norway will have a Muslim population of seven per cent in 2050, but mad imaginations are not based on facts and reasoning.

Like many White supremacists and Christian fundamentalists, Breveik was a staunch supporter of Zionist Israel, which he saw as an island of Western values in a dark sea of Muslim barbarism. Christian Zionists, said to number 45 million in the USA, of course believe that a Second Coming is only possible if Jerusalem is ruled by Jews. But for Breveik, Israel needed to be supported for another reason: demographic war being waged on it by Muslims, even as Israel goes out to undo the Oslo accord through illegal settlements. The connection to Oslo, again.  Breveik is a new anti-Semite, pro-Zionist and fiercely anti-Arab. This position too entwines with that of the Hindu right in India, of which he was a great admirer. In a curious case of replay of old tropes, Israel is now considered the land of the free and tolerant – to gays, in marked contrast to supposedly homophobic Muslims, even as Israel in a far-reaching PR exercise starts funding various gay pride marches ( Puar 2010).[v]

It is not surprising that each year the VHP organizes summer camps both in Norway and Denmark where Islamophobic speakers of Indian origin hold forth (Kaur 2011).[vi] Breviek’s manifesto devotes a special chapter to India and what he calls the “Hindu Holocaust”. This was the Hindu Kush mountains where Hindus were apparently slaughtered during the medieval “Islamisation” of the subcontinent. This is based on the claims of a Belgian supporter of Hindutva, Koenraad Elst, who is also known for the advice to the West on making life for Muslim minorities so difficult that they will either give up Islam or go back to where they came from! “ If the name Hindu Kush relates such a horrible genocide of Hindus, why are Hindus ignorant about it?”, asks Breveik. He attributes it to the Muslim appeasement policies of the government of India and the rewriting of history under its behest. “The victimization of Hindus, thus not only took place historically at the hands of Muslim aggressors, but now they are doubly victimized by “cultural Marxists” as well who control government” (cited in Kaur 2011:28).[vii] His admiration for the RSS, the BJP and the VHP, is clearly related to their anti-Muslim violence: “the only positive thing about the Hindu right wing is that they dominate the streets. They do not tolerate the current injustice and often riot and attack Muslims when things go out of control, usually after the Muslims disrespect and degrade Hinduism too much” (ibid). What he does not remark upon is saffron demography that so fits in with his own demographic anxieties. Not surprisingly BJP MP B.P.Singhal endorsed Breveik’s ideas (ENS 2011).[viii]

Here we have then the coming together of the extreme Right-wing Christian fundamentalism, anti-feminisms, racisms and demographic anxieties about the dying European race. Early twenty-first century echoing early twentieth century fears, tied now to Islamophobia and global politics of oil.

III

Racism is of course linked with neo-malthusianism, and not just because they emerged together. But we must begin, then, with a brief genealogy of neo-Malthusianism. Genealogies are fundamentally about accepted, legal, marriages and births. The late nineteenth century marriage of colonial anthropology with craniometry and the “science” of “race” produced the “science” of eugenics. Framing these disciplines, it must be noted, was the reality of colonialism that mid-wifed and nurtured these disciplines. Eugenics, of course, is a parent of neo-Malthusianism and of socio-biology. The American anthropologist D.G. Brinton argued, in praise of anthropometry:

The adult who retains the more numerous fetal, infantile or simian traits is unquestionably inferior to him whose development has progressed beyond them. Measured by these criteria, the European or white race stands at the head of the list, the African or Negro at its foot. (Brinton, 1890 cited in Gould 1981: 116).[ix]

Thus anthropology taught us, and anthropometry and craniometry quantified, the following: natives and savages were child-like, effeminate, instinctive, sensual, unreflexive, irrational, less intelligent, and in thrall of customs and traditions. Strangely, they were also hyper-sexual and thus tended to breed too much. In Kipling’s words, half-devil and half-child, these sullen new-caught people.[x] They were of course to be The White Man’s Burden, incapable of self-rule. This was of course evident from the position of women in these societies.

At the same time psychology also showed us that “the metaphysical character of women was very similar in nature to those which men exhibit at an early stage of development. The gentler sex is characterized by a greater impressibility, warmth of emotion, submission to its influence rather than that of logic” (Gould 1981: 117).[xi] Blandly stated, racism, anti-feminisms and colonialism come promiscuously together, with the colonizer to send forth the best he breeds to quell the sullen natives.[xii]

Armed with these insights, eugenics set out to improve the human race through two policy prescriptions: decreasing unwanted populations through negative eugenics, i.e. not permitting populations that exhibited undesirable characteristics to breed; and providing incentives to the best and brightest to breed through positive eugenics. The victims of negative eugenics have been the “feeble minded”, the tubercular, the alcoholic, the “indigent”, the “congenital criminal”, the mentally retarded, the insane, lepers, epileptics, the “feeble minded”, the “degenerate”, immigrants and of course the poor, who apparently bred all these characteristics especially if they were black or coloured. All this, with the supreme imprimatur of science, like theology, unquestionable, since this was truth. Benjamin Franklin noted, “I could wish their numbers were increased. Why increase the sons of Africa, by planting them in America, where we have so fair an opportunity, by excluding all blacks and tawneys, of increasing the lovely white and red?” (cited in ibid: 32).[xiii],[xiv]

According to Francis Galton, eugenics would breed out the vestigial barbarism of the human race, manipulating evolution to bring the biological reality of man into consonance with his lofty moral ideas of what mankind could, and indeed should be. He thus argued, “what nature does blindly, slowly, and ruthlessly, man may do providently, quickly and kindly” (Galton, cited in Kevles 1995: 12)[xv] Eugenics was thus a scientific substitute for the orthodoxies of the church, a secular religious faith. Eugenics was also tied to the destiny of the imperial nation. Such a nation, it was felt, required much more than merely economic and military power. It also demanded an efficient way of ensuring that its population was kept fresh, energetic, efficient and productive by ensuring that its fresh flow of population is mainly recruited from the “better stock” ( Rao 2004).[xvi] Indeed, this was one strong impetus to introduce maternal health programmes in many countries (Oakley 1986).[xvii]

A prominent eugenist in Germany wrote:

Because the inferior are always numerically superior to the better, the former would multiply so much faster—if they have the same possibility to survive and reproduce—that the better necessarily would be placed in the background.  Therefore a correction has to be made to the advantage of the better.  The nature (sic) offers such a correction by exposing the inferior to difficult living conditions which reduce their number.  Concerning the rest the nature (sic) does not allow them to reproduce indiscriminately, but makes a relentless selection according to their strength and health conditions ( Hilter, cited in Bondestam 1980: 16).[xviii]

The “correction” he offered to nature’s lethal ways was called the Final Solution.  Adolf Hitler included, among others, Jews, communists, gays and gypsies in his grand design. What is not well known is that the Holocaust would not have taken the ghastly toll it did had the US immigration laws not been changed earlier to keep out certain races not Nordic. Jews seeking to immigrate were of course excluded ( Brunius 2006).[xix] Indeed, that the eugenic laws in Nazi Germany were framed along laws in the USA.

It was this, the Final Solution, that discredited eugenics, although the ideas underlying it were widely shared. Indeed, the liberal US Supreme Court Justice Holmes found eugenic sterilisation constitutionally valid for the general good of the population. Further, as Brunius shows us, eugenic laws, framed by racism, were widely welcomed by the medical profession, the media, and by law-makers. But similar attitudes, similar feelings come to surface in many new avatars, all too distressingly frequently. In other words, it is the current political context that this idea appears to address, as it waxes and wanes, sometimes shrill, sometimes subdued, but at all times invariably, inextricably, linked to contemporary politics. Numbers of the Other, provide the frisson.

As the eminent German poet Enzenberger notes, the proportion of foreigners in Germany at the end of the twentieth century – when vicious anti-immigrant ideologies came to the fore, often accompanied by brutal attacks on “foreigners”– was well below that in the Germany before the First World War, when there was no such xenophobia. In Germany, itself a country of migrants, of many “races”, “The Aryan was never more than a risible construct” (Enzenberger 1992:38 ).[xx] Enzenberger adds:

It is of course no accident that the image of the life-boat recurs in the political discourse about immigration, usually in the form of the assertion, ‘The boat is full’. That this sentence is inaccurate is the least that can be said about it. A look around is enough to disprove it, as those who use it know. But they are not interested in its truthfulness; they like the fears it conjures up (ibid: 24) (emphasis mine).

Yet, Germany is one of only two modern states that allow its “lost tribes” a right to return. Israel is of course the only other. Two nations tied by a complex history of brutal bloodshed, both believing that nationality is in blood, both riding the tiger of fascism at various times, Germany in the past, and Israel, today.  Tying in with this idea, or sometimes even a metaphor of nationality, is the essentialism of numbers. This essentialism of numbers, is in a potent stew with the urge for the authentic and unsullied, the politics of identity, creating fears about the numbers of the Other. Again, these have a heritage in romantic Germany that so influenced the romance of a nation-in-being in India in the RSS (Nussbaum 2007)[xxi], with the military organization being borrowed from Mussolini’s brown-shirts ( Casolari 2000 ).[xxii]

There is today in neo-liberal times, a reified politics of identity, feeding into neo-Malthusian anxieties. There is a paradox here: while neo-liberalism exalts and celebrates the individual, identities are increasingly drawn in communitarian terms, and carved in heartless stone. Sen notes wryly that we have today a “discipline of identity” based on the unfounded assumption that we must have a single or principle identity that we “discover” (Sen 2005: 350).[xxiii] Of course, this discovery is most often of a spurious ethnic kind, forgetting that the ethnic, or the nativist, is only one among many claims to loyalty, and indeed that there is frequently nothing authentic either about imagined ethnicity.  Wedded here are essentialisms of various kinds: nativist post-modern, with fundamentalist neo-Orientalism, with right-wing neo-liberalism. Uniting all these essentialisms is also a fervent anti-feminism, seen as both tarnished by the Enlightenment project, anti-traditional and derivative (Sangari 2001).[xxiv] It is thus no accident that the Islamic Brotherhood in Egypt (Ali 2002),[xxv] the murderous Hindu fascists, George Bush and Anders Breveik echo each other in derivative irony. Entirely missing in these discourses is the notion of imperialism or neo-imperialism, which indeed gilds them, even as it holds them together.

The uncanny similarities between Malthusian times and the nineteen nineties have been widely noted. Both periods were characterized by a relentless drive to create free markets, “not by chance nor as a result of spontaneous development, but as an artefact of power and statecraft. In nineteenth century England it was the outcome of the project of classical political economy; now it is a monetarist project, to create a global market society largely unconstrained by public action” (Wuyts 1998: 34).[xxvi]  This new global market was to be created by the second wave of imperialist globalization enveloping the world, led by the Bretton Woods institutions, with new rules framed by the WTO. Imperialist globalisation sups comfortably at the same table with fundamentalisms; while doing so it also feeds it fresh blood. This is not only through the empirical truth that imperialism has funded fundamentalisms in various countries (Mamdani 2004),[xxvii] but also by fracturing broader identities, in a situation of a smaller cake for the masses, encourages the growth of political forces that feed on each other, along ethnic or religious lines (Patnaik 2003).[xxviii] From Yugoslavia, to Rwanda and now Iraq: the same story authored by imperialism unfolds sadly (Mamdani 2001).[xxix] Population arguments have contributed in all of them, appealing to community, to race, ideas of purity and blood. In all these cases, blood is defined by patriarchy.

What is frightening is that the atavistic appeals to blood, to tribe and to race, seem to carry so much power when we finally know there is no such thing as race. Current post-modern distrust of the modern state, and its violences, and the invocation of naive nativism feed their poison into this. Thus Algeria for the Algerians – who should not be in France! But in a world where historic revisionism is current, where new “tribal wars” are unleashed every day[xxx] with the coining of a new and frighteningly aseptic phrase to describe it, ethnic cleansing, it is eminently desirable to retrace the links between neo-Malthusianism, eugenics and the Holocaust. It is an irony of history that victims of the Holocaust, in one of the first modern countries created on the basis of religion, in order to supposedly protect their “race” are perpetrating yet another one today. Thus the population growth rate among Palestinians is frequently evoked in order to stoke fears among Israelis who are not Zionists (Avnery cited in Hartmann and Hendrixson)[xxxi]. By engendering fear and anxiety about the future, what neo-Malthusianism successfully does is evoke complicity in morally offensive policies among people.

The collapse of multi-national states as in Yugoslavia, the yearning for ethnically pure “nations of blood and ties” that caused and were a consequence of this collapse, have something tragic to teach us.  The horrible implications for huge sections of the population, ethnically cleansed into post-colonial states that have forgotten their anti-imperialist histories, is too recent to be forgotten.

Ethnic nationalism, combined with the essentialism of numbers, implies that “ one is in the grip of a love greater than reason, stronger than the will, a love akin to fate and destiny. Such a love assists the belief that it is fate, however tragic, that obliges you to kill” (Ignatieff 1993: 10).[xxxii]  History is then reworked to create the fiction of ethnic purity in the past, in which “ history is the savage play of ascriptive sympathies and antipathies, in which the ‘natural’ condition of groups of different origins is one in which they are wholly apart” (Al-Azmeh 1993:9).[xxxiii]

Thus, invoked in the rape and genocide of Muslims in Bosnia is the appeal to concocted history, to ethnic tribalism in all its gory, and ancient, essential symbols:

Miraculous Virgins make their scheduled appearance. Lurid posters show shafts of light touching the pommels of mysterious swords, or blazoning the talons of vicious two-headed eagles as more than a million Serbs attend a frenzied rally on the battle site of Kosavo where their forbears were humiliated in 1389, and hear former communists rave in accents of wounded tribalisms. Ancient insignias, totems, feudal coats of arms, talismans, oaths, rituals, icons and regalia jostle to take the field. A society long sunk in political stagnation is convulsed: puking up great rancid chunks of undigested barbarism ( Hitchens 1992 cited in Al-Azmeh 1993:10).[xxxiv]

The politics of nostalgia, of fictive identities, swirling with unresolved conflicts with neo-imperialism, create post-modern states painfully emulating the nation states imagined in Romantic Germany, as a nation of volk, of people of the soil, of primordial ties embedded in an ancient culture, in a fierce anti-Enlightenment discourse. This is of course eerily familiar to those of us in India, witness to pogroms against Muslims launched by the Sangh parivar. As Baber has shown, communalisation and racism are intertwined, often enough with cultures, to produce fictive ascriptive identities (Baber 2011).[xxxv]

The onslaught against the Muslims, is accompanied by concoction of history which is a mélange of myths and fiction, accompanied by the invention of “traditions”, the classification of Indian culture as “essentially” Hindu culture and so on. Fundamentalist demography is built upon these layered tissues of lies and populist myths to create a political community of Hindus. As with all fundamentalisms, these are also carved on the bodies of women. Internalising – with bewilderment, hurt and anger – colonial descriptions of Hindus as effeminate, the new identity that is sought to be created is virulently masculinist.[xxxvi] Along with the semitisation of Hinduism ( Jaiswal 1991)[xxxvii], there is an attempt also to make Hindu males more virile, more dangerous, more predatory, more like the allegedly Muslim male. Could this explain the huge increase in violence against females that we have also simultaneously witnessed?

As Malouf has observed, the rush for identities, to seek some fundamental allegiance, often religious, racial or ethnic, leads to murderous identities of blood. Responding to imagined atavistic fears and anxieties, we seem to be heading towards what Malouf describes as the age of “global tribes” (Malouf 2001).[xxxviii]

Imbricated in this is the celebration of the pure “community” even as ideas of the nation are scoffed at, when development is supposed to be automatically and necessarily linked to violence. This is accompanied by a deep distrust of ideas of rationality, curiously described as Western, in a bizarre reflection from Orientalist mirrors. Embedded in this discourse are spurious ideas of oneness with nature in the pre-modern past, of equally innocent ideas of the wholeness in human affairs in those golden ages, a forgetting that a tribal past was a past of constant and continuous warfare. In short, that a tribal past, an ethnic past, a past celebrating blood ties, was equally oppressive: to a large majority of women and men, the ants of these societies, put to labour and set to breed. My fear is that revocations of this past, suitably re-worked, would also mean a divestment of citizenship rights that tribal communities of course did not know about, or have any use for. For as opposed to the membership of a tribe, what is at stake is citizenship in a nation.

Sometimes, in sophisticated formulations, instead of race and tribes, what is often invoked today is “culture”, reified, petrified, timeless and endlessly frozen. As Al-Azmeh observes, “In the 1980s this relegation of the non-European world to irreducible and therefore irredeemable particularlism was officiated, with increasing frequency and clearly as a mark of bewilderment, under the title of ‘culture’, which became little more than a token for incomprehension: each ‘culture’ is represented as a monadic universe of solipsism and impermeability, consisting in its manifold instances of an essential self,” (Al-Azmeh 1993:21).[xxxix] The politics of the east is east, and the west west with never the twain meeting is played out with new tropes, new metaphors, all of which of course elide the reality of imperialism, even as they privilege the essentialisms of difference and timeless culture. The Other, thus constructed, is then ineluctably outside the human pale. And then, their numbers begin to threaten. Should we then, not fear Them, hate Them? Should we do nothing, will they engulf Us?

Being outside the human pale, is what makes their numbers threatening, and genocide possible (Mamdani 2001 ).[xl] Or the widespread use of rape and violence against women and children – from Bosnia, to Rwanda to Gujarat.

Lionel Penrose, a British physician who was one of those questioning the central tenet of eugenic thinking, the heritability of mental disorders and intelligence, was equally puzzled by the frequent assertion among the elites that feebleminded people had strong sexual drives. There was simply no empirical evidence for these claims, and yet there were frequent calls for eugenic sterilisation – although of course sterilisation is known not to decrease the libido. Penrose offered a Freudian explanation that is appealing. He wrote:

It is a well-known psychological mechanism that hatred, which is repressed under normal circumstances, may become manifest in the presence of an object which is already discredited in some way.  An excuse for viewing mentally defective individuals with abhorrence is the idea that those at large enjoy themselves sexually in ways which are forbidden or difficult to accomplish in the higher strata of society. The association between the idea of the supposed fecundity of the feebleminded and the need for their sterilization is apparently rational, but it may be emphasized by an unconscious desire to forbid these supposed sexual excesses. It is of course well known that advocates of sterilization never desire it applied to their own class, but always to someone else (Penrose cited in Kevles 1995:108).[xli]

Could this equally be an explanation for neo-Malthusian ideas about the reproductive profligacy of the poor? Could this be the explanation for the irrational communal anxieties about the Muslim rate of population growth among a section of Hindus in the country? The frequent slogan “Hum do, hamare do; Woh paanch, unke pachees” won the leader of the genocide in Gujarat in 2002 a shameful but resounding electoral victory. Does this also tie in with the trope of the alleged vegetarianism of Hindus along with the sexual rapacity of non-vegetarian Muslims?

Sarkar notes that “there is a dark sexual obsession about the allegedly ultra-virile Muslim male bodies and over-fertile Muslim female ones” (Sarkar 2002: 2874).[xlii] Recounting the unspeakable horrors perpetrated on Muslim women and children in the Gujarat genocide, she offers the following explanations. In communal violence, rape is a sign of collective dishonouring of a community; the same patriarchy that views the female body as the symbol of lineage, of community, of nation – and their purity – would besmirch an entire community as impure and polluted once “their” women are raped. There are also the calculated, and politically charged rumours spread of Muslim men luring away Hindu girls, “ a kind of penis envy and anxiety about emasculation that can only be overcome by violence”. And finally, the anxieties whipped up over generations about “Muslim fertility rates”, of their uncontrolled breeding and the dying of “the Hindu nation”, led to the brutal killing of children, the new blood of the “Muslim race”.

Nussbaum has argued that the creation of virulent masculinities is perhaps a part of the project of nationalisms of the European variety. Emulating this project other communities, other nations of blood and tribes, are also creating masculinities of the European sort. She notes that Israel and India are both seats of construction of this notion of virulent masculinities, both directed at Muslims, classified in colonial discourse as a “martial race”. Those scoffed at as effeminate or over-intellectual, not manly enough to command empires, set out to recreate themselves in colonial mirrors, creating a style of masculinity that is associated with the oppressors in the past, much as they recreate colonial definitions of history. This too is responsible for the horrors of Gujarat, as is the essentialism of numbers, as they wreak murder and rape, “annihilating the female” both in themselves and in the Other (Nussbaum 2007).[xliii] Linking this sadistic sexual violence with fascism, Sontag similarly argues that this was “the ideal incarnation of fascism’s overt celebration of the righteousness of violence, the right to have total power over others and to treat them as absolutely inferior…acted out in a singularly brutal and efficient manner” ( Sontag 1980:99).[xliv]

As early as 1909 U.N.Mukherji had written a book entitled Hindus: A Dying Race, which went on to influence many tracts and publications by the Hindu Maha Sabha, the parent organisation of the RSS. [xlv]  This book seemed to meet a widespread demand, going into many reprints, feeding into Hindu communalism, and helping create it. It had a special appeal to Hindu communalists at this time, anxious to create a monolithic Hindu community, in the face of demands for separate representation emanating from both Muslims and lower-castes. Whipping up anxiety about Muslims would be one way to weld together hugely diverse, and often antagonistic, castes into one community, erasing the structural divisions in caste society. Indeed it has been noted that “for Hindu communalism, it (the book, A Dying Race) had a more direct resonance as Hindu communalism was now preoccupied with numbers…the possibility of low castes declassifying themselves as Hindus was a motivating anxiety behind the origins of Hindu communalism “(Datta 1999: 18).[xlvi] Deeply riddled with inaccuracies, wild flights of prediction of the future with utterly no basis, the book nevertheless provided “demographic common sense functioning as a trope for extinction” (Datta 1999: 23).[xlvii]Also fundamentally, the Hindu communalists believed – and continue to believe – that a nation is defined “culturally” as a Hindu nation, just as Muslim communalists believed in the purity of an Islamic Pakistan. So neatly did the communalists of both religions, Hindu and Muslim, by evoking demographic fears, subscribe to colonial definitions of Indian society! The Censuses of the period also contributed (Cohn 1987).[xlviii] Although England never collected religious data in her population despite all her religious wars in the past, in India, on the other hand, following 1857, religious data on Hindu and Muslim populations were regularly collected and disseminated, from the 1872 Census onwards. Justifying this, the Census Commissioner of 1931 wrote “India is the most religious country in the world” ( cited in Bhagat 2001).[xlix] What this also did is to create homogenous Hindu and Muslim communities where none existed. We must, however, remember that this discourse emerged at an embattled political space, as colonialism was contested, as political classes were formed, as the working class was congealing, and early feminist ideas were gaining ground. None of these, of course, configure in the communalist discourse.

Charu Gupta’s work, based on examining the many tracts produced by the Hindu right-wing, providing an excellent analysis of communalization of population and its gender implications, notes one such tract, which states:

Some Hindus argue that what do we have to do with increasing our numbers? We should be more concerned with preserving the seed of our true Aryan identity. Dear, what do you mean by protection of the seed? In every census, the number of Hindus is decreasing while that of Muslims and Christians is increasing. And you are just concerned with the protection of the seed! Our aim should be to increase numbers, first and foremost ( Cited in Gupta 2004:4303)[l]

There was yet another flame stoking these fears among Hindu communalists, resentful of social reform. Emblematic here was the tragic figure of the Hindu widow.[li] Forbidden remarriage among the upper castes – now increasingly emulated by sanskritising lower castes – she was at once responsible for the dying of the “Hindu race” as she was an allurement for virile Muslim men, a danger within the sacred heart of the Hindu household, waiting to be profaned. Fitting neatly into this gendered anxiety was the communalisation of the issue of “abduction” of Hindu women. Indeed, this too was prominent in the form of epidemics of rumours before the Gujarat genocide in 2002. Thus the embedding of patriarchy, nationhood, and violence against women in discourses on numbers, inscribing on reproductive women’s bodies atavistic anxieties about the future, and the politics of genocide.

Recently we have had leaders from these groups opposing family planning among Hindus, claiming there is a “demographic war” (www.newkerala.com, 2005). [lii] The leader of the VHP enjoined Hindus not to accept family planning as their numbers were going down, even as those of Muslims were increasing. At a public meeting attended by thousands, and in the presence of the Chief Minister of Madhya Pradesh, the leader of the Madhya Pradesh unit of the RSS claimed that the Muslim population was increasing at a rapid pace, and that this, combined with infiltration of Muslims from Bangladesh, portended doom for India. Claiming that this “demographic war” was being waged across the world, he attributed the breakup of the Soviet Union, to such “demographic imbalance” (The Hindu:2005:5).[liii] The same groups have also opposed access to abortion, arguing that a disproportionate number of Hindu women utilise abortion facilities (Rao 2001).[liv] We have also had a huge and unedifying controversy erupting  when the Census Commissioner announced the religion-wise data from the 2001 Census, forgetting to add that these could not be compared to previous figures since the 1991 Census had not been conducted in Kashmir, a Muslim majority state ( Jayaraj and Subramaniam 2004).[lv] The Hindu right created an uproar about “them” out-numbering “us” in our own country, with a lot of help from the national media. This was despite clarifications issued by the Census Commissioner, despite figures showing that the rate of decline of the Muslim growth rate was substantial and indeed sharper than among Hindus. Indeed what has come to be called “saffron demography” has come to stay, “a set of pernicious myths” masquerading often as “common sense” (Jeffery and Jeffery 2005:447).[lvi]

In an extraordinary work, Anandhi reveals how neo-Malthusian concerns were transforming upper-caste anxieties about the lower castes, now asserting themselves, in Tamil Nadu (Anandhi 1998).[lvii] She notes the ease with which the upper class neo-Malthusian agenda interweaves with the upper caste agenda of Brahminical Hinduism to reduce women to merely reproductive bodies requiring male control, in a reimbrication of patriarchy. A number of men, predominantly Brahmin, involved in the early debates on birth control, members of the Neo-Malthusian League in Madras in the early twentieth century, invoked Brahminical texts that apparently regulated the sexuality, and thus the birth rate, among Hindus. Thus is achieved the seamless welding of “Hindu” with upper-castes, the conflation of upper caste practices and norms as Hindu ones. Thus Krishnamurthy Ayyar, noted that, in the case of Hindus, the Code of Manu imposed certain marriage practices that were anti-natal, although curiously he does not mention a deeply embarrassing topic of debate, namely the situation of widows in upper-caste Hindu society. This apparently prevented over-population of Hindus, while conversely creating over-population of those communities not similarly guided by the code of Manu. He also added that the upper caste dietary code of vegetarianism was perfect for regulating reproduction by dampening sexual appetites:

Taking the people of India, the birth rate among the Brahmins, particularly those of Madras and other purely vegetarian communities is the lowest except among the Parsees.[lviii] The Mohammedans who partake of animal foods have increased from 1881 to 1921…the Brahmins, who are purely vegetarian, there was no increase between 1891 and 1921, but a fall (cited in Anandhi 1998:143).[lix]

What was central to the arguments here were the reproductive excesses of the lower castes (and of the Muslims), their unbridled sexuality, the need therefore for upper caste normative control – defined in terms of desexualizing lower caste bodies. As Chakravarty has argued, what Brahminical patriarchy feared, indeed what was supposed to have brought on Kaliyuga, was miscegenation, “the purity of women has a centrality in brahminical patriarchy, because the purity of caste is contingent upon it” (Chakravarthi 1993: 579).[lx]  In short, the lower castes had to practice birth control both to improve the Hindu race and to emulate the upper castes who supposedly practiced continence except for reproductive purposes.[lxi]

As Ayyar observed:

As long as the germ cells belong to the race and human beings are their trusted custodians, birth control should not be resorted to unless it is for considerations of health or economic conditions. If it is practiced with the view to shirk responsibility and to lead a life of merely carnal pleasure, it is committing a crime towards the race (Ayyar cited in Anandhi 1998: 144).[lxii]

What is curious, and indeed striking, is that although there is anxiety about the sexuality of the lower castes, Hindutva does not seem to reveal obvious anxieties about the numbers of the lower castes. On the one hand, as the experience of Gujarat indicates, this could be related to the fact that Hindutva anxieties are largely focused on the growth rates of Christians and Muslims and that they see the dalits and the lower castes as foot soldiers in their fratricidal war. On the other, this could be related to their obvious role as perhaps the sole producers of value. The statement of a landlord in Tamil Nadu to Human Rights Watch illustrates this:

In the past, dalits enjoyed the practice of untouchability…the women enjoyed being oppressed by men. Ladies would boast that my husband has more wives. Most dalit women enjoy relations with men. They enjoy upper caste community men having them as concubines. Anything with dalits is not done by force….Without dalits we cannot live. We are landholders. We want workers for the fields. Without them we cannot cultivate or take care of our cattle. But dalit women’s relations with other men are not out of economic dependency. She wants it from him. He permits it. (Human Rights Watch 1999: 31).[lxiii]

In Conclusion

“Most Americans Want Immigration Drastically Reduced” reads a full-page advertisement in Harper’s of October 2004 (Vol.309, No.1853: 19), put forth by Negative Population Growth. It goes on to argue about the “catastrophic effect of overpopulation on our environment, resources and standard of living.” Neo-Malthusian underpinnings are evident in some of the security discourses on refugees, and are at the heart of dominant global discourses on the environment. We only need to remember that as soon as elections are announced in the U.K., immigration becomes an issue, not just for the Conservatives, but also for the New Labour of Tony Blair. At the same time, a sub-discipline of “strategic demography” has emerged, that seeks to locate the growth of Islamic fundamentalism in the “youth bulge theory, ” i.e. that population growth in Islamic countries, characterized by a high proportion of youth, spells political hazards, not just to democracy in their own countries but to the so-called free world (See Hendrixson, Anne (2004), Angry Young Men, Veiled Young Women: Constructing a New Population Threat, Cornerhouse Briefing No.34, December). This does not explain the rise to dominance of fundamentalism in the United States, which of course has no youth bulge, but such matters of truth or rigour rarely troubled demographic discourses in the past, and obviously do not, today. In other words, the population growth argument remains compelling, explaining just about everything, and thus of course explaining nothing.

The issue of population is of course a field where a rational and historical examination of facts is often clouded, occluded, rendered opaque.  Neo Malthusian arguments are truly protean, they are like Vishnu’s avatars, taking myriad forms: that poverty in our country primarily persists due to population growth; that the poor do not know what is good for them and for society as a whole, behave irrationally, and thus need to be educated; that population growth among religious communities is because some religious groups seek to outbreed and take over “our” country; the belief that affirmative action for the dalits presents a threat to social well-being and indeed that all welfare schemes represent a waste of productive investments; that “we” as a nation are in a bind, and, having tried everything, the only way out is that the poor can and indeed must be coerced to control their numbers; that population growth represents the main threat to the environment; that population growth in Third World countries can act as a security threat to the interests of freedom and democracy in the world and so on. Now of course, with the global war on terror, youth bulge theories have contributed to, and drawn sustenance from, global Islamophobia. Lurking at the heart of all these discourses, crazily, simplistically, is the idea of neo-Malthusianism, a simple arithmetical one.

At the most obvious level as to why people believe what they do, it is true that many people have, for hundreds of years, believed in something simply because this is “common sense”. The belief that the earth is flat and that it is at the center of the universe is one such belief that lasted centuries, and still apparently has followers. This, of course, begs the question as to what is common sense and how this is created, or indeed constructed.

Neo-Malthusianism offers a simple ordering of a complex, fractured and frightening world. In this ordering of the world, God is indeed in His heaven and all would be well had it not been for the predilection of the poor, the Them, to breed quite so incontinently. It is a profound alchemy of the mind that endows society with biological characteristics, all the better to control and recreate it. It allows us to think of the world without dangerous ideas of re-ordering a deeply unjust social order, indeed blaming victims, the “them”, who would otherwise threaten “us” with their demands for equality and justice. It is not only a beguilingly simple explanation of the world, this explanation has also the imprimatur of the state and all powerful organs of dissemination of knowledge and information, constantly reiterated and restated in any number of ways. Indeed, it might perhaps not be an exaggeration to state that more resources have been spent on creating this common sense over more than a hundred years than any other such idea in the world. Lurking below the surface, these ideas have always a strange way of resurfacing in what are perceived by some as incomprehensibly apocalyptic times, when the world as we know it stands threatened, or is changing too fast for our liking, when we yearn for a prelapsarian age of innocence and glory, when things were said to have been so much simpler. Thus the re-invention of tradition (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983)[lxiv], the entirely understandable fear of the heartless immorality of the modern, indeed of the demands of the hitherto dispossessed – which is also fundamentally part of this modernity.

Yet another factor is the ease, or the appeal, of linear or closed system thinking. It is thus not surprising that so many biologists, equating human societies with agglomerations of mango-flies or other instinctive creatures, frequently offer doomsday scenarios of population growth, as if humans are not reflexive, learning, reacting, eternally changing.

Nothing perhaps is more appealing to crude “common sense” than the many images of humankind such thinking creates: the image of human societies as crawling, over-breeding insects in a finite jar, or of organisms in a petri dish. But the imagery is not always crude, appealing to the most insentient in us. Most such images of the population question undoubtedly appeal to the altruistic: the images of starving children, hungry mothers, eyes powerfully accusing, along with the message of over-population. Indeed we are then exhorted to do something about it by contributing to population control in Third World countries. What many of these images also appeal to is the immediate, the un-reflexive, thus a-historical, in a world profoundly troubled by history and impatient with it.

Writing quite innocently about the communalization of population in India several years ago, I was utterly astonished, indeed frightened – which, I suspect was the intention – by the responses I received, in the form of many many postcards. I was labeled anti-Hindu, and many of the writers hoped that I would move to Pakistan, where they said my wife would get raped. A decade later websites run by Non Resident Indians in the USA, anxious about their Hindu-ness, while they had forsaken their country, repeated similar venom. This too could be inexplicable, indeed unthinkable: here are the self-proclaimed best and brightest, at the acme of their professional careers in the land of milk and honey, writing what can only be described as pornography.

How does one explain this? What this essay has attempted to do is to understand how ideas of population, of neo- Malthusianism, are re-configured, re-constructed and moulded by other ideas, of race, of gender, of community, and indeed nationhood. It does not seem to matter at all that neo-Malthusian ideas are repeatedly shown to be historically and empirically shallow. They bafflingly gild many disconnected discourses, giving the politics of numbers contemporary bite and pungency.

The novelist Julian Barnes, similarly baffled by the appeal of Thatcher, notes that her achievements were truly remarkable. She revealed that it was possible at times to do the truly unthinkable. She taught us that:

You could survive while allowing unemployment to rise to levels previously thought politically untenable. You could politicize hitherto unpolitical public bodies, and force the holy principles of the market into areas of society presumed sacrosanct. You could sharply diminish union power and increase employer power… You could make the rich richer and the poor poorer until you had restored the gap that existed at the end of the last century…. You could do all this and in the process traumatize the opposition …and even manage to get votes from the unemployed” (Barnes 1999: 546).[lxv]

How did she manage this? One, alas all too banal way, was, of course, by appeals to demagoguery and chauvinism. The second was what Barnes calls the “gut appeal to nature. ” But of course a nature modeled on capitalism, of nature red in tooth and claw, much as Darwin did with talk of the survival of the fittest. [lxvi]  Thus natural is constructed to mean the celebration of supreme and un-curtailed self-interest of the rich, and competitiveness in society.

If nature was indeed this way, who were we to intervene? Perhaps it is hubris to intervene? Nature, in other words, appears to tell the listener that the poor and other victims of the system are merely reaping what they sow, just as the rich and the privileged do.  What Thatcher did, much as Malthus did before her, was to argue that the poor had no moral right therefore to welfare. What she also did was to reduce the enormous complexities of social life to simple homilies, replacing hesitation and questioning with granitic certitudes, set in cold stone. In short, the success of neo-Malthusianism is the reduction of unpredictabilities, of uncertainties of life, of the political with the hard givens of Malthusian arithmetic, thus depoliticising politics. The success is precisely in naturalizing the social and therefore the contingent, giving it a timelessness, a timelessness as fragile as anything carved on stone.

As the new wave of globalisation, sharpens inequalities, accentuates the rate of exploitation, and the dispossession, of the poor globally, increases the transfer of resources from the poor to the rich countries, neo-Malthusian discourses serve to both naturalise these processes, as provide natural explanations for sharp political conflicts over resources, natural, social and intellectual. Fundamentalisms, anti-feminisms, and racisms are congealed into this.


[i] Often the same organizations, today arguing for reproductive health and rights, were involved in creating the population explosion concept. They have the same attached academics and NGOs. Recently, of course, their numbers – and reach – have dramatically increased, in response to increasing NGO-isation of the health system, most often in response to donor/lender demands. What needs to be sufficiently explored, and it hasn’t been, is why and how these donor/lender agencies command so much clout, given their relatively small contribution to India’s health budget.

[ii] Lipschutz, Ronnie D. and Turcotte, Heather (2005), “Duct Tape or Plastic? The Political Economy of Threats and the Production of Fear” in Betsy Hartmann, Banu Subrmaniam and Charles Zerner (Eds), Making Threats: Biofears and Environmental Anxieties, Rowman and Littlefield, Lanham.

[iii] Europol (2010), “ EU Terrorism Situation and Trend Report” accessed at http://www.consilium.europa.eu/uedocs/cmsUpload?TE-SAT%202010.pdf on 23rd September 2011. I am grateful to Mukul Kesavan for this reference.

[iv] Posner, Sarah (2011), “Breivik’s Demographic Warfare and the American Right’s Demographic Winter”, accessed at http://www.newage islam.com/New AgeIslamMuslimsAndIslamophobia on 27th July 2011.

[v] Puar, Jasbir (2010), “Israel’s Gay Propaganda War”, The Guardian, 1st July 2010, accessed at http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jul/01/israels-gay-propaganda-war, accessed on 20th September 2011.

[vi] Kaur, Ravinder (2011), “The Intimate Enemy”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol.XLVI, No.35, 27th August.

[vii] Kaur, Ravinder (2011), Ibid.

[viii] Express News Service” (2011)” The Norwegian Killers Ideas are not Entirely Wrong: BJP MP, B.P.Singhal”, 27th July.

[ix] Gould, Stephen Jay (1981), The Mismeasure of Man, W.W.Norton and Co., New York.

[x] Rudyard Kipling (1899), The White Man’s Burden
                    Take up the White Man's burden
                    Send forth the best ye breed
                    Go bind your sons to exile
                    To serve your captives' need;
                    To wait in heavy harness,
                    On fluttered folk and wild
                    Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
               Half-devil and half-child.

[xi] Gould, op cit.

[xii] These tropes hang heavy and loom over neo-Malthusian discourses in contemporary times, when we are enveloped in the second wave of globalisation.

[xiii]  Gould, op cit.

[xiv] For how eugenic ideas, fused with Evangelical Christianity, about the Other influenced US soldiers in their many wars in South America, see Greg Grandin (2006), Empires Workshop: Latin America, the United States and the Rise of a New Imperialism, Metropolitan Books, New York..

[xv]Francis Galton, cited in Kevles, Daniel J. (1995), In the Name of Eugenics: Genetics and the Uses of Human Heredity, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass.

[xvi] Rao, Mohan (2004), From Population Control to Reproductive Health: Malthusian Arithmetic, Sage, New Delhi.

[xvii]  Oakley, Ann (1986),The Captured Womb: A History of Medical Care of Pregnant Women, Basil Blackwell, London.

[xviii] Adolf  Hitler in  Mein Kampf, cited in Bondestam, Lars and Bergstrom, Staffan (Ed)(1980), Poverty and Population Control, Academic Press, London.

[xix] Brunius, Harry (2006), Better for all the World: The Secret History of Forced Sterilisations and America’s Quest for Racial Purity, Alfred A.Knopf, New York.

[xx] Enzenberger, H.M. ( 1992 ), “The Great Migrants”, in Krauts, Granta 42, Penguin London.

[xxi] Nussbaum, Martha (2007), The Clash Within: Violence, Hope and India’s Future, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass.

[xxii] Casolari, Marzia (2000), “Hindutvas Foreign Tie-Up in the 1930s: Archival Evidence”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol.XXXV, No.4, Jan 22nd.

[xxiii] Sen, Amartya (2005), The Argumentative Indian: Writings on Indian History, Culture and Identity, Penguin, New Delhi.

[xxiv] Sangari, Kumkum (2001), Politics of the Possible: Essays on Gender, History, Narratives, Colonial English, Tulika, New Delhi.

[xxv] Ali, Kamran Asdar (2002), Planning the Family in Egypt: New Bodies, New Selves, University of Texas Press, Austin.

[xxvi] Wuyts, Marc (1998), Malthus, Then and Now: The Novelty of Old Ideas on Population and Economy, Dies Natalis Address, Institute of Social Studies, The Hague.

[xxvii] Mamdani, Mahmood (2004), Good Muslims, Bad Muslims: Islam, the USA and the Global War Against Terror, Permanent Black, Delhi.

[xxviii] Patnaik, Prabhat (2003), The Retreat to Unfreedom: Essays on the Emerging World Order, Tulika, New Delhi.

[xxix] Mamdani, Mahmood ( 2001), When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism and the Genocide in Rwanda, Princeton University Press, Princeton.

[xxx] For a critique of this concept, and how they are framed by both colonialism and imperialism, see Mamdani (2001).

[xxxi] Uri Avneri (2002), “ A Jewish Demographic State”, cited in Betsy Hartmann and Anne Hendrixson “Pernicious Peasants and Angry Young Men”, in Hartmann, Subramanian and Zerner (Eds), op cit.

[xxxii] Ignatieff, Michael (1993), Blood and Belonging: Journeys into the New Nationalism, Penguin, London..

[xxxiii]  Al-Azmeh, Aziz (1993), Islams and Modernities, Verso, London.

[xxxiv] Christopher Hitchens (1992), “Appointment in Sarajevo” cited in Al-Azmeh, ibid.

[xxxv] Baber, Zaheer (2004), “’Race’, Religion and Riot: The ‘Racialisation’ of Communal Identity and Conflict in India”, Sociology, Vol.38, No.4.

[xxxvi] Anand Patwardhan’s documentary of 1995, “The Father, Son and Holy War “ explores this theme with its trenchant – and sharp- documentation of the Hindu right-wing’s project.

[xxxvii] Jaiswal, Suvira (1991), “Semitising Hinduism: Changing Paradigms of Brahminical Integration”, Social Scientist, Vol.19, No.12, December.

[xxxviii] Malouf, Amin (2001), In the Name of Identity: Violence and the Need to Belong, Arcade Publishing, New York.

[xxxix] Al Azmeh (1993), op cit.

[xl] Mamdani (2001), op cit. Mamdani notes the ease with which over-population arguments were used to explain the genocide in Rwanda, even as he shows how the colonial constructions of race, carried over into post-colonial institutionalisation of citizenship, were both powerful factors in the genocide at Rwanda, but to carry this out, the victims were first to be denied humanity. See also Greg Grandin (2006), Empires Workshop: Latin America, the United States and the Rise of a New Imperialism, Metropolitan Books, New York. Grandin shows us that the much earlier genocide in Latin America, indeed the genocides in the Americas, was possible only because Indians were deemed not human, not fit for redemption into humanity.

[xli] Kevles, Daniel J. (1995), op cit.

[xlii] Sarkar, Tanika (2002), “ Semiotics of Muslim Terror: Muslim Children and Women in Hindu Rashtra”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol.XXXVII, No.28.

[xliii] Nussbaum, Martha (2007), The Clash Within: Violence, Hope and India’s Future, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass.

[xliv] Sontag, Susan (1980), “Fascinating Fascism” in Under the Sign of Saturn, The Noonday Press, N.Y.

[xlv] Curiously Sidney Webb wrote his tract The Decline of the Birth Rate at about the same time. He was concerned the English were committing “race suicide” with the population of England becoming increasingly Jewish and Irish (Jayal, Niraja Gopal (ed) (1987), Sidney and Beatrice Webb: Indian Diary, OUP, Delhi.). The Webbs, Wells and Shaw, were all fervent believers in eugenics.

[xlvi]Datta, Pradip Kumar (1999), Carving Blocs: Communal Ideology in Early Twentieth Century Bengal,O.U.P., Delhi.

[xlvii] Ibid.

[xlviii] Cohn, Bernard S.(1987), “The Census, Social Structure and Objectification in South Asia”, in An Anthropologist Among Historians and Other Essays, Oxford University Press, New Delhi.

[xlix] Bhagat, R.B (2001), “ Census and the Construction of Communalism in India”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. XXXXI, No. 47, November 24th, 2001. What Bhagat also shows us is the enormous problems the census faced in classifying people they enumerated.

[l] Gupta, Charu (2004), “Censuses, Communalism, Gender and Identity: A Historical Perspective”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol.XXXXIV, No.39, Sep 25th.

[li] It is interesting that it was the semiotics of this image that was conjured up by some women members of the BJP, protesting the possibility of Sonia Gandhi exercising her citizenship rights to the Prime Ministership of the country.  These MPs threatened to tonsure their heads if Ms.Gandhi was elected the PM. A tonsured head is of course the sign of an upper caste widow in Hindu society. The matter, they argued, was not of rights and the Constitution, but Hindu emotion that over-rode these rights. Thus is wedded anti-feminism to communalism, with women BJP members making a patriarchal bargain. While the appeal of course is to the timeless, and to culture, albeit upper-caste ones, what was being fought over was much more quotidian.

[lii]  http://www.newkerala.com/ (30 December 2004),” VHP Supremo Asks Hindus to give up Family Planning”.  The PTI reported from Rohtak on December 29th that the VHP president Ashok Singhal said Hindus should give up family planning so that their population does not
go down. Speaking at the inaugural session of VHP’s joint meeting of the international board of trustees and the central management committee, he said population of minorities, especially Muslims, had been rising at “such a fast pace” that it would be 25 to 30 per cent of the total population in 50 years. Singhal said it would be “suicidal” for Hindus if they did not raise their population. He said that it was essential to build a Ram temple at Ayodhya for ‘dharmik azadi’ (religious freedom) of the Hindus. Further, at the Margadarshak Mandal, its apex body meeting in February 2005, a resolution was passed calling upon Hindus to follow the ideal family size set by Lord Krishna’s parents and “contribute constructively towards increasing the Hindu population” (“VHP asks Hindus to Abandon Two Child Norm”,The Statesman, Wednesday 16th February 2005). The resolution also called for checking Bangladeshi infiltration and preventing Hindu girls from marrying Muslim boys. Krishna, the resolution pointed, out was the eight child of his parents as was Netaji Bose, and Rabindranath Tagore, the ninth!

[liii] Staff Correspondent (2005), “RSS sees ‘demographic war’”, The Hindu, 24th January 2005.

[liv] Rao, Mohan (2001),“Female Foeticide; Where Do We Go?”, Issues in Medical Ethics, Vol.IX, No.4, October.

[lv] Jayaraj, D. and Subramaniam, S. (2004), “Manufacturing Hysteria: On Census-Inspired ‘Nationalism’”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. XXXIX, No.39, Sep 25th.

 24. Jeffery, Roger and Jeffery, Patricia (2005), “Saffron Demography, Common Wisdom, Aspirations and Uneven Governmentalities”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol.XL, No.5.

[lvii]Anandhi, S. (1998), “Reproductive Bodies and Regulated Sexuality: Birth Control Debates in Early Twentieth Century Tamilanadu” in Mary E.John and Janaki Nair (ed), A Question of Silence? The Sexual Economies of Modern India, Kali for Women, Delhi.

[lviii]This sentence is riddled with minefields, defeating his own argument, since he notes that non-vegetarian Parsees also had low birth rates. Nevertheless there is a curious, and entirely incorrect, characterisation of Brahmins as strictly vegetarian. Indeed the Brahmins of Kashmir, who consider themselves the Brahmins of Brahmins, are non-vegetarians, as also the Brahmins of Bengal and South Kanara. But today at the height of Hindutvavadi resurgence it is being asserted that all Hindus are essentially vegetarian in a move to deny beef to the dalit and Muslim communities.

[lix]Anandhi, S. (1998), op cit.

[lx] Chakravarthi, Uma (1993), “Conceptualising Brahminical Patriarchy in Early India: Gender, Caste, Class and State”, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol.XXVIII, No.14.

[lxi] This indeed was Mahatma Gandhi’s position on birth control.

[lxii] Anandhi, S. (1998), op cit.

[lxiii] Human Rights Watch (1999), Broken People: Caste Violence Against India’s ‘Untouchables’, Books for Change, Bangalore.

[lxiv] Hobsbawm, Eric and Ranger, Terence (Eds), The Invention of Traditions, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

[lxv]Barnes, Julian (1999), “Mrs.Thatcher Remembers” in Ian Hamilton (Ed), The Book of Twentieth Century Essays, Fromm International, New York.

[lxvi] Tennyson might well be turning in his grave if he knew how his famous line “Nature red in truth and  claw” inspired not just Thatcher and the Bushes, pere and fils, but also the Hindu right and the Islamic Brotherhood and indeed all those who favour the current  neo-liberal world order.!

—————————————-

A medical doctor, specialised in public health, Mohan Rao is Professor at the Centre of Social Medicine and Community Health, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. He is the author of From Population Control to Reproductive Health: Malthusian Arithmetic(Sage, 2004) and has edited Disinvesting in Health: The World Bank’s Health Prescriptions (Sage, 1999) and The Unheard Scream: Reproductive Health and Women’s Lives in India (Zubaan,2004), and, with Sarah Sexton, Markets and Malthus: Population, Gender and Health in Neoliberal Times (Sage 2010)

Good Reasons (HUG Fiction)

Anil Menon

Imaginative resistance. I’d heard the chilly phrase for the first time, just a short while ago, in one of New York Public library’s cavernous lecture rooms. Yet it already feels familiar, as if the phrase had always been in my possession. The speaker had been a philosopher of literature from Harvard, one Doctor Tamar Szabo Gendler.

Imaginative resistance, she said, was the unwillingness of readers to imagine morally deviant fictional worlds.

I had been so busy wondering if readers could be, would be, so perverse, I almost didn’t recognize the man in the elegant overcoat outside Macy’s on 34th.

‘Humbert!’

‘Indeed,’ says Humbert Humbert, smiling in that cautious way he has. ‘Cof­fee?’

He doesn’t introduce his young companion. The look they exchange is appar­ently an instruction, because she disappears into Macy’s. There is something about her mouth’s appealing pout that invokes clenched fists and crumpled white sheets.

Over coffee, I tell him about fiction and imaginative resistance.

‘Sounds like a medical term,’ says Humbert, ‘an absolution for cures that fail to cure.’

‘Dr. Gendler’s given a name to one of Hume’s puzzles. Hume claimed that a story can do a great many things, but it cannot persuade a reader that an immoral fictional world is right. It seems there’s a fundamental unwillingness.’

Humbert considers my claim. His fingers grip his cup formally, as if he were drinking tea rather than coffee.

‘Unwilling? My dear fellow, an author seduces. What is seduction without unwillingness?’

‘Let’s not shift topics. Consider this two-line story: In killing her baby, Giselle did the right thing. After all, it was a girl.’

Humbert smiles. ‘And?’

‘Well, which reader will find that story morally acceptable?’

 

1

‘Trivial. I imagine Giselle has some horrid, extremely painful disease, pecu­liar to women. Alas, it is also transmissible and incurable. Why shouldn’t she kill her baby? After all, it’s a girl.’

Even if morality was necessarily independent of the imagination, Humbert went on to say, that very necessity could be used to unbutton the reader.

I remain unconvinced. ‘Let’s try another. Imagine a deviant, a connoisseur of innocence. Nymphets, perhaps.’

He waited, eyes glittering.

‘Now imagine a story in which a nymphet’s mother knowingly gives lodging to the deviant. I dare you to find it moral.’

Humbert puts down his cup. ‘Yes, readers must be dared. I claim it is an allegory about a God, a deviant serpent and a curious child-woman; to wit, Genesis, chapter 3. Didn’t God know what would happen in that Garden? Yet, millions find the tale quite moral. Imagine that!’

His claim had a certain piquancy.

‘Perhaps God’s Hands were tied.’ Humbert has the air of a man nursing a personal sorrow. ‘What must be done may be forgiven. Who cannot forgive necessity?’

It was a Valentine’s day morning, happy, pure, a premature Spring morning on which anything could be forgiven. His companion smiled and waved at us through Macy’s glass windows.

‘She’s in there supposedly to buy me a card, but I imagine I’ll end up buying her a hat. She’s developing quite a passion for hats.’ Humbert sounds resigned. ‘They grow up so fast these days.’

They do indeed. I remember we talked of other things. Teaching. Transi­tions. Raising teenagers. We shared many interests, Humbert Humbert and I. Yes, yes, I’ve heard what people say. I imagine he had good reasons.

- The End -

Anil Menon worked for about nine years in software before wising up, he says, about easier ways to write fiction. His stories can be found in a variety of magazines and anthologies. His novel The Beast With Nine Billion Feet (Zubaan, 2009) was short-listed for the 2010 Vodafone-Crossword award and Carl Baxter Society’s Parallax Prize. [He can be reached at iam@anilmenon.com.]

Civil War in Jefferson Country: Lessons from the University of Virginia

Brinda Bose

A rain-drizzled, splendidly-verdant, sleepily-calm campus it was, just about a month ago, at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville, USA – so much so that many of its residents would often laugh and exclaim at its placidity, the almost paradisiacal quality of an island-in-the-mild-northern-spring-sun quite untouched by the rowdinesses that we of the alarming tropics both fear and desire in our daily lives. So much so, in fact, that at a conference on Global Humanities at the UVa’s newly-minted Institute for the Humanities and Global Cultures at the end of April, where I was part of a presentation on new administrative policies in Indian higher education (which some of us on our campus here in Delhi perceive as nothing less than an orchestrated, concentrated attack on academia as we value it), it was received by many of the local audience – made up of faculty members across the humanities and social science disciplines, deans and other administrative stalwarts of the UVa – with sympathy and surprise. A few expressed outrage about what was happening at a faraway campus (perhaps quietly thanking their stars for being at the University of Virginia rather than of Delhi). A couple of others (presumably of UVa Rector Helen Dragas’s ilk, as it appears with hindsight) implied in their comments and questions that we in Delhi were perhaps rather naïve to even expect that an university would be run in any way differently from a corporate – what kind of an arcane idealism was that?

It aroused curiosity, the Delhi University story of midnight show-cause notices that stank of fake legalese, accompanied by photographic evidence of sniffer dogs, police men and women and rope cordons around a regular Committee of Courses meeting at which its members were to be coerced, initially with veiled threats and ultimately with open punitive action, to sign in favour of what the Vice Chancellor and his team had decreed for the institution: wild and wicked systemic changes whose fallouts, in just over a year or so, Delhi University is already beginning to crumble under. Those there who were far more sharply attuned to grave and fatal rumblings in academia all across the globe (and there were, of course, many of them) knew, of course, that horrific and melodramatic as the unfolding, ongoing DU story was, it was symptomatic of the times we were all thrashing about in.

But even they, I can wager, did not in their most vile nightmares imagine that a so-very-similar horror would slam upon their summer-somnolent Charlottesville ‘Grounds’ like a frenzied tornado within the month, just as the last batches of students had slunk away for a glorious summer break after ‘end-sem’ examinations and the beautifully leafy campus was drawing a quiet fragrant breath or two to build up spirit and stamina again for the new academic year to come. I can bet that, even as some of them spoke with pride of the University’s high-ranked Darden School of Business, they did not in their most bizarre dreams imagine it would bring them so much shame and sorrow just as the sun grew stronger on the tall trees and rolling greens and their lovely stately buildings. Brandishing “strategic dynamism” as a weapon in the face of a slow-and-steady academic vision, and ravaging the edifices of loyalty and love among alumni, donors, students and staff overnight that take years of care and understanding to build, a fresh new management-oriented policy of governance has, as suddenly as the proverbial storm on a blithe summer’s day, brought mayhem and melancholy to the University of Virginia this historic June of 2012. And as is already evident from the outpouring of articles, open letters, Facebook posts and tweets, and the massive – now nationwide in America and fast turning global – outburst of reportage, interviews and analyses in the media, the charming, bucolic University of Virginia at Charlottesville will certainly never be the same again – even if, as latest news filtering in gives hope, the tide is stemmed and turned.

Just a week ago, two years into her five-year-term, Teresa Sullivan was summarily dismissed from her post as President of the University of Virginia, to the complete shock and disbelief of the majority of the staff and students on campus. Helen Dragas, Rector of UVa’s Board of Visitors (what we in India know usually as a Governing Board/Body), explained this decision cryptically, thus: “The Board believes that in the rapidly changing and highly pressurized external environment in both health care and in academia, the University needs to remain at the forefront of change.” The sticking point, however, was that Sullivan was largely seen as a successful leader in what are extremely difficult times for public universities all over the world, and the one who was attempting to bring change to the institution with vision and grace. This was a very rotten bolt from a pretty serene blue. Bewildered, and convinced that there must be a good explanation for this unexpected move from the Board, the faculty began to ask questions – fast, furious, and increasingly embarrassing. What was revealed subsequently was a tale of Machiavellian wringing and stringing, in the true style of corporate boardroom politicking: hardly astonishing, however, given that the chief protagonists who engineered this coup d’etat under cover of darkness were Rector Dragas and a bunch of wealthy donors to the university, in cahoots with a group of university insiders, some members of the Darden business school of the UVa – fie on them, most of all. (And could Dragas have been better named? Dickensian, according to an astute Facebook comment; one’s literary soul is sated at once.)

Farcically enough, an email sent out by hedge-fund billionaire, former Goldman Sachs partner and member of the foundation board of UVa’s business school Peter Kienan by a mistaken ‘reply all’ hit to more people on a university list than was intended, revealed that Sullivan’s removal was shamelessly ‘managed’ by some who are most possessed of those skills by academic training, through silence, lies and cunning – Dragas did not even call a Board meeting before the ouster, but spoke to some of its members individually and then threatened Sullivan that she had enough votes to fire her if she did not resign. Baffled but dignified, Sullivan did the civilized thing and handed in her resignation, and retreated to consult with family and lawyers, not even responding to the thousands of messages and calls she began to receive from university colleagues and well-wishers in solidarity and shock. She requested merely that she be allowed to address the Board of Visitors when it met this past Monday, and asked that the meeting be public. Dragas agreed to a closed door hearing; Sullivan agreed, and circulated her statement as a public document after the meeting. Well before then, of course, Sullivan had become something of a Joan of Arc for colleagues and students on UVa’s beloved and beautiful ‘Grounds’, which swelled in indignant protest over the weekend into a massive rally to “save” the University from a bunch of managerial bigots. Alumni donors and parents of past and present students grew vociferous in their condemnation of an outrageously brazen act of power-mongering and money-flexing that was unbelievably detrimental to the rich academic spirit of this nearly-200-year-old university, founded in 1819 by Thomas Jefferson.

On Sunday (June 17th) evening in the middle of its summer break, the faculty senate gathered in an emergency meeting to deliberate upon the options available to them to put pressure on the Board to reinstate Sullivan as President and change gears to damage-control-mode in Jefferson country. On Monday afternoon while the Board met to hurriedly announce an ‘interim President’ to try and quell the swelling trouble on campus, a 2,000-strong crowd of angry and disappointed protestors made up of faculty, students, administrators and even a former President of the UVa gathered on the steps of the massive, impressive Rotunda, built by Jefferson as the historic nerve-centre of the campus, to press the Board into reversing its decision. The Board heard out Sullivan’s solemn and decorous statement (all documents relating to the unfolding UVa scandal are available on the net) and went ahead to announce its chosen interim President without an iota of embarrassment: Carl Zeithaml, the current Dean of the McIntire School of Commerce at UVa, whose curriculum vitae boasts of a specialization in – don’t hold your breath – ‘strategic management’.

What would be the most astounding thing in all this if it did not so easily resonate with what is happening in universities the world over, alas, are the reasons for Sullivan’s ouster. Her sin, it appears, is that she was much more of a university administrator than a business person; she refused to cut “obscure” and low-yield programmes like the Classics and German, and rejected a plan to bring online education to the university. The main criticism leveled against her was that she was too “incremental”, (rather than being strategically dynamic, presumably), that she was too steeped in academic culture (how did she ever imagine she could be that, right, to lead a 200-year-old public university?) and too resistant to plans for bringing “top-down, corporate style management” to UVa. For all these very original sins, her head rolled.

But it may not be a bandwagon to just jump on to blindly, as Sullivan’s tempered choices indicate; it is quite amazing, of course, how many American universities, just by herd instinct, might follow Harvard and Stanford and Wall Street Journal edits to “go online”, as Dragas had myopically suggested in early messages to her conformist peers on the Board.  Online courses will never be as rigorous (or as difficult) as interactive ones. Given the economic downturn, the best institutions are inclined toward opening online services and overseas branches for easy money. If UVa wishes to follow that trend, there is no need to fashion it into an argument for academic excellence. At least in India we know that the results of distance education have not been about excellence: it means polytechnic vocationalization, in which teachers know how to calibrate their lectures for an online audience.

So UVa’s Board of Visitors led by the Dragas-lady has had its way for now, though the picture continues to change dramatically even as I write. An interim President who will be strategic rather than academic has been put in place. Sullivan is already being wooed by other institutions in the country, and the one which is lucky to snare this apparently quiet efficient academic visionary will win what will surely be charming Charlottesville’s monumental loss – not merely in the enforced departure of someone who seems to be a fine individual but in a far more insidious, dangerous way, in the damaging of the spirited aspirations of an entire academic community. And what Sullivan somberly warned in her statement on Monday, June 19th at the Rotunda (on whose grand pillars vandalists had spray-painted G-R-E-E-D in bold black letters the night before, in disgust at the dirty hands among Board members), that universities across America were waiting to ferret away UVa’s best teachers, students and administrators in the wake of this upheaval, has startlingly begun to come true within a day of its utterance: one of only 13 holding the title ‘University Professor’ at UVa, William Wulf of the Computer Science department submitted his letter of resignation to the Board on June 20th, declaring: “In my opinion the BoV has perpetrated the worst example of corporate governance I have ever seen. To repeat – I resign. I want no part of this ongoing fiasco.” On Wednesday June 21st, another professor of the Biology department has filed his papers. If this marks the beginning of a real as much as symbolic exodus of eminent faculty, the Board of Visitors at UVa may well soon be holding an unwashed baby while the bathwater drains.

As many analysts in newspapers and journals all over the world are beginning to conclude about the implications of this enormous academic scandal in Virginia, the seriousness of it lies in that it is symptomatic of higher education policies everywhere. Siva Vaidhyanathan, Professor of Media Studies at UVa wrote in a prominently-circulating piece immediately after the flames of shock and horror began to engulf his campus: “The biggest challenge facing higher education is market-based myopia. Wealthy board members, echoing the politicians who appointed them (after massive campaign donations) too often believe that universities should be run like businesses, despite the poor record of most actual businesses in human history. Universities do not have ‘business models’. They have complementary missions of teaching, research, and public service. Yet such leaders think of universities as a collection of market transactions, instead of a dynamic (I said it) tapestry of creativity, experimentation, rigorous thought, preservation, recreation, vision, critical debate, contemplative spaces, powerful information sources, invention, and immeasurable human capital.”

But as we can all see, universities are being made to have “business models”. I have been following articles and statements circulating on the UVa case this past week, and what is most frightening is how much the Dragasian model of university administration and aspiration is instantly recognized as the draconian rule of law that is being laid upon other academic communities almost everywhere, from Georgia, USA to Cambridge, UK to our very own doorstep. What is most inspirational about the UVa story, however, is in the way such a huge chunk of the university’s extended community, past and present, has rallied boisterously and bravely around their ousted President, rightly seeing in this mischief of the BoV a far huger and horrific assault on academia at large. Those of us who are connected in some way to the University of Virginia, and even those of us who are not, will surely wish for it a speedy recovery of spirit and form and equanimity. Charlottesville has been truly heroic – some downtown business establishments even closed shop on Monday afternoon so that its workers could attend the protest at the university’s Rotunda in solidarity with UVa’s majority – and UVa’s larger community has demonstrated a fierce and admirable collective investment in an academic institution with a vision for change that is incremental rather than strategic. This is enormously inspirational, for the youth that it seeks to nurture and prepare for life, and for all of us who see resonances in the policies governing our own institutions today.

Early this morning, there are reports that Sullivan has been persuaded by the groundswell of support swirling around her to let the BoV know that she will be willing to rejoin as President of the UVa if Rector Dragas resigns. There has already been a key resignation of a Dragas aficionado from the Board, and there are increasingly-loud murmurs that the numbers in favour of Sullivan’s ouster are not really what Dragas indicated. If Sullivan is reinstated as head of the University of Virginia in the next few days, it will be a magnificent sign of how much public outrage and spontaneous mobilization can actually achieve in the face of undemocratic, sinister and completely unscrupulous machinations. After all, the powers that be, always and always, are but people’s creatures!

Postscript. If, however, people’s power does not prevail at UVa after all, I wonder if Teresa Sullivan could be persuaded to leap across a couple of continents to pursue her leadership instincts in a different place with a snarkily-similar set-up of education power-brokers? I have a feeling that there will be many of us in various universities across the world who might be thinking the same this week.

—————————————
Brinda Bose teaches in the Department of English, University of Delhi.

from Guban

 

Abdi Latif Ega

 

The Water Bearer

The journey to the well was long and scary when Twosmo was younger. She would start before the shadows cast, and would usually reach the well when there was a significant shadow in the day. It was scary because the land was an endless darkness. Her camel, a ten foot beast, would not avail her any form of protection from the many dangers lurking out there – the wild animals in search of a succulent morsel before they returned to their dens.

Twosmo, at this tender age, felt she was being thrown to the hyenas in the darkness, shrouded ominously before the break of dawn. Whenever she felt she could not possibly go through with it, the voice of her mother in her head would sternly urge her on, resoundingly stating how it was her duty to the clan, family, and a further duty to her own homestead of the future.

In the light of the day, brought on by an unrelenting sun, the land assumed an indistinguishable form. Every thorn looked like the others, every ant hill looked identical, there were thousands of well-trodden foot paths all around. The small foot paths in the sandy earth, marked by spaces of grass in the ground resembled a translucent head of thinning hair. The trees were mainly thorn trees – all emaciated and small in stature from a sparse diet of nothing butvery little rain-fall. The trees had this incommon with every living thing in this desolate abode of collective harshness.

It was a most barren part of the world. Everything that grew here had to put up a great fight to merely exist. Plants were as fierce as the rest of the environment; they abounded with thorns to ensure life. The lay of the land was unforgiving, cruel as if still despondent from its volcanic eruptions of long ago. Sand-lodged in places where seasonal rivers once flowed. Barren volcanic mountain ranges in the background presided over everything, stoically, aloof to the daily proceedings, as they unfolded. A flat enormity of semi-arid land was dashed here and there by thorn trees too short to hide or give shade to anything. Mingled with thorny shrubbery, that translucent head of hair grass resembled hay growing out from the earth, what perhaps used to be long luscious grass when this was a savanna.

The ten foot camel followed obediently through a nose lead. This animal with all its clumsy glory reigned supreme to the fierce pastoralist. This animal was the end and beginning of all things. There was conflict as to which was more important: water or the camel. Disputes were always over water rights for the camels, goats, sheep – in that order -which invariably involved bloodshed. Only the camel sufficed as payment for the disputes, often heralding the end to hostilities, although there were those rare individuals who chose a life for a life instead.

The currency of the camel was used in all manner of occasions. It was used for bride price. Since marriage was oneof the most important events in a Somal’s life and procreation, the objectof the nomad’s very existence, the fierceness of life without the camel demanded large congeries of sons to protect the wealth and general well-being of the family from other such families and from treacherous often barren lone operators, barren precisely as a result of the lack of this clumsy currency in abundance.

Wealth in this part of the world is truly in the eyes of the beholder. The camel is the most rugged and austere of the domesticated animals, reflexively soare the wealthy in these parts. If you seea rather gaunt, lanky red and dusty man, he could be rich in camels and sons, or he could just as well be impoverished.

Twosmo would often hear her Awowo describe many such men of many sons and camels. She cut a picture of one in the throes of death induced by sustained hunger brought on by his own miserliness.

After a long solo journey, Twosmo would arrive at the well, as did many of the girls, having walked a quite lengthy distance, exhausted. They would then wait for the men, usually their kin, to draw the water  for  them. The wells were  very  deep  in  the  earth and,  as the men  worked, there  was a chance for  a slight  reprieve for  the  girls before the  arduous journey back  home, leading a camel  now  laden with fifty litres  of water  on  each  side. The water was rusty in  color approximating apple  juice,  a color which permeated everything. It seeped into the clothes, fingernails, and was red, being the color of the loose sand of this region.

After the journey, there were other chores awaiting her return. She would tend  to  the  needs  of Awowo, filling  his abolition water  container full before the  night  prayer, bringing him  milk and  most  of all–the tea before he would retire for the  night. By this time, Twosmo had kraaled the livestock for the night, surrounding the encampment with thorn tree branches as an impenetrable defense against would be wildlife  intruders.

The Arrest

YUSUF WAS  ASTOUNDED BY  THE CITY ITSELF. He was exasperated with   the  desire  to  break  the  monotony of  the  perpetual moving, grazing and  general  animal  husbandry of it all. It was here in these  desolate  places of nature’s  barren garden  that  he would first hear of the larger  world  outside.This eventually kindled his desire to see beyond the  confines of the  limited world  of the  harsh  plains, a world  of constant movement in search  of pasture  and water.A world existed  beyond this  utter  desolation, he  had  heard,  and  it had  cities that abounded with  people who  never moved. Incredibly, they stayed put for years.

Yusuf was determined to  become part  of the  city  and  identified as such, but  he had to shed  his much  ingrained camel  ways. For this, he looked to Commander Ali for  questions. In Ali Deray, his commander, he  saw  one  who wielded the  respect  and  fear  of  his fellow  city  dwellers.Yusuf sought to  understand the  intricate ways of what  made  him, at barely  a few years his senior, so prominent.Yusuf had  met  many  officers  outside and  inside  the  military whose rank equaled that  of Ali Deray, but  who,  despite  their  rank  and file, were just plainly  ignored.

Yusuf rationalized that whatever he  knew in his previous life did not  apply  to the  ways of the  city, and  by extension, the  ways of government. So, when he was ordered to complete the arrest  of aman named Hoagsaday, there  were many layers of adherence in his under­ taking  of the orders.

On the morning he was ordered to do so, he summoned the other soldiers and commenced toward  Hoagsaday’s house. He knew of the man. He was one of many who had left the country in search of better economical prospects and had returned after a long sojourn with much more.The soldiers arrived at Hoagsaday’s inearly after-noon and knocked with the usual arrogance most coercive forces are known for. Everyone was indoors, refugees from the midday’s naked sun. Such was the custom of Mogadishu that from around one o’clock to at least five – longer for others – those who could ate a hearty lunch - quite excessive, particularly if guests were being entertained   and, afterwards, anafternoon siesta was agreed upon by all who lived in this city.

This time proved quite opportune forYusuf to present the full regalia ofcoercive bravado and intimidation. It was an added effect of humiliation for a prominent member of the community, as Hoagsaday was, to be rounded up attheir home by the government and in such a manner and at such a ubiquitous time and place of privacy. The intended audience was the public, who would know of the incident before long. It was a nation populated by news chronicles and worthy disseminators, the news would spread like a tsunami, instilling fear in the almost fearless nomads turned citizens of a modern city state.

Hoagsaday heard the knock which at first drove him quickly into a fit of anger, commonly induced by afternoon sleep –it was probably a mannerless person, particularly rude, probably an impatient person having some business with him who thought nothing of invading his privacy, rather than wait for him at the store during the normal hours.

He called to the servant to answer with a firm admonition to the knocker,then again, he quickly changed his mind,brushing past the servant in a haste offury to answer the door himself.“Who is it, don’t you have any sense at all? I just can’t understand how a mature person can be so inconsiderate.”

As he opened the door with a forceful jerk with one hand, he was confronted by the khaki brown color of a soldier’suniform. Hoagsaday simultaneously heard ,“Are you the rich guy from overseas, we have orders from my commander, to arrest you, Hoagsaday. Come with us now,” almost barking ,“Getin the truck.”

Hoagsaday saw a military truck behind his vehicle in the driveway full of nondescript beige berets, hunched in the back. In a flash of second, Hoagsaday went through a montage in his mind in search of anything that might shed some light on why the military wanted him. The thought of this event at his home at this hour when most people were resting in the privacy of theirhomes was surreal. Since nothing wasamiss, Hoagsaday grew more and moreagitated with these lower ranking enforcers that dared to show up like this. Momentarily regaining his stature as a prominent businessman from one of larger clans, he stood barreling his chest, now returning the bark, “What in the name of God makes you think you can come to my home, at this time, and under such pretentious allegations, and barge into my compound and ask to take me, Hoagsaday, an upstanding member of this city, to the station just like a common and habitual criminal?” By this time, his children, wife, and a number of his relatives both visiting and staying with him were all shocked out of sleep. They were all heading outside towards the fracas on the veranda, alongside the official intruders.

“Hear this bigmouth? Come along quietly before we drag you by the scruff of your neck in front of your wife,children, and your entire family.”

Hoagsaday had by now gone from disbelief to belief in the reality that these goons meant business. There was no doubt in his mind now: this madness was real. It was futile at this point to plead with rocks, and he made a split second decision to acquiesce which was heavily influenced by the gradual milling on the veranda of more and more male family members as they woke up to what was going on.

Abukar, a male cousin just arrived from the hinterland, started an abrasive verbal assault on the soldiers ,“What kind of animals are you? Has the government stopped recruiting humans into the military? How dare you come here with this nonsense? What great balls are these you come with? Do guns have brains? This is not a government matter. When you come here like this, you don’t come here as a government, but as a clan. Everyone has a clan too, and you will reckon with Hoagsaday’s. We see you behind the clan camouflage of your uniform.”

With that, Abukar was descended upon by two soldiers  who had come for  Hoagsaday. The berets  were  now  quickly unloading from the  truck, all heading to  the  veranda to  help  subdue Abukar who was by now  pinned to the  ground with two  soldiers  on  top  of him, engaging in the  scuffle as best  he  could from beneath the  two  sol­diers.  He continued to  harangue the  soldiers  with  open threats,  as other males decided to join in on the  now  potential melee.

One of the  soldiers shouted a command, while  the  loud  cocking of several machine guns  was simultaneously heard, launching the  all too well  known severity in the  air, a severity that  garnered instant access to  obedience. Precisely   at  this  moment,  Hoagsaday stated loudly,mainly  for  the  benefit of his family  and  to calm  the soldiers, that  he would obey  though he requested to go back  into  the  house and change out  of his ma’wiss, a long sarong  worn by males  used both privately in  the  city and  regularly in  the hinterland. In a brave posture, he  reassured  his family  and  went  outside onto the  back  of the truck, whereAbukar was already lying  prone  on the floor,bloody at the soldiers’ boots.

The truck drove fast speeding through the  empty roads  of siesta time, making its way to a non-descript and  heavily  guarded isolated building. Both  men  were  manhandled off the  truck, barely  making the distance   between the  flatbed  of the  truck and  the  ground on theirfeet  because  the  soldiers  were  all busy  thumping them with their boots and  rifle butts. Abukar was given extra rations of hurt for his earlier infraction and  continued defiant disposition.

They were separated at the  entrance of what  looked like a front greeting area office, taken down steps leading to a dark underground,and  then  lead into a holding cell that  had no  bars but  a thick metal door that was promptly shut behind when Hoagsaday was inside. He sat down in a grand stupor, sitting on the floor  of this small rectangle enclosure with  nothing - no  furniture or  even  a mat  to  help  youbrace  the  concrete floor.  It was a concrete slab of drab nothingness. Hoagsaday was on the floor wondering if what  had just  transpired was  real. If so, who was involved? How does one go from a  routine  day to some  underground holding concrete pit? He Started to get out  of the  haziness  of blurred thoughts, slowly  thinking about

Abukar, Twosmo, his young wife whom he had just left hysterically crying, along with his children, during the fiasco. He was not so certain any more whether he could get the ear of someone, anyone. What had just transpired had all the makings of quite a serious problem. There was nothing he knew. He knew absolutely nothing, not even a mere inkling of what he was upagainst. He now tried in his mind to go back to that earlier montage of events in recent memory to somehow put some feet on why the government had interrupted his life today.

Hoagsaday was not in the government. He was a private business man not engaged in anything even remotely breaching any law of the land. He paid his taxes regularly, never borrowed from the government, nor was he engaged in any way withthose who were part of the government, in any partnerships,neither did he solicit any official of the government for powerful whispers on behalf of his company even though this was quitecommon. Hoagsaday was simply a man who had worked hard for several years to acquire what minimal capital he could asseed money, to start a business and buy a home in the city.

He was slightly reassured by the thought that someone from his clan was probably already inquiring on his whereabouts in the hope of finding his location, and on who needed to be talked to inorder to gain his release.As things were in Somal, there would be a hodgepodge of government in the western sense, the traditional pastoral ways of adjudication, and with a large dose of clannishness.

In the meantime, his eyes wandered around this hot dungeon of sorts, the cracked concrete wall full of graffiti, left by those whohad had the dubious privilege of passing through this bare and dirty place. This was quite a change from the normal day for Hoagsaday, who had until this point worked himself into the psyche of the city dwellers, known as an ambitious and innovative hard working man. He had within no time established an operational business that quickly blossomed into many other ones. With prominence came the multitudes of the envious, of course in varying degrees. Some said he dug in toilets, others said he had done a lot of common street begging when he was abroad in the Middle East.

Still others said he beat a hasty retreat after a long career as a thief in the Middle East when his gang  made  a final career  ending score. The rest of his gang were reputed to be non-Somals and  prominent in their  countries as he was here.

This adventurous mystique was created around the person of Hoagsaday sort  of like a modern day version  of the famous Ali Baba fable. But one did not need to look far to find the origin of these rumors. They were  generated by rival business  men  and  the  collective  of idle  naysayer  who had  witnessed  Hoagsaday’s quick  ascen­dancy to the parapets ofbusiness circles in the city and who had been astonished at his conscientious efficiency. There was that,  and  then there were  the  others who wielded power  in  the  government and used  their  high  positions as a means  to public  and private coffers.

Hoagsaday, having spent a significant amount of time overseas, had indeed dwelled in nostalgia. Ideas heavily flavored by a hybrid existence in the Middle East  at  the  confluence of many   cultures. He cultivated some ideas from the West, the Middle East, as though he was somewhat delusional about the reality  of life where he had left. For reasons  unknown he  somehow did  not  configure in  his hybrid ideas about the very spot  he came from.The things  he had left were now worse! In this way, one could say he was quite  delusional. Hoag­saday, was hunched in a cell passing away the time in deep  reflection, or what others would rightfully deem as anxiety about a looming uncertainness over his life, his property.

Twosmo, the  wife of Hoagsaday, right after the incident involving the  military took place, felt a more  ominous feeling in relation to the occurrence ofher husband’s unusual arrest. She therefore summoned the driver and was off to a relative to get things done, as that was how things of such magnitude were broached.

The Bloodlines

THERE WAS  AN  UNWRITTEN LAW  THAT   WAS  INCORPORATED into  fabric  of life - a hold  over  from  the  people and  their  culture of pastoralism - which was  the  hierarchy of  clan  bloodlines. This clan hierarchy was entrenched in religion, government, and  in gen­eral, with all of the  Somali. So whatever one  was, he was above all a member by blood of a clan. Blood affiliations  ran deep  in the society, forming the trajectory for all the  modern occurrences such  as a the modern state,the  officials within it, and  consequently the society at large. Every philosophy, Western or otherwise, was grounded in this concept of the  bloodlines. And  it followed that  distant  clan  rivalries were a pretext for altercations in the  now.

In this spirit, Twosmo went  immediately to a prominent member of weight in the affairs of the clan in the dislocation of the city. Soma­ lia’s clan system was based on patrilineal blood relationships, comple­mented differently by  matrilineal blood  relations. The  male  blood line, however,  and  thus  the  male,  dominated clan  affairs. Though Twosmo was particularly aggrieved in the case of her husband’s sud­den arrest, Hoagsaday’s clan could  never  be represented by her.

The car  arrived at  the  bungalow  of  her   husband’s  relative,  an elderly  businessman like  Hoagsaday and  long  time  resident of  the city  of Mogadishu. The gate  was open. the  car drove  into  the  drive way. Twosmo quickly got  out  of  the  car and  knocked at  the  door purposefully in abandon. A worker came  to the door and recognized her. As she  brushed past  him,  straight  to  where the  women of the household were  sleeping, she  quickly explained the  situation, wait­ing anxiously for an audience with  the elder.

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Abdi Latif Ega is a novelist from Somalia. He is doing his doctoral work at Columbia University.


A Song Sung True

Gopal Gandhi

 

Her name responds with images. Of her. O.P. Sharma has a lovely photograph of her. A ‘late’ Kamaladevi, picture-daters would say. She is seated at a table, her hands stretched across it. The round face is lined with scars of battle. The salt march of 1930, for instance. A thousand footsteps on the sand are etched on that face. And a smile washes over them, like the waves at Dandi might do. As you look at the picture more closely, you see a chin of extraordinary determination and eyes of a rare penetration.

But it is the hands that grip you. Strong-veined and profusely, almost ostentatiously, bangled. Who says courage and beauty do not go together, she seems to ask. They cannot but. I am proud to be a woman and I celebrate the beauty of womanhood, the whole frame can be heard saying. Let no one, absolutely no one, take beauty to suggest weakness, no fear! And to proclaim womankind’s strength, I will assert its feminity, not ape men. My working, writing, creating hands will proclaim them.

Then there is the black and white footage of her fanning a pot of boiling saltwater. The quirk of 8 mm speed-filming gives her hands, bangled again, an extra verve. With each vapour goes a wisp of imperial hubris. Each sedimented salt-crystal makes swaraj tactile. Kamaladevi is in that frame the satyagrahi incarnate. But she is not to be typecast! Not in that scene, not anywhere else.

In Mangalore, where she was born on 3 April 1903, father, mother, elder sister and Kamaladevi comprised a rather small family, for those days. It was there, in the verdant garden home of her Saraswat parents – Ananthiah Dhareshwar and Girijabai – that Kamaladevi first saw, touched and began to move the multi-coloured beads on the abacus of her sensibility. Her memoirs (Inner Recesses Outer Spaces, Navrang, 1986) tell us that the twinkling of the mrigasirsha star which heralds rain, the onset of showers in the month ofsravana and the worship of the tulasi plant became a continuum for her, signalling the reassurance, if any was needed in that fecund part of our western ghats, of the creative principle of life. Kamaladevi’s narration of her childhood is no idle amble down a memory footlane. I had not heard it explained anywhere until I read her autobiography that mrigasirsha is so named because the rains it heralds are such as make the mriga (deer) bend its sirsha (head) down under the torrent.

For Ananthiah, a district collector, nationalist politics was taboo. But even in her teens, Kamaladevi made her own decisions. Nobody was to give her taboos. In this, she was clearly influenced by her mother, ‘a feminist with a very strong consciousness about women’s rights.’ In 1910, when Kamala was seven, Ananthiah died, leaving no will. Her step-brother claimed the entire estate and offered a subsistence allowance to Girijabai. This the self-respecting widow declined to accept and decided to support her daughters by herself.

For those times, this was no ordinary resolve. It steeled the young girl in adversity and resoluteness. But certain customs Girijabai could not resist. By the custom of the times, Kamala was given in marriage while in her early teens – and not surprisingly, was widowed not long thereafter. What could that ‘status’ have meant to a child? In a less enlightened home, it could have meant an irreversible eclipse. But Girijabai’s home was different. Kamaladevi studied, passed her Senior Cambridge and was encouraged to pursue her interests which were clearly taking her towards the arts and theatre. She moved to the intellectual and capital of the South – Madras.

Around that time her path met that of Harindranath Chattopadhyay. A musical genius, the young Bengali had poetic and histrionic talents that could only have been matched by those of his sister, the Bulbul-e-Hind, Sarojini Naidu. Kamaladevi and Harindranath found they had shared interests and decided to marry, affronting the orthodox not just because this was, in her case, a remarriage but by its cross-regional nature. Spurred by a joint vision, this did not deflect them. ‘When poet-musician Harindranath and I teamed up it was for a sharing of dreams and ambitions to devote ourselves to create a new theatre in India,’ she writes in her memoirs.

But the real theatre of the times was not under arclights or on stage. It was being played out under the sharp daylight of non-cooperation. Kamaladevi was but sixteen when she happened to be in Bombay and attended a mammoth meeting addressed by Mahatma Gandhi. Chowpatty was ‘a sea of heads,’ she recalls, and being there she felt the power of the Mahatma’s appeal. She was enlisted into politics that day, I should imagine.

What drew Kamaladevi into that vortex was more than the self-evident political compulsion of the cause. It was the strange mix that Gandhi was offering of political regeneration and constructive renewal. Kamaladevi and Harindranath met the Mahatma and Rabindranath Tagore at Santiniketan. ‘Tagore felt that personality can be built up through music,’ she records. Whereas Gandhi said it was ‘to be built up through craft – the use of hands.’ Harindranath, restless by temperament and peripatetic by choice, wanted to go to England and savour its world of letters and theatre. Kamaladevi joined him there and enrolled in Bedford College, London, to read sociology and economics.

But after a brief spell there she returned home. Not because she would not have made a success of an academic course in London but because her mind was in India. She enrolled in 1924 for volunteer work – no simple badge-pinning work, let us remember, but everything that needs to be done at a mammoth gathering – at the Belgaum Congress. The session was a historic one, presided over by Gandhi himself. The Mahatma had been a volunteer in earlier Congresses himself, when still relatively unknown. Nothing was too menial or too ‘high’ for a volunteer. Kamaladevi’s presence did not go unnoticed. How could a Sakuntala have gone unnoticed! And especially when her Dushyanta, Harindranath, was as prone to short-term memory loss as the hero of Kalidasa’s epic. A drama troupe started by the two had been most successful, with ‘Abu Hasan’, the play Harindranath wrote when he was eighteen, showing to packed halls in Bombay. Another, ‘Discovery of India’ showing the progress of Indian civilization from 5000 B.C. to contemporary times had also captured popular imagination. Their son Ram had a role in that production. So here was a stage heroine boarding the nationalist train.

Within two years Kamaladevi was in the thick of mainstream politics. In 1926, elections had been called to the Madras Provincial Legislature and just on the eve of polling it was announced that women too could contest. Margaret Cousins, educationist wife of the Irish poet and playwright James Cousins, prevailed upon Kamaladevi to do so. She decided to file her nomination as an Independent, as Congress had already closed its lists. With no time available, and no resources of any kind, her debut was foredoomed. And fail it did but with the astonishingly small margin of 51 votes! Her ‘defeat’ was in fact a victory and was hailed as such. She had made a point – that in the man’s world of elections a woman could take men on as their equal.

The Congress invited Kamaladevi to become a member of the party the very next year and organise a volunteer corps in Madras, which she did with the kind of ‘to-the-manor-born’ ease she was to become celebrated for in public life. In 1927-28, Kamaladevi was elected to the All India Congress Committee, the citadel of political participation. But the citadel was not so pleasing! Not to her, anyway. She found the status of women needed to be safeguarded even there, in the very core of the freedom movement.

As batches of volunteers began to be identified for the salt satyagraha in 1930, she learnt that women were to be excluded from the enacting of that historical moment. Never awed, she went to the Mahatma. ‘The significance of a non-violent struggle,’ she put in, ‘is that the weakest can take an equal part with the strongest and share in the triumph.’ The point was conceded. Kamaladevi was one of the first to break the salt law. ‘Even as I lit my little fire to boil the salt water, I saw thousands of fires aflame dancing in the wind. The copper pans sizzled in laughter while their bosoms traced the white grains of salt and the heat lapped up the last drop of water.’

I do not think Sarojini Naidu could have improved upon her sister-in-law’s description. ‘Hail Deliverer!’ are the words which the Nightingale of India had uttered, as the Mahatma bent to pick up his fistful of salt at Dandi. Kamaladevi was at that time making a double point. The salt law needed to be broken and it needed to be broken by the sons and daughters of India, together.

Even as Gandhi was arrested, so was Kamaladevi along with hosts of others, the magistrate saying she had been responsible for more people breaking the law than anybody else! She was incarcerated at Yeravada, Poona, in the first of her many jailings which were to extend to a period of five years during different periods of the struggle. Five years are, today, thought of exclusively in terms of Lok Sabha terms and governorships. She clocked a different kind of quiennale.

In the 1932 Civil Disobedience movement, she shone as a star. By now Harindranath and Kamaladevi were pulling in different directions. He was a musical bee, humming his winged way in a garden of many flowers. She was the sole lotus in the garden pond – sublime when she was closed for him, sensational when not, as in the plays they did together. But the lotus’ decision to bloom or remain inaccessible was the lotus’s. The bee had no part in it. They parted. He, to explore other harbours and manorial hothouses. She, to remain firmly rooted in her deepening concerns. Harindranath performed and performed brilliantly. Kamaladevi just was.

There was something naturally anti-pomp in Kamaladevi. Anti-pelf and shall I say, anti-chandeliers. Her charisma glowed from a simple oil-wick in an earthen lamp. And strangely the wick remained sootfree. Naturally, she was drawn to the socialist ideal, going counter to ‘insider’ sentiment in the Congress. Becoming a founder-member of the Congress Socialist Party in 1934, she was elected President of the CSP at its Meerut session in 1936. Elections took place in 1937 to the provincial legislatures and Congress won 8 out of 11 provinces, notably in Madras where Kamaladevi had done so much work in. Rajaji was to be premier of Madras. Many illustrious Congressmen were for the first time inducted into office.

I have recently come across a fascinating letter written on 5 April 1937 from the Mahatma to Jawaharlal Nehru, then President of the Congress, on the subject of women in the higher reaches of the Congress of the times. I excerpt it:

‘…Kamaladevi was travelling with us from Wardha to Madras. She was coming from Delhi. She came to my compartment twice and had long chats. At last she wanted to know why Sarojini Devi was excluded (from the Congress Working Committee), why Rukmini Lakshmipati was being kept away by Rajaji (from the Madras Ministry), why Anasuyabai was excluded, and so on. I then told her of my part in her exclusion, and told her almost all that I could remember of the note I wrote for you on that silent Monday. Of course I told her I had no hand in Sarojini’s exclusion at first or inclusion after. I told her also that Rajaji so far as I knew, had nothing to do with L’s exclusion. I thought you should know this.’

Now that was Kamaladevi at her typically determined and assertive best. Nobody was allowed to ignore womankind. Not when womankind was not ignoring the struggle. And if that meant boarding the Mahatma’s compartment between Wardha and Madras, and obtaining from him a point by point clarification, which then had to be shared with the Congress President, so be it. World War II broke out two years later and Kamaladevi addressed the Mahatma another letter, which must rank among the most important in India’s political discourse on the war. Quoting it in extenso, Gandhi wrote an article on her intervention in the Harijan of 9 October 1939. One part of that letter of Kamaladevi’s is memorable. ‘…if England and France have the right to rule over large tracts and big nations, then Germany and Italy have an equal right. There is as little moral justification in the former countries crying halt to Hitler as there is in his what he calls his rightful claims.

‘That there is a third view the world hardly seems to think, for it rarely hears it. And it is so essential that it should find expression: the voice of the people who are mere pawns in the game. Neither Danzig nor the Polish corridor are the issue. The issue is the principle on which the whole of this present Western civilization is based; the right of the strong to rule and exploit the weak.’ Kamaladevi was telling Gandhi, not very gently, that in his opposition to the Hitlerian aggression, he and the Congress were letting Britain get away too easily.

Gandhi commented in his article: ‘I agree with Kamaladevi’s analysis of the motives of the parties to the war. Both are fighting for their existence and for the furtherance of their policies. There is, however, this great difference between the two: however incomplete or equivocal the declaration of the Allies are, the world has interpreted them to mean that they are fighting for saving democracy. Herr Hitler is fighting for the extension of the German boundaries, although he was told that he should allow his claims to be submitted to an impartial tribunal for examination. He contemptuously rejected the way of peace or persuasion and chose that of the sword. Hence my sympathy for the cause of the Allies.’

In 1941 she toured the USA, making a deep impression on the Roosevelts and numerous others by her candid countering of British propaganda against the Indian national movement. She also visited China and Japan, and while in Japan roundly criticised the Japanese aggression on China.

Sanctimoniousness was something she had no time for. Words devoid of sincerity were verbiage, action which was not genuine hypocrisy. So if the Congress could not contain her, nor could the mantra of socialism. It had to prove itself in the actuality of daily life. Having been in the forefront of the Quit India movement in 1942, she became a member of the Congress Working Committee in 1946. Anyone would have expected her to gravitate from there to the Constituent Assembly. Kamaladevi declined. She had not taken to politics as a vocation! She was to turn down other offers. Saying ‘no’ came almost as an aesthetic exercise to her. She had said that most effectively to an aesthete of aesthetes after all – Harindranath himself.

Kamaladevi’s signature, incidentally, became a wonder to behold. Few signatures have its elegance. Though separated from Harindranath she had retained his surname. But the ‘C’ in capitals and the following ‘h’ in her signature intersect, making a cross, a crossing-out. I find that flourish of her carefully-held pen deeply symbolic. She did nothing without thought. A ministership of state, came her way very early on after independence. ‘If Rajkumari Amrit Kaur, very rightly, should be of cabinet rank, should I…?’ Only this time, she did not seek to interrupt the prime minister’s train journeys. The modes of leaders’ travel had also changed! Kamaraj, then chief minister of Madras, wanted her to be governor of his state and sounded Nehru. ‘Ask her,’ the PM told the CM, ‘If you can persuade her, what can be better!’ Nehru knew, Kamaraj understood, that Kamaladevi’s ambitions were not for office.

After 1947, Kamaladevi turned her attention increasingly to crafts, to the use of hands, the natural passion which had been whetted in her by Gandhi and by a valued friend, G. Venkatachalam. Setting up the Central Cottage Industries Emporium and heading the All India Handicrafts Board for a number of years, Kamaladevi became a synonym for crafts. But not for the acquiring and flaunting of objects made by hand. That she left to the ‘cultivated’ classes of Delhi.

She meant by crafts the makers of those objects, their needs and the nurturing of their genius. For her, handcrafted objects were not an elite interest, though that too she did not exclude as a natural aspect. For her crafts meant a continuum between the maker and the user of those objects, not unlike that between mrigasirsha, sravana and tulasi.

Kamaladevi came to know innumerable craftspersons intimately. And she discovered talent among city-breds in the matter of crafts-promotion. L.C. Jain, whose acquaintance she had made earlier in the matter of refugee rehabilitation, brought his formidable talents of marketing and distribution to her cause. Craftspersons thanked her for her assistance, of course. But more, they thanked her for her understanding. The World Crafts Council sought her out. And she travelled the world, meeting artists – her natural constituency – and writers, thinkers.

Kamaladevi probably had more friends in the outside world among its true ‘greats’ than anyone not in high office in India. The Roosevelts, De Valera, Generalissimo Chiang Kai Shek and his wife, Chou-en-Lai, Oppenheimer – all came to know and respect her personally. Kamaladevi told me once of how an All Important Person had looked right through her at the CIE in New Delhi, only to be told within days by a visiting prime minister that she wanted ‘to see Kamaladevi more than anyone else in Delhi’ – and then being invited by the same Mightiness to a meal in honour of the visitor and being hugged ostentatiously!

She visited Sri Lanka, as Chairman of the Sangeet Natak Akademi, when I was working there, in 1978. Her visit was regarded in that country as that of an Indian stateswoman. She was better known there than many then or later in high office in India. She had first visited the island in 1931 with the Nehrus – Jawaharlal, Kamala and young Indira. Apocrypha grow like mildew around the famous. I was told by Minnette De Silva that the Kandy of 1931 was agog with rumours of Kamala Nehru strongly disapproving of her husband’s taking the other ‘lotus’ a-rowing in Kandy lake! And Kamaladevi was also remembered in Sri Lanka for her later visit in the early 1940s to help the Lanka Sama Samaj Party ‘build up’.

In her 1978 visit, she did not stop with visiting the high and positioned. Her hosts, High Commissioner Thomas Abraham and Meera Abraham had drawn up a fine itinerary for her. But she found time to include in it visits to the homes and huts of little-known mat-weavers, potters, painters and writers travelling in a bumpy jeep I was able to offer her. ‘Do you know if Manjusri is still alive?’ she asked me. I had not even heard of Manjusri at that time. Enquiries were made and the great artist of Sri Lanka’s temple paintings and decorations was traced and brought, in an ecstasy of joy, to meet Kamaladevi. Years later, when I was back in Sri Lanka, Manjusri’s son, now an acknowledged artist himself, remembered that meeting of his late father and Kamaladevi. And Chitrasena, the Lankan dancer recalled her as ‘the greatest Indian name after Gandhi and Nehru.’

All this is not to say that Kamaladevi was a beloved goddess always and everywhere. She was not. There were many who found her hard, difficult, impossible to persuade or correct when she was in error. In the iciness of her relations with the remarkable Aruna Asaf Ali, the ‘fault’ was not that of the heroine of 1942 alone, surely. And in the later lack of warm understanding between the creative and much misunderstood Pupul Jayakar too, Kamaladevi’s reserve amounting to coolness certainly played a part. Especially when it came to judging people, she was human enough to make mistakes, serious ones, of assessment. She could be taken for a ride. And many tried to do just that.

As the years advanced, and Delhi’s long shadows of indifference crept over her evenings at India International Centre, she became easy prey to the passer-by’s idle curiosity and even naughtiness. She could be made to play favourites – easy and disastrous in the world of the performing arts over which she reigned as Chairman of the Sangeet Natak Akademi. Never dizzied by applause or dismayed by its absence, she was nonetheless susceptible to the insidious effects of Delhi-bile. She saw through games soon enough. But only after they had caused her distress and her causes, harm.

Kamaladevi was human enough to be greatly pleased when she was asked if she would accept the Padma Vibhushan. ‘I am getting it for my contribution to Letters!’ she said with barely concealed joy. Some years later when the President of the day most appropriately conferred the Bharat Ratna to Aruna Asaf Ali, Kamaladevi was not alive. If she had been, the Gods of Equity would have been displeased. It would have been like conferring that highest award to Latabai Mangeshkar before Subbulakshmi.

Kamaladevi had said no to office and power, but not to public life. Her interest in causes such as those of the tribal communities of India, of refugees and of children, was great. But great as it was, her interest in these had to be subordinated to her care for individuals. When towards the end of her days she came across the case of two boys, one of who happened to be a Hindu and the other a Sikh who were picking berries somewhere near the Punjab border between India and Pakistan and strayed absently into the ‘wrong’ side of the border and were locked up, she took up the matter with President Zia ul Haq. Her letter worked and within a few days the boys were back home. But not before they came to her personally to say thanks. Everyone else had just seen the reports in the papers and turned the page, perhaps with a tch, tch.

I remember about the same time seeing Kamaladevi in tears. ‘This girl,’ she said, ‘Anshu Saxena, has had acid thrown on her face and on her torso by a bunch of hoodlums in Meerut.’ I did not know quite how to respond. ‘You cannot imagine what that can mean to a girl.’ And then tears were replaced with rage and resolve. ‘Those men have to be given the hardest punishment there is for such an offence. But more than that I want to raise enough money to see that the girl gets the best reconstructive surgery there is. Will you help me, Gopal?’ Many people helped, not because they would have ‘even otherwise’ but because after she had spoken to them they saw the ‘case’ as a human being’s traumatic experience. Among them was the then President of India, R. Venkataraman who wrote out a handsome cheque and sent it to her with the spontaneous seriousness of something due from a diligent Roman to Caesar. Truth is a big word. So misused. And made so common. But if there is one word I would associate with Kamaladevi, it is that word.

Decades earlier, Kamaladevi’s mother had told her about truth: ‘Taste the tiny drop of its essence and you will continue to linger on it…’ Kamaladevi did that. She lingered on what seemed to her to be true and just. Its tiny drops, one by one. Be it Sarojini’s exclusion, the ordeal of two berry-pickers, Anshu Saxena’s torment. Or the dry and howling cataract of our neglect – India’s and particularly male India’s neglect – of those who ought not to be counted as ‘weak’ but are. To all these she extended her hand – the use of her hand – as Gandhi had told her. A strong-veined and bangled hand which seemed to say ‘you know, these bangles… they have been made by a remarkable couple I know in the deep of Madhya Pradesh…’

In Kamaladevi’s equation with Gandhi there was space for candour, with Nehru for firmness, with Jayaprakash for compassionate understanding. Her nationalism had room for a global outreach, her socialism for individual expression. Her work for women came from within. It came from her as the sravana breaks over Mangalore, spontaneously and torrentially. It is my conviction that had she lived some more years Kamaladevi would have organised a nationwide movement in support of women’s issues and become something of a national lodestar once again, even as Jayaprakash Narayan did in the late ’70s. And perhaps with the same disillusionment?

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Gopal Gandhi was the governor of West Bengal serving from 2004 through 2009. This essay was first published in Seminar 540.

 

Sex, Work & Autonomy

Anchita Ghatak

 

Sex work continues to be a vexing issue.  Abolitionists feel that prostitutes or prostituted women are victims of the worst possible kind of sexual exploitation and prostitution should not exist. They will not use the term ‘sex work’ or ‘sex workers’ because they believe that giving exploitation the dignity of work and victims the dignity of workers is supporting and perpetuating exploitation.

The other day, I was speaking to an eminent Abolitionist activist, who told me that she had never met a woman who had entered sex work of her own accord and willingly adopted the epithet of sex worker. I replied that I had met several.

It is important to remember that many places across the world have seen demonstrations by sex workers and their allies, where people in sex work- women, men, transpersons- have demanded an end to stigmatisation and criminalization, recognition as workers and rights as workers. There are some countries where prostitution is legal. At the outset, I would like to state that while sex workers are not exclusively women, much of this article will focus on women sex workers.

Activists who believe that ‘prostitution’ should be abolished, usually work against trafficking. Implicit in their anti-trafficking approach is the belief that trafficking is synonymous to prostitution. Organisations / individuals who work for the rights of sex workers also work against trafficking. They say that human trafficking sells people into forced labour and is a crime.

Working to establish sex workers rights, activists, many of them sex workers themselves, have focused on the discrimination, injustice and violence that exist in the sex trade. They have drawn attention to the injustice and harassment sex workers face from the state, their families, pimps and madams, to name a few. They have not tried to portray the arena of sex work as a great and glorious place. They say that many women earn a living as sex workers and their work should be recognized as work and there should be norms and regulations in place that enable women to earn a living in a safe conditions.

Many sex workers’ organizations have pointed out that they are against children being in sex work, or any kind of work, for that matter. Children should be in school and not at work. Adults who are in sex work or join sex work should make informed choices – that includes the decision to join or not join sex work, to engage in sex work and any other occupation(s), to leave sex work and so on.

Gloria Steinem in a recent meeting in Kolkata told me that body invasion is intrinsic to sex work and so, it is not right to see prostitution as just another occupation in the unorganized sector, where working conditions are unjust and often, inhuman. It is difficult for me and many other feminists to agree with Steinem’s position. The sex worker is selling sexual services – that is her work. She has entered into a contract with her customer to provide sexual services. It is a transaction between consenting adults. To say that the sex worker is being invaded by the very nature of  her work, is to deny her agency. In an article, in The Hindu, Steinem disagrees with the proposition that a sex worker is consensually selling sex. She says, “also I don’t think “consenting adults” is practical answer to structural inequality. Even sexual harassment law requires that sexual attention be “welcome,” not just “consensual.” It recognizes that consent can be coerced.” If consent is coerced, it is not consent, surely?

Harassment and violence in the workplace is a reality. Struggles against sexual harassment in the workplace are going on everywhere. It is imperative to remember that like all women workers, sex workers too have a right to a harassment free and violence free workplace.

Asking for customers of sex workers to be criminalised is a forceful way of denying women control over their choice of livelihoods. Saying that the very act of a woman selling sex is violence and exploitation is as paternalistic a point of view as saying that there can be nothing called marital rape. It is necessary to have a situation where the buying and selling of sexual services is not a furtive, criminal activity. It is such a social climate that will enable sex workers to lay down safe working conditions and bring clients to book if they violate agreed conditions.

One has come across news reports, where governments in Northern countries have apparently told women on unemployment benefits that they have to become ‘sex workers’  as sex work is work like any other. Abolitionists often use such examples to argue against adopting the term ‘sex work’ and seeing it as a legitimate arena of work. Surely, this is not the first time that the patriarchal state machinery has appropriated the language of women’s liberation to oppress women? The question here is whether citizens have any element of choice when they are offered jobs instead of unemployment benefits.

Abolitionists, as well as those who work for the establishment of sex workers’ rights, agree that if women on the margins have to assert their rights their choices have to expand and they must have access to education, healthcare, food, shelter and safe employment opportunities. It is in the area of employment that there is a sharp difference of opinion.

Amongst abolitionists, there is a slight moving away from the term prostitution to survival sex. The question of women’s sexual autonomy in marriage is a vexed question. Is it only ‘prostitutes’ who engage in sex for survival?

Sex workers have been categorical that they do not support people being coerced into sex work even if it is a caste based occupation. They are clear that while women have the right to opt to earn a living as a sex worker, they also have a right to refuse to do so. Like women workers in the unorganised sector – domestic workers, construction workers, piece rate factory workers, farm labourers – they want to be free of stigma, criminalisation and exploitation.

It is necessary to understand why it is alright for women to sell their intellectual and physical labour but the selling of sexual labour is viewed with horror. Surely a decision to sell or not sell sexual services by a woman is a step towards sexual autonomy?

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Anchita Ghatak is a development professional and a women’s rights activist. She works on issues of poverty, development and rights. She is the Secretary of Parichiti, an organisation working for the rights of marginalised women and girls, especially  domestic workers. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isobel Armstrong’s Material Imagination

Steven Connor

 

I draw the phrase ‘material imagination’ from Gaston Bachelard, who uses it to describe two intersecting things: firstly, the ways in which the material world is imagined, not just by scientists and engineers, but by everyone, all the time: poets, children, footballers, cultural analysts, cabdrivers, medics and mad Hatters: the ‘material imagination’, then, as the way in which matter is imagined. In an age of conventional scepticism, in which the mind is always, as a Beckett character says, ‘on the alert against itself’, the prescribed move to make at this point is to doubt whether one can ever look steadily at anything other than one’s own conceptions or categories. But where do these conceptions and categories come from? For there is no way of imagining the nature of the material world which does not draw on and operate in terms of that material world, its spaces, substances, stresses, processes. Imagination is itself always prepossessed by the world that it attempts to imagine, made up, like the gingerbread-man enquiring into the question of his dough, of what it makes out. So the phrase ‘material imagination’ must signify the materiality of imagining as well as the imagination of the material.

Isobel Armstrong’s work is a the most richly significant extension we have seen in recent decades of what might be called a Hegelian materialism of signification. Perhaps that work is, as a result, sometimes caught in the fix that Hegel bequeathed to us all, whereby one cannot imagine any kind of object except as dead and other to us, even as we also cannot help wanting to take that object into epistemological custody, making it our own, making it us, by flooding it with feeling and concept. We either leave the object out in the cold of our objectifying, or we kill it with the kindness of our identification. Wherever you look, whether within the recesses of the subject, or at the object, the same subject-object pingpong is always about to start up.

And yet, Isobel has always been disinclined to let such predicaments bake into impasses. Indeed, the effort of her entire work has been to show the vitality of such predicaments, predicaments which are largely epistemological in Language as Living Form and political in Victorian Poetry. The problem which keeps generating and regenerating the ‘living form’ of nineteenth-century poetry is that of how to marry the self-forming contemplations of Hegel, in which the mind risks overwhelming its own world by taking itself as its own other, with Marx’s insistence on relationship. It is only when there is a relationship between the material act of mind represented by a poem and sets of material circumstances that relations can really exist, that time can be inhabited as well as merely unfolding, and that the poem can act and work (1982, 48-9).

The most significant moments in Isobel’s virtuoso readings of nineteenth-century poetry are often those where a certain field of material possibility is isolated, rotated and worked. There is, for example, the moment in which she reflects on Hopkins’s use of the phrase ‘glassy peartree’, saying that ‘[t]he idea emerges through the particular physical nature of glass and one might say that the notion of transparency is given a soul because it is incarnate in the specific irreducible and particular qualities of glass’ (1982, 8). Or there are these reflections on the idea of an ‘air’ in Victorian Poetry:

An air is a song and by association it is that which is breathed out, exhaled or expressed as breath, an expiration; and by further association it can be that which is breathed in, literally an ‘influence’, a flowing in, the air of the environment which sustains life; inspiration, a breathing in. All these meanings are present in the elegy, as perfume, breezes, breath or sighs, where they are figured as a responsive, finely organised feminine creativity, receptive to external influence, returning back to the world as music that has flowed in, an exhalation or breath of sound. (1993, 326)

Another example would be the reading of a passage from Shelley’s Prometheus Unbound in Language as Living Form which concludes that

Everything is moving through everything else and the kinship of exhalation and winds, rain and aerial dew, which are all offered as separate entities and actions, is such that forms and functions merge, reverse and exchange. With ‘it circles round’, ‘it’ is not merely either the original exhalation or the aerial dew but every element in the passage. Exhalation, winds, blooms, fruits, flowers, stems, leaves, dew, as a totality, a unity, circle round. The rapidity, the flux of syntax, the capacity of Shelley’s words to make things dematerialise into aery thinness, is extraordinary. (1982, 45)

These passages have in common the fact that they are reading poems which are themselves at these moments reading aspects of the material world, the world of nonhuman objects, substances, organisms, and processes, dew, air, transpiration, evaporation and, in the process, perhaps also trying to become these objects. In the last quotation, Isobel’s argument is that Shelley can do anything, because the mind of his poem makes everything over into itself. At this point in her argument, she is instancing Marx’s critique of Hegel, that, in the latter’s philosophy, ‘Man cannot create himself in terms of a meaningful and evolving relation with externality; he can only create himself anew as an entity of thought’. (1982, 43) But, in evoking Shelley’s dematerialising power, Isobel seems also to limit or partly to revoke it: if there is evaporation, coalescence, there is also work in Shelley’s writing, if only the work of dissimulating work. Isobel’s own working out of the process whereby work is dissimulated in Shelley’s poem restores the sense of an encounter, a striving, a resistance, an abrasion, a transforming, a surpassing. At moments like these, Isobel is borrowing a poem’s encounter with material objects or processes to release and disclose the nature of the poem as a worked object for her.

All of this might come down, as is suggested at the opening of Language as Living Form, to a question of digestion. You cannot eat the idea of a cabbage; but equally you cannot have your cabbage and eat it except by taking in the idea of a cabbage along with the object itself. Isobel shows the poem wrapping itself round what lies outside it. She similarly wraps herself round or assimilates to herself the poem which lies initially outside her own powers of assimilation. In reflecting upon the struggle of the Romantic poem to find and secure its objects, Isobel is also reflecting on her struggle not simply to swallow up the actuality of her object, the poem. She is trying to protect herself from becoming an ‘entity of thought’, that grows thinner and more spectral the more it consumes. For this reason, she will seem to want to fail to some degree, will want to reveal that Shelley’s poem does not quite bear out her argument, cannot fully be assimilated to its reading, lest she convict herself of taking the poem into custody, as she is saying it does with natural process. She will want, to borrow the term she borrows from Gillian Rose in a chapter of The Radical Aesthetic, to tarry, with a judicious anxiety, somewhere in the broken middle between world and word. Hence a certain rhetoric of approximation and curtailment, a cordon sanitaire that the critical act seems sometimes to want to throw around its object of analysis, as it were to protect its objecthood, and thus to allow the continuing possibility of relationship between object-poem and subject-critic. Significantly, this chapter in Language as Living Form begins and ends with Hopkins, and his ‘sustained attempt to prevent the world of objects from disappearing’ (1982, 51). There are two kinds of disappearance: the disappearance into objecthood uninterpreted, unrelated, untransformed; and the evaporation of objects into mind. Between these two alternatives, allegedly, there is labour, love, life, the life of the worked poem, its corporeal, living form.

Michel Serres suggests that every metaphysics is governed by a physics, that a specific form or theory of the material world bears upon every theory or philosophy. What kind of materiality could be said to be at work in Isobel Armstrong’s writing through the poetry of the nineteenth century during the 1980s and 1990s? It is conspicuously a materiality that makes itself known through struggle, strain, stress, and other similarly stringent terms evoking prodigious labour and strongarm tactics. One of the commonest words of description in Isobel’s analyses is also almost always a word of commendation: the word ‘strenuous’. The cogito of Isobel Armstrong’s work is a cogito not of knowing, but what Bachelard, following Maine de Biran, has called a cogito of striving (1948, 78).

What does one strive for, or, better perhaps, against? The answer is a thoroughly Victorian one, even, should you choose, a thermodynamic answer, since Victorian physics bequeathed its terms to twentieth-century aesthetics, via Freudian energetics. One strives against death, in all its forms, which is to say against the lowering or degradation of energies. And what is death, but depletion of energy available for work? What is death but the incapacity to strive? Death is entropy, indolence, indifference, randomness, chaos, unrelatedness. Without critical striving, with and athwart its poetic objects, there is either the deadness of fixed canonical truth, or the gaseous Brownian motion of mere ‘ludic energies’. Running through the aesthetics of living form, there is the parsimonious impulse not to let energy escape or become unbound, to keep the potential for work high.

And yet the materiality at work in much of Isobel’s writing about nineteenth-century poetry can also become paradoxically abstract and null, as it is often is in the work of Marx, the great idealist of the material. The most striking feature of this materiality is that it is without form and void, a mere mute, insensate impediment to the striving and form-giving actions of mind. Reading Blake’s Jerusalem in a later chapter of Language and Living Form, for instance, Isobel finds him at one moment locked or tonguetied in the enumeration of names:

The listing here is arbitrary and incoherent. The successive items have no meaningful progression or order, neither defined against one another nor related to one another. Repetition is random. It is a landscape of dispersal. Since each item has no existence but in itself it is a landscape of pure matter. Correspondingly words here have become pure matter. If fire, snow, sand, have no meaning but in themselves they are meaningless, and so ‘the voids, the solids’ are equivalents and collapse into one another. (1982, 107)

The assumption that governs this thinking about energy, matter and form, is of a fundamental, energising duality between dark and unreflexive matter and lucid mind. Without this jagged fissure running through things, there can be no struggle, no possibility of charging matter with life, no mastery or winning over of matter to the side of mind. Interestingly, the last completely ‘Victorian’ discussion in Victorian Poetry is of the work of James Thomson, who is seen as a materialist poet, where materialism is the name for a theory in which all the customary energising distinctions between man, nature, God, mind and matter itself have been obliterated. In the end, Armstrong tells us, the dissolving freedom of Thomson’s ‘atheist epistemology’ becomes frozen into negativity (1993, 475). One cannot help but feel that Thomson is not only a forerunner, but also a representative of those modernist and postmodernist writers (she says that Thomson’s is the Nietzschean predicament of the deconstructive sublime) who have abandoned the struggle to create living form out of substantial and intractable social and political content.

For two centuries, the aesthetic has been assumed to be the necessary, sometimes desperately necessary alternative to mechanism, that willed subjugation of life to rationalised matter. Without the flickering, cryptic powers of the aesthetic, we have become accustomed to think for the last couple of hundred years, there would be only blind utility, a life lived according to the imperious, rationalised, calculative logic of the machine. Adorno makes an occupation out of the aesthetic fixes into which this gets him. Either there is not enough form, and the aesthetic becomes mere distraction and frivolity, a mere spume upon the surface of things; or there is too much form and the aesthetic hardens into a kind of machinery, powerful but inert. The specific form of the material imagination at work here is perhaps Bachelard’s ‘cogito pétrisseur’, with the aesthetic as what he calls the ‘ideal paste’ between the alternatives of the soft and the hard (1948, 78).

Do these categories, of form, life and mind, that continue to drive discussion of the aesthetic, and determine the ways in which the relations between the aesthetic and the political are thought about, belong to a classical physics founded upon form rather than information, and a set of ideas about the nature of form, energy and life that no longer seem universally to hold? The interest of the passages such as the ones I have isolated from the two books about nineteenth-century poetry is that in them materiality is never pure, and so starts to breathe, to breed, to work, becoming therefore less abstract, more complex and differentiated, and less merely massy.

Two remarkable departures characterise the distinctive work that Isobel has been doing over the last decade. First of all, there is her remarkable investigation of the cultural history of glass. Isobel began her work before the current rise in the stock of ‘things’, which has made us accustomed in popular cultural history to biographies of subjects such as cod, nutmeg, salt, dust, TB and the colour mauve. Isobel’s apprehension of what it might mean to read the ‘cultural poetics’ of a produced substance goes far beyond this work, while also holding back from some of the places it goes. Where her earlier work on nineteenth century poetry showed matter either being wrought and wrestled into meaning, or falling away exhaustedly into cindery residue, her work on glass implies the active participation of the substance itself in forming consciousness: ‘glass consciousness’ (2000a), a phrase which is meant to evoke not just the heightened awareness and sensitivity to glass in the new culture of lustre and transparency that grew up in the nineteenth century, but a kind of thought and awareness into which vitreous form and organisation have entered and begun to operate.

Isobel’s continuing work on glass has become a kind of mythic endeavour: being a colleague of hers at Birkbeck during these years has been not unlike what it must have been like to be around Walter Benjamin when he was at work on his Arcades project – with the difference, one profoundly hopes, that it will not end its days being lugged in a suitcase over the Pyrenees. Even before it has been finished, and perhaps partly because of this, the very idea of what she has been doing and her many ways of speaking about and characterising it have created rich possibilities for new work at Birkbeck and beyond. Her nonce-characterisation of her work as a ‘cultural phenomenology’ has given me a name for some of the semi-farcical investigations I have tried to undertake of the status of magical objects in the modern world. It has inspired students in Birkbeck to undertake work on different aspects of the cultural life of material forms and processes: a cultural history of gravity, a poetics of air and odour, a philosophy of tremor. Suddenly, and because of Isobel’s allowing, materiality has a tellable history, other than as the raw, primal stuff on which art and culture go puffing to work.

This seems to come at just the right time, at a time at which scientific thinking about the nature of life, matter and form has become unignorable, even by literary critics, and at which the relations between the mental and the material have become so much jumpier and more interesting. How can one any longer Hegelwise counterpose matter and form in the era of DNA, when it becomes apparent that there has never been any wholly uninformed matter except in human fantasy? Information now overflows the gap between form and matter. Previously blind and insensate material forms prove to be alive with information. How will an aesthetics founded upon the laborious, in-forming confrontation of the material and the mental help us to manoeuvre in which the prerogatives of life and the living seem so little assured and in which material processes, from viruses to hurricanes, have come to seem so richly and unnervingly lively? A physics, and an aesthetics formed in its terms, which is based upon work, one-way transformation and determinate output (heat, light, poetry) is giving way to a physics of interfaces, ecologies, probabilities, reciprocities, probabilities and the turbulent circulation of energies. Following the curious temporality of science, from now on, for the time being, this will have been the way it always was.

Nevertheless, I think that what I take from Isobel Armstrong’s work is not altogether what she has put into it. In the end, her work turns to and on specific kinds of object, specific kinds of outputs and integrations. I take from her work an attention to systems and substances and processes – always linguistic, sensuous, actual, material, affective even when they are also theoretical, generalised, abstract – that run through and spill beyond these holding-stations or resting-places, of the poem, the poet, the work. Not that nothing remains to be said about such things; but more remains, at least now for me, to be said about processes of cultural work, about the meteorology, the epidemiology, the natural history of culture. Isobel Armstrong has begun to make available to be thought a world in which matter has its own ‘living form’, and in which ‘life’ is no longer concentrated at the thinking end of matter.

At the same time, and even, as a sort of planned digression from the historical investigation of glass, serving both to detain and prepare for it a little, there has been for Isobel the work which makes up the masterly Radical Aesthetic. Just as the work on glass offers a new way to think about and with the cultural history of matter, the struggle with intransigent and alien materiality seems to drop out of the picture when it comes to the new arguments about the force of the aesthetic deployed in The Radical Aesthetic. In place of struggle, there is now regulated play. Here, for example, the work of André Green helps her to a new stress on ‘the agonistic broken middle between conscious and unconscious’ and ‘the melancholic moment of scattering, of unassimilated material, not the reconciled symbol of completed mourning’, (2000b, 132). In the brilliant and resourceful diversification of the notion of the aesthetic ofThe Radical Aesthetic, she shows how idealistic, abstract and fixated most other accounts are. Like John Dewey, to whom she devotes a discussion, she wants to be able to see the many ways in which experience is art-work, as well as furnishing the raw material for works of art. Hence a notion of the aesthetic which must find a way of having to do with dreams, dancing and gunfire as well as odes and sculptures. Like Dewey, however, she also shrinks – and I will say, like Dewey, not quite intelligibly – from a complete deregulation of the idea of the aesthetic. The aesthetic will be preserved as the name of the form-giving propensity lifted up into its highest form. As such, it will be what ‘quite simply keeps us alive’ (2000b, 19). I hope I would have Isobel’s warrant to point to the many other things, from safety-belts to streptomycin, that keep us alive, while noting, in the spirit of the Auden who decided his line ‘We must love one another or die’ would be better revised to ‘We must love one another and die’, that ultimately of course, nothing does. For Isobel, for whom the work of Klein and Bion have become important, the aesthetic is important partly because it is a way of holding play and disintegration together; but perhaps we will be able to hold on much better to the sheer diversity of ways of being and staying alive that she awakens us to in The Radical Aesthetic by letting the aesthetic go. Yes, I suppose I am saying that I will want to have been led by her radical aesthetic further than she herself will at this moment go with it, to somewhere radically beyond even its rainbow: clean out of the aesthetic.
References

Armstrong, Isobel (1982). Language as Living Form in Nineteenth-Century Poetry. Brighton: Harvester Press.
———————- (1993) Victorian Poetry: Poetry, Poetics and Politics. London and New York: Routledge.
——————— (2000a). ‘Technology and Text: Glass Consciousness and Nineteenth-Century Culture’. In Culture, Landscape and Environment: The Linacre Lectures 1997, ed. Kate Flint and Howard Morphy (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 149-75.
——————– (2000b), The Radical Aesthetic. Oxford: Blackwell.

Bachelard, Gaston (1948). La Terre et les rêveries de la volonté. Paris: José Corti.

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Steven Connor is Professor of Modern Literature and Theory, Birkbeck College, London.


Aquarium

Nabarun Bhattacharya

 

Useful…Useless

Colin Wilson, the philosopher (and author of The Outsider), often wondered about asking Samuel Beckett whether life was really and altogether so meaningless? But Beckett was such a polite and down-to-earth person that, when they met, Wilson could not ask his question. However, the thought remained with him. Later, he had the opportunity to meet Eugene Ionesco. And when Wilson asked him the same question, it was raining. Ionesco looked outside and, half-jokingly but with a serious detachment said, “Look, it is raining out there. Does that have any meaning?” In this cosy, limitless, undivided third world of soil and wind, goats and humans—everyone knows what rain means. Though I do not have enough data, perhaps Rhinoceros could also be placed in that category.

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A Play for Thought

Recently a play was enacted by workers and labourers of the Mujnai Tea Estate in the Dooars at Siliguri’s Srijan Utsav. A simple plot and subject: death by malnutrition of a little girl in the tea garden. Such things we see all the time. The props and performance were also quite ‘crude’ by regular theatrical standards. What more can one expect from the kuli-kamins of the garden? Anyway, the girl dies after a bout of shrill, insistent coughing. Everyone goes to cremate her. Now this is what is worth narrating. The play is over. But the labourer women won’t stop crying their hearts out. Keening and crying go on and on. No break. No respite. Will this incident make us think? Do we have the competence to think even?

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He Who Has No Refuge

Somewhere the progressives, with clinical precision, are slitting open some necks. And then some progressives, as is their wont, are surely slitting apples and cakes too. There are, of course, quite a sizable number of progressives whose incredible ability to masticate with a purpose will shame our most qualified bovine friends. With all these you have  tremendously progressive enterprises and undertakings: how the Cockatoo’s perch may have evolved from the Mughal period, along with the photographs of some droopy-eyed Cockatoo on mystifying perches; a day of intense debate on whether mass urinals, that resembled the parliament, were to be constructed opposite metro stations; a post-prandial short seminar on whether globalization means the monopoly of the US dollar or the rise of the Russian Mafiosi and the Romanian whores—all these busy activities give us direction for new avenues of thought. This is the real Pragati Maidan—the one in Dilli is totally fake. Those who merely gape at nature’s ravages on the Discovery Channel may be perennially awed by the certainty of such enterprises.

But unfortunately, the mass—paanch-public, is indifferent to this brimming arrangement of progress. The new and improved versions of conscious, rational, scientific, correct, unmistakably almighty programmes are not making people particularly eager. That the Tata Sumos and the Opel Astras of the world are naturally loutish we know, but since when did the dilapidated bicycles, rickshaws, tempos, autos and number 11 become so immature and irresponsible? Whoever is giving them such a long rope, eh? Do they not know that such unctuous, ingratiating behaviour borders on good manners?

Some among the readers would be familiar with that well known incident at Jadavpur University when during a soiree, the late Sagar Sen had just begun, “Venom, I have drunk with full knowledge,” when an elfish student yelled from the back: “Fie on you Sagar! Never such words.” On that note, let us remind the fatuous ones, “Paanchu, never such words.”

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What news from Seattle and Prague?

That was really funny. The Vietnam War was at its peak. In response to the call of the US administration, in a secret and important meeting, a swarm of Nobel-Prize winning scientists got together. Only Linus Pauling, that saint of peace, was not invited. After going through all kinds of ‘classified documents’ the Nobel laureates came to the conclusion that the US military would easily win the Vietnam War. Of course such a prophecy by these wise busybodies was proven wrong. On the other hand, who could tell that the so-called red bastion in erstwhile Soviet Union and other East European nations would give way so easily like a structure erected upon bogus building materials? But then we have the Fukuyamas and Fergussons who know for sure that the game is over. Khel Khatam, Paisa Hajam baba.  But are there some minor doubts, here and there? Prague and Seattle, and now Greece?

Who will show the light of day to the asinine wise? We are waiting.

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Language: A Craftsman’s Wonder

Every year, as the winter is about to decamp, there is a yearly ritual with the Bangla language. Ritual means repetition. The same numbers. Similar platitudes. Same knowledgeable mastication. One feels like eloping with the winter. But what can one do? This is Bengal’s fate—talking precocious bunkum. But within this relentless flat and tedious buffoonery, I came across a hitherto unknown poet Arvind Chaturvedi, who has written this Bangla collection of poetry. The name itself is delicious: “I Speak Bangla after some Arrack.” (Ami Bangla Kheye Bangla Boli). I am sure many will welcome Arvind with open arms. The poems are good. With lots of bones. Strong jaws. Not iced kulfis in the sun.

Recently I have been noticing a pocket-sized virus. A few thousand Indians trying to mock-show novels in English. Aim: Booker or some such heavyweight prize. These are nice folks. Merely looking for some quick fame. That is a normal human tendency. Globalization is helping them too. If you have to be close to the sahibs, you better be Tom, Dick or Harry—who does not know that? The sweet arriviste Bengalis are very much here too. We will call this virus the Rajmohan virus. Nice and sweet, eh?

Fortunately, those who have mashi-pishis, who sup with muri-phuloori, use gamchhas, suddenly smile at the corners of their lips and lose themselves to distant drums, are still writing in Bangla. Writing and will keep on writing. Whether Naipaul’s steamer stops at Aden or Casablanca it does not matter. It goes back to Dover. So no thread, grey or black, in their anatomy gets dislodged.

But we also know that there is a scam, a ghapla, within this neat division between the sahib-native. Some thrive on this division. Whole careers and institutions are made. The sahibs will have ‘amplification, digressions and swellings of style’. Natives: ‘primitive purity and shortness’. Sahibs will dazzle in ‘tropes and figures’. Natives: ‘unaffected sincerity and sound simplicity’. These we have been hearing for decades now.

Whenever the wise maha-pandits have so wished, many craftsmen of art and literature have simply vanished into thin air, have they not? But even as they were getting evaporated and obliterated they kept on saying: “Enough of your drivel. Now fuck off.” Or: “Now is the time to put a muzzle on your mouth.” In Bangla we call the muzzle—kuloop. Has a nice loop to it. That many are invested in making the Bangla language bloodless, asexual, plastic is a long-standing fact. Our job is to just make sure that they get the country treatment. First a tarpaulin. Then an innovative use of bamboo sticks.

I have a feeling that what I have just written has gone a bit awry. Hardly matters. If there is a reasonable beginning, others will take over. That is good enough.

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Stopwatch

During the Paris Commune, communards came out in droves and began shooting at the big and large clocks. They declared that those clocks bore the ruler’s time. We want to establish our time, they said. This we see in Walter Benjamin’s writings too. All of us know that—time in future. I have somewhere read this in Herbert Marcuse too. Anyway, as I kept thinking about the matter, I thought each one of our writings is a stopwatch. As the reader starts reading, each work starts. And sometimes the stopwatches do not run. This ethereal stopwatch can sense the writer’s and the reader’s time. Sometimes in spirals of time too, in a manner—as the perceptive Bakhtin would have it. There is no use manufacturing dysfunctional and feckless watches.

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[Nabarun Bhattacharya is a fiction writer and poet. These are some snippets from his short & fragmentary works collected in the anthology Aquarium. Translation: HUG]