We have become a nation that calls an attack on student-activist Umar Khalid a ‘publicity stunt’.
When I was younger, I’d get up early to watch the Independence Day speech. As I grew up, I usually tried to watch a recap of it before the day ended. This year, I don’t know if I will bother. When the speech of the person who leads my country is less a matter of inspiration, and more a matter of fact-checking, is it really worth it?
Over the years, Prime Minister Narendra Modi has slowly, but surely, pushed the limits of the number of wild, implausible things he’s slipped into his speeches. From the latest assertion that one can make tea from the ‘gas’ collected in gutters to claiming that a train derailment was a conspiracy from “across the border” to attacking Jawaharlal Nehru for apparent disrespect to the Indian Army — he has trained people who follow him to believe in him blindly. He’s also trained them to defend him blindly. Whatever the Prime Minister says is taken as the law (often when it overreaches the law, too).
This allows for a clear binary. Whoever is ‘with’ the Prime Minister is ‘with’ the country. Everyone else is an anti-national, a seditionist, and a criminal. In a world that is becoming increasingly complex and fractured, most people find it easy to believe in a man they see as their saviour. As liberals try to struggle with a nuanced, accommodating theory that doesn’t offend or exclude anyone, the charging wave of ideology allows shelter to anyone and everyone that bows down to it.
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This cult of personality trickles down to his government too. There are ministers like Smriti Irani who are actively suspicious of the media and let their suspicions be well-known. Then, there are those like Arun Jaitley who once engaged with the media in ways that fostered a spirit of trust and responsibility, but now they don’t. Add to this mix people like Jayant Sinha and Chander Prakash Ganga who are comfortable with showing their biases in public. In the end, what you have is an angry, loud, and buzzing noise.
This noise is jagged and sharp. It cuts anyone trying to wade through it, and overpowers anyone who tries to question it. Asking the simplest questions can turn this tide of uncontrolled vitriol towards anyone. Take the example of minister of external affairs Sushma Swaraj. She’s been a darling of social media for a witty, proactive stance towards governing, but the minute she tried to speak about this cacophonous hum, she too was overridden. The message was clear. If she is vulnerable, we are simply not important enough to even question this new normal. We’re supposed to shut up and bear it. When JNU student leader Umar Khalid was attacked, the noise said he deserved it. The noise tried to shape the attempt to murder as a ‘publicity stunt’.
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I guess that’s what educates my wish for India this Independence day. I just want silence. This noise, this head-splitting, ear-bleeding barrage of hate and falsehoods and acid, needs to stop. Pablo Neruda’s Keeping Quiet comes to mind.
‘If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving
and for once could do nothing
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.’
Maybe, that’s what we all need. A moment of silence. A moment to pause and ask ourselves what we have come to. A moment to allow ourselves to heal.
Harnidh Kaur is a poet.