The Civic & the Ludic
Rajarshi Dasgupta & Prasanta Chakravarty Abstract This dialogue, written in 2008, tried to unpack the terms of thinking about the transformations in Indian politics, especially in West Bengal, following the turn of events in Nandigram. It tried to appraise left-liberal issues of governance, and develop new categories to understand some of the forms of resistance at that time. The speakers were also conversing, at the same time, with a shared sense of the changing topography of the political. New kinds of spaces, new practices and interventions, new kinds of concerns were presenting unfamiliar gestures within the familiar structures of power. Things looked new but also disturbing. Much has changed now, of course. The dialogue approaches these questions with three interwoven but distinct engagements: a resurgent conception of ethics, the problems of realpolitik and the political role of aesthetics. The outcome is not a standard article of political science, but a revisionist excursion with a touch of lightness, which raises questions about the desired forms of life and practices in a democracy like India. The discussion tries to go beyond the familiar Marxist and liberal arguments on agency and self and re-frame the role of subjectivity and matter in politics. Keeping the predominant institutional forms of politics like the parties and election in the background, the exchange speculates on the new kinds of political associations and potential communities waiting on the wings of democracy. Hope was twelve hours gone/And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day/Nor rescue, only rocket and lightship, shone, /And lives at last were washing away. The Wreck of the Deutschland–Gerard Manley Hopkins Prasanta: Whether the succession of events that have unfolded in West Bengal over the past two year or so, reaching a sort of crescendo in the months of October-November, 2007, are momentous enough to make any tangible difference in the social and political life of the state is still an open question, but going by the sheer volume of protests and the visibility factor, these are extraordinary times. The processes of institutional politics are still unfolding though, with some interesting results coming up in the 2008 Panchayat elections. Having a long-standing interest in studying left politics in India and thinking about the language of politics in more general terms, I was wondering about your reactions on certain key points that have been emerging since. There are certainly diverse issues of interest involved here, but one important talking point pivots around questions of ethics, or their lack of, in everyday politics in West Bengal. Rajarshi: It is a testing time for the Indian Left, I agree, but I don’t think it will lead to a change in the power structure or in the language of everyday politics too soon. I also doubt if questions of ethics are being raised directly and pointedly, even if we sense a moral overtone in the indignation of some segments of society and in their unusual modes of protest. This may have more to do with a growing disquiet with our party system’s tiresome monopoly over representative politics, seen as instrumental, manipulative, unsavory and untrustworthy by many. The blackmail of having no rational alternative, flogged by the left, right and centre alike, has narrowed the political space so much that any intervention begins from a place called ‘apolitical’, hence, mistaken as ethical. This doesn’t mean there is no ethical side to what is happening. But I want to be careful in thinking how exactly such dissent is ethical: because it is not political? I will disagree with that. It is useful to separate the ethical and moral here, as the latter has more currency in common sense and what we might describe as the liberal contractual language. Indeed, most party discourses contain appeals to morality: we know their competing notions of virtue and good life; we hear them pledging truth all the time. But the sense of these properties has become a matter of cynic polemic and superficial reasoning, as we know, in such opaque terms that only cadres can administer and make careers out of them. As Nandigram shows, the language of politics has been replete with moral appeal on both sides, yet it sadly remains bereft of justice, tolerance, transparency and equal decision-making to a great degree. Besides, how is the moral lack of a ruling party at all relevant if it continues to enjoy electoral majority? (Should we not consider Narendra Modi’s election as a lesson?) It seems to me a crisis of the techniques of representative politics, a crisis of the parliament seemingly lacking energy for democratic change, which must be underlined before we discuss the ethical side. Prasanta: One appreciates your distinction between the moral and the ethical, but in popular imagination one can still see that a language of virtue and conscience being coupled with a scathing criticism of an ossified and dangerous culture of totalitarianism that has become synonymous with West Bengal. It is here that one notices a real possibility: the collective across the civil society discourse and the one around extra-parliamentary political order both would galvanize around the ethical language of virtue and conscience. But this could of course be dangerous. Both these groups have thus can rise, in fact have risen, above the contractual language of moderate mainstream liberalism as well that of official Marxism. There is a sudden and momentous realization among sections of the much vilified Bengali middle class at least, that there is something more to politics and society than the metaphors of merit or equality around which much of our contemporary political discussions revolve. There is some hope but it could be mistaken too. But, I have two questions here. One, what constitutes this new language? And why would this language of virtue itself be not a platform that would demand a certain kind of austerity that would be equally top-down and closed? Rajarshi: That is the question I have in mind too. What is new about this new language? If we
Letter from Advaita Malla Barman
Gokanghat, Tipprah 23.6. 34 Dear Brother, I have read your poem a few times, from beginning to the end. I would like to give my comments here. Hope you will not be annoyed. Wherever I found something wanting, or irrelevant in style or meaning, I have marked with a red pen. I have left the responsibility to correct those to you. About publishing poetry, I can say this much that the poem is not bad at all; in fact quite surprisingly fresh coming from a young poet. Its but still not fully there, not fully fit for publishing, if I may say. So, do not try to publish it right away. Do not get disheartened. Keep on writing. You will make a name in a short while—I harbor such faith and hope. Here, probably a couple of words about poetry will not be entirely irrelevant. 1.Giti-kavya (Lyrical Poems). 2. Khanda-kavya (Narrative Poems). 3. Maha-kavya (Epic) all vary in style and approach. Your heart and mind needs to be prepared differently for each. First, you have to work hard as an apprentice on Giti-kavya. Snapshots, a pictorial bent is the soul of Giti-kavya. Try to paint such pictures on the page. Only then get into Khanda-kavya. You may write Khanda-kavya with past or present happenings, but perhaps past is a better repertoire to start with. It will be easier. This is because you can run your imagination ceaselessly and with abandon over the past. You will understand the difficulties with the present—for instance, a blurring and continuity of events that are yet to unfold often is a problem. Future gets in. And we are not prophets. But do not try your hand on epic. That is a most difficult task. It takes a lifetime to assimilate– first style and then proportion. And needs a fund of knowledge too. Hindu-shastra says that there needs to be at least 9 Swargas in an Epic. You cannot use more than one rhyme scheme. And so on. For Narrative poetry you can collect ‘material’ from Hindu or Muslim mythology or history. There should be an overall symmetry—this you should be truly careful about. Expression and language should be impeccably used. You have that kind of thoroughness and eye—and you will surely be successful. Nature itself and all around you is a grand granary. For the pictorial, I mean. Try shorter lyrics with minor things and make them connected to the world. Let readers know that nothing is minor. The more you culture these things the more you will become ecstatic with joy and love. Never follow anyone. Keep your own style, personality and freedom intact, distinct. I am sure you know the difference between imitating and following. You may try a bit of Madhusudan’s blank verse. This is possible until you inculcate your own style. But do not hobnob with Tagore’s transcendentalism or romanticism—those cannot be easily worked out. I shall conclude my letter with one more thing. Do not get yourself into print without sadhana. And whatever sadhana you do carry on—keep that secret and no need to make any hue and cry. No fire can be extinguished. Do not hasten. The reading public will come to know about your talent sooner or later. I can say that with some conviction. If you have an iota of faith and love in me, do keep on writing, ceaselessly. I have tried to relate to you all that I thought of your poetry, as a true friend. Openly. Frankly. If all these annoy you to the least, please forgive me with your ample kindness. Sincerely, Yours Advaita Malla Barman ———————————————— Advaita Malla Barman is one of the most significant writers from Bengal writing in the first half of the twentieth century. He died young.This letter was written when he was all of 20 years. adminhumanitiesunderground.org
No Detergent Can Undo
Sreyashi Goswami Books: Lover forever, makes strong friends, permanent enemies. Flower: Softness or is it hallucination. Brotherhood: Feeling towards a brother that needs to be chiseled for a man particularly. Responsibility: Easy and difficult to know when to jettison it. Night: 12 hours of silent howling. Wind: Unkempt thoughts in mind, suddenly. Lie: Moment’s Yes, Moment’s No. Uncivility: As if its our democratic right to be rude. Ink–Fountain Pen: Green, Red, Blue–clarity. Day: Each day, witness to a memorable event. TV: All spectators or are there some attentive readers too? Year: Relations and wonder anew. Liking: Shifting of the unliked. Hearing: Unsaid, once in a while uttered. Dead Man: Burning pyre or a puppet in an airconditioned room? Personality: The protocols of knowing each one distinctively. Dignity: A pot made of a different metal. Birth: To let oneself be part of a new beginning. Love: A strange giving, a time of giving. Traffic Jam: Lines of jet planes on the road, as if all will qualify for future exams. Gotra: Never begins fresh like morning dew. Indifference: Cruel, barbed manner of speaking. Time: Sharp, breaking brook– now slowing, hastening now… Spot: No detergent can undo. —————————————- Sreyashi Goswami is a poet and a traveller. adminhumanitiesunderground.org
Pancho Adrienzén, Late 1970s & Peruvian Films
NOTE ON PERU IN THE 1970s In October 1968, President Fernando Belaúnde Terry was ousted in a military coup and succeeded by General Juan Velasco Alvarado. Velasco’s government was one of contradictions. It combined nationalizations; recognition of Cuba; agrarian, educational, and labor reform; Third Worldist rhetoric and behavior; repression of the working class; and imposition of an enormous foreign debt which led the country into a severe recession. The left was split by these contradictions, with the Peruvian Communist Party and other elements supporting the regime while others vehemently opposed it. In August 1975, General Francisco Morales Bermúdez replaced Velasco and led the country rightward. By 1977 the country had entered a depression and was subjected to “stabilization” measures by the International Monetary Fund: devaluation of the sol, a high rate of inflation, and harsh restriction of wage increases. The period was marked by growing labor militancy, including general strikes in 1978 and 1979; by the election of a constitutional assembly in 1978; and finally by new elections in 1980, with Belaúnde returning to power. The left parties united temporarily, but tragically and irresponsibly they split just before the elections, and so fared very poorly. JUMP CUT: Describe the formation of your group. Pancho Adrienzén: We came together to project films. In 1970 repression in the universities was very severe. The only way for students to organize politically was through clubs where they could link cultural and political work: film clubs, theater clubs, song clubs, and so on. Through the film clubs we could help students grow in their political consciousness by showing Cuban, Chinese, and Soviet films. But we always intended that our work reach beyond the university. From the beginning we showed films three or four times a week in unions and barriadas (poor communities circling Lima). We never exhibited films just for the love of films but clearly understood the political usefulness of such work. Our film exhibition project originally started out from a mass-based, neighborhood, organizing project in a barriada. Showing films let us get people together and carry out activities that would keep people thinking of themselves as active social agents. The project let us, as a group, work collectively. The films chosen served to highlight various social problems, show other countries’ realities, and demonstrate — in a small but very important way — that there is another kind of cinema. People also have to learn to look at commercial film with other eyes. What was the political stance of your group? Our vision of the world was Marxist, but we had members from different political groups. We never privileged any international line or position. We were in reality a broad political front. For all of us the fundamental factor was that the epoch of President Velasco was a reformist epoch: there would be no basic structural changes. Our effort was to help citizens of the barriadas and workers to organize independently and not succumb to the reformist propaganda of the government. It was this effort that united us and motivated us to work, and it is an effort we have been carrying out for almost ten years now. We want to use film as a weapon, as a way to forge independent, popular organizing and peoples coming to consciousness. Two films which we have distributed a lot come closest to our way of thinking: Eisenstein’s OCTOBER and a Cuban film by Manuel-Octavio Gomez about the literacy campaign, HISTORIA DE UNA BATALLA. The work in the university above all helped us to form a core group of politically committed, technically competent people. Have you changed your strategies over the years? Yes. In the beginning it was rather dispersed work, based on individual initiative and good will. After a while we became more organized, forming a group which took on responsibilities that obligated each of us to commit ourselves to the plan of work. We had weekly meetings where we discussed the political side of what had gone on, evaluated our activities, and planned new projects. Sometimes we even met two or three times a week — almost continuously. Many of us also became interested in aspects of production, in taking photographs and trying some filming. There was another development. At first a union would invite us to show a film for its anniversary or because it needed to raise funds or for some other reason. But we soon became dissatisfied with this process. We would show a film, a lot of people would come, there would be a political discussion about film, then people would go home. There was no follow through. And the unions did not get a lot of support because the whole thing was very sporadic and did not lead to any constant progression in the political consciousness of the working class. So we decided that every time a union invited us, we would commit them to a cycle of four or six films, shown in the same location and with a certain political rationale. For example, we could project a series on countries that had suffered repression, or countries that had struggled for liberation: Vietnam, China, Cuba, and the Soviet Union. We also learned from this experience to apply the same policy in the barriadas. We learned at the same time to hold preliminary discussions with union and community leaders, so that they would understand the importance of each film. Thus, they were the ones who always presented the films and led the discussions. This is how we collaborated in the organizing of unions. From 1970 to 1973-1974, a great number of unions were formed in Peru, class-conscious unions. With these film projections we assisted in organizing those unions. Did you work with any particular political organization? We have worked with all the political organizations on the left: organizations opposed to right parties such as APRA and Acción Popular or SINAMOS (Sistema Nacional de Apoyo á la Movilización Social — the government’s branch intended to organize peasant collectives and other