Sant Sohirobanath and secular death

I read with some concern the news that the Government of Goa is officially celebrating the tercentenary of the birth of Sant Sohirobanath Ambiye. Towards this end, the government has chosen to rename the Government College in Pernem Sant Sohirobanath Ambiye College of Art and Commerce, publish a compilation of his works, as well as establish a chair in his name at Goa University for research in Marathi language and Goan Marathi literature.

All of these actions are a matter of grave concern not only because they violate the constitutionally guaranteed secular character of the Indian state, but because it also represents the creeping manner in which recent times have seen a systematic saffronisation of cultural space within Goa.

While there are many understandings of what secularism constitutes, the common sense understanding within India is that the State will desist from promoting one religious tradition over others. In the case of renaming the college of Pernem, this understanding of secularism is exactly what the government of Goa has violated. This act of the state government has privileged a Hindu faith tradition over all other traditions within the State (and the country). It would be unthinkable that a Muslim or Christian saint would be honoured by the Indian or Goan state in this manner. To do so would raise cries of “pandering to minorities” and “pseudo-secularism”.  Given that similarity of treatment is fundamental to the practice of secularism, it seems that state government must necessarily change its decision regarding the renaming of the Government College in Pernem.

But this is not the first time that the state government has demonstrated its bias in promoting a particular brand of Hindu faith traditions. The choice of Sant Sohirobanath does not seem to be innocent, but part of a larger trend where members of the Saraswat caste have been held up as embodiments of Hindu culture, which is then passed off as Goan culture. Take, for example, the manner in which under the earlier tenure of Chief Minister Parrikar, in 2002, his government sought to commemorate the 125 birth centenary of Varde Valaukikar, also known as Shenoi Goembab, as Konkani Asmitai year. While Valaulikar has garnered some fame as a proponent of the Konkani language in the Nagri script, what has largely been suppressed is the fact that he was an activist for the Saraswat caste who sought to create a space for this caste group in the city of Bombay. This action was part of a larger movement that sought the creation of a homeland for the Saraswats in Goa, with the specific intent of allowing them to dominate it as their fiefdom.

There is also the choice of D.D. Kossambi whose name has been employed to distinguish the ‘Festival of Ideas’ that the state government has organised in Goa since 2008. In itself this particular action is innocuous, and yet when viewed with the other choices of the state government one begins to see a larger pattern through which Saraswat  patriarchal figures alone are identified as worthy of honour. There have been other men who have been honoured, but as in the case of the naming of the auditorium of the Ravindra Bhavan in Margão, this has often been after a bitter struggle for such recognition by bahujan groups.

More disturbing is the choice of the relatively unknown figure of Krishnadas Shama to identify Goa’s premier intellectual centre, the Central Library. Set up under the Portuguese rule, this institution benefitted tremendously from the efforts of a number of native sons, not least of whom was Ismael Gracias, a significant curator of this public institution. Given that secularism has often accompanied a republican culture that privileges persons who distinguish themselves in the realm of public service, it is a shame that individuals like Gracias were passed over in favour of Shama. In fact, not much is known about Shama except that he is the possible author of brahmanical texts, like the Mahabharata, in proto-Konkani. While Konkani nationalists have chosen to promote Shama as the father of the Konkani language, this is merely a dubious assertion given that Shama could have been associated with propagating brahamanical myths among a local population that was profoundly influenced by Jainism, Buddhism and Islam. To this extent, Shama too emerges not as a secular figure, but one aligned with promoting brahmanical hegemony. With this history in mind, it appears that this choice of Shama is in keeping with the Sangh Parivar’s attempts to brahmanise Hinduism, destroying all other forms of non-brahmanical Hinduism, and leaving brahmanical groups in complete control of this complex faith tradition.

Add to this the choice of the state government to name one of the stadia set up for the Lusophone games after Syama Prasad Mookherji, founder of the Bharatiya Jana Sangh, and an associate of the RSS. 

The choice to name the college after this brahmin saint should also be seen in the manner in which the Parrikar-led government sought to hand over government schools to RSS-backed ‘educational’ institutions. Clearly, through these various choices in naming public institutions, the Parrikar-led BJP government is seeking to create a legitimacy for the RSS and its program of Hindutva.

Seen in light of these various facts, it becomes obvious that the celebration of the centenary of this largely 

anonymous Sant Sohirobanath, is a part of a larger programme to saffronise the Goan public sphere. In his defence of the state government’s decision to officially celebrate the centenary of this saint, Nandkumar Kamat has suggested that “Saints of all religions belong to the whole mankind [sic because their sainthood helps us all to be good human beings.” While this may be true in principle, under a secular regime the choice of integrating them into daily life is an option of individuals, not an obligation of the state. The government in this case is integrating this saint into the official culture of the territory.

Persons who would object to the protest we mount in this letter would no doubt point to continued state support for the exposition of the relics of St. Francis Xavier every decade. There is a difference, however, in that as far as my understanding goes, the exposition of Saint Xavier is organised by the church, and the state steps in largely to coordinate public order. The initiative rests largely with the Catholic Church which is the primary celebrant. In the case of Sant Sohirobanath on the other hand, it appears that it is not a civil society organisation that is seeking the support of the state, but the state that has taken it upon itself to celebrate the event officially. This is a crucial distinction and must be underscored.

The action of the state government is not merely a violation of the secular nature of the state, but tantamount to laying the grounds for communal conflict in Goa. With its choice of setting up a chair in the Goa University under the name of this saint for the study of Marathi literature in Goa, the state government is effectively further saffronising Marathi culture and literature in Goa. Most people will recollect the manner in which ever since the 1960s the Marathi language had been twined with Hindu nationalism in Goa. However, it should not be forgotten that while Marathi in Goa has a brahmanical heritage, it also was, and continues to be, the language of dalit-bahujan assertion against brahmanical hegemony in our state. To this extent, the Marathi language can also be the source of a profound commitment to a secular polity. To name a chair after a religious figure pollutes the secular aspects of the tradition of the Marathi language in Goa, and complicates the resolution of historical differences that since at least 1961 have deliberately sough to keep Hindu and Catholic bahujan suspicious of each other’s traditions.

The renaming and other celebrations of Sant Sohirobanath by the government of Goa must be protested vociferously, not merely because it violates the secular fabric of constitutional governance in the state, but also because it is part of a blatantly casteist agenda in Goa.

(A version of this post was first published in the O Heraldo on 22 Aug 2014)

The Secular Riddle: Why Nandakumar Kamat Loved Bal Thackeray

For those who heaved a sigh of relief at the news of the death of Bal Thackeray, the response to his death was deeply agitating. Not merely politicians, but it appears the big names of Bollywood and sundry journalists seemed to be bend over backwards to pay compliments to a man who while doubtlessly a significant leader to members and partisans of the Shiv Sena, was responsible for much death and violence (not merely physical and material but discursive violence as well) in Bombay city and across those spaces in the country where his rhetoric had appeal. Of this violence, there has been not so much as a whisper in these accolades. It was pretty much in this vein that Nandakumar Kamat’s response in the Navhind Times to Thackeray’s death was crafted.

To a large extent, the writings of Nandakumar Kamat represent the perspective of the educated middle class segments of our society that imagine themselves to be secular. There are a number of interesting blindspots to their secularism however, that indicate the troubled nature of their commitment to, or understanding of, this virtue of contemporary democracy. It is for this reason that Kamat’s scripting of “Why Maharashtra Loved Bal Thackeray” needs to be reviewed.

Kamat’s eulogy to Thackeray, and let us make no mistake that his article is a eulogy, begins with an interesting insight into Kamat’s understanding of democracy. While a large number of Bomaicars were quite agitated by the decision to hold Thackeray’s cremation in Shivaji Park, Kamat justifies this decision by suggestion that the Chief Minister of Maharashtra, Prithviraj Chavan “was just bowing to the wishes of the people.” Kamat is clearly indicating here, his understanding of democracy, not as the rule of law over all people, or of democracy as the system that ensures the protection of the minority, but of democracy as majoritarian rule. This fascistic edge to Kamat’s eulogy unfortunately only deepens when he then goes on to evaluate Thackeray’s success in terms of his apparent appeal to the “grass-roots.” Masses and majority, these are two critical elements of fascism and there is not so much as a whimper of disagreement in Kamat’s essay.

In his eulogy, Kamat makes but a coy reference to Thackeray’s politics of intimidation and violence. He suggests that these politics were “basically the fear of demographic and cultural dilution followed by economic and political marginalization which creates a regional backlash in any state.” Thus Kamat is suggesting that the violent actions of the Shiv Sena were the result of the Maharashtrian inhabitants, who have first dibs on the city, feeling marginalized. Indeed this sugar-coating of a deeply problematic man’s poisonous, and avoidable legacy is carried further when Kamat suggests that Thackeray was a hero because he was able to, speaking “from his heart” give space for the Marathi middle class “looking for some respect, identity and recognition” a sense of “Maharashtrian cultural pride”.

Kamat has gotten his facts grievously mixed up however. He forgets that the borders of contemporary Maharashtra were forged recently, in 1960, as a result of the reorganization of the Bombay state into the states of Maharashtra and Gujarat. Prior to this there were cultural boundaries to Marathi territory, and unlike other parts of contemporary Maharashtra that could possibly claim a unchallenged identification with just one language, the city of Bombay was never a part of this wholly Maharashtrian cultural community. The city of Bombay forged its own cultural space, being the home of the East Indians, Parsis, Gujaratis (who in 1960 even claimed Bombay for their own state), Goans, Italians, Arabs, Persians, Britishers and of course the Portuguese, to name just a few. If today Bombay can be unproblematicaly be seen as Maharashtrian territory, it is because Thackeray was able to, subsequent to the 1960 inclusion of Bombay city as a part of the State of Maharashtra, craft Bombay as an exclusively Maharashtrian city through his politics of violence. Indeed, the Maratha and Marathi, were and are, as much migrants to the city of Bombay as any of the other groups that Kamat so condescendingly dismisses as “non Marathi migrants in Mumbai who have made the megapolis their permanent home.”

I would argue that Kamat gets his facts mixed up because he looks at the issue from another fascistic perspective, which is to see the world as naturally composed of monolithic cultural communities born when language and territory overlap. In the present case it could be Maharashtra and Marathi, but it could just as well be Goa and Konkani. It is because Kamat is sympathetic to this parochial (mildly racist even) view of the world, that he is able to make sense of, and justify, Thackeray’s politics. It is for this reason that Kamat does not see the complex history of Bombay, and restricts himself only to Maharashtrian history from “original Marathi sources” when attempting to understand and put forth the case of Balasaheb Thackeray.

There is no doubt that Balasaheb Thackeray was able to capitalize on the angst of the Marathi Hindu middle-class and dominant caste groups. However we have to be able to see that these groups do not, nor did they necessarily ever, have any primary right to the city of Bombay, nor indeed in the rest of Maharashtra (in the latter case they would have to necessarily share space with non-dominant caste groups). In the case of Bombay city, the Marathi migrants were merely one more set of migrants that through a stroke of fate gained dubious claim to first dibs on the city in the state carved out on racist lines. Further, we have to recognize that Thackeray’s politics of violence, is not the only way to deal with the “fear of demographic and cultural dilution” and “economic and political marginalization” that Kamat refers to. Indeed, Kamat himself points to the fact that Thackeray was vociferously against the democratic strategies that seek to negotiate economic and cultural marginalization outlined in the Mandal Commission Report.

The last issue that needs to be addressed in Kamat’s eulogy is his muffling of the strident Hindu nationalism that lay at the core of Thackeray’s rhetoric.  It is perhaps in this realm that the problematic nature of Kamat’s secularism comes across. Rather than acknowledge that there is a profound problem with Hindu nationalism, he seems to join those “secular” nationalist who seek to justify all but the most violent of Hindutva’s manifestations. Thus, Veer Savarkar, the possible mastermind of the Gandhi assassination, and leader of the Hindu Right, is presented merely as a “great Hindu nationalist and reformer”. There is also something of a dismissal of those who aware of Thackeray and the Shiv Sena’s Hindu nationalist history saw in the huge turnout at the funeral a “Hindu backlash”. More sophisticated social science research points out that conscious action is not everything. Groups very often unconsciously follow patterns that have been established. Thus there need not have to be a conscious effort to demonstrate Hindu power, Thackeray and the Shiv Sena spent decades making sure their every action was justified in terms of the rightful assertion of Hindu power. Furthermore, the stories of the forcible shutting down of shops, of extra-legal curfews policed by youth carrying saffron flags speak volumes about the death of Thackeray being used as one more example of the assertion of Hindu power.  Kamat’s silence on this front and his muffling of the strident Hindu nationalist positions of the Shiv Sena are deeply disturbing. They are disturbing because of one, or a combination of three possible reasons; he does not see Hindu nationalism as problematic, he is unaware of that Hindu nationalist violence is possible because of the silence which routinely greets it, or because it is assumed to be the work of lumpen lower class Hindu elements that can easily be held in check by upper-caste leaders. All three are profoundly erroneous.

Kamat’s eulogy to Bal Thackeray is deeply troubling because it indicated an acceptance of political violence directed by authoritarian leaders directing mobs, where rights seem to belong first to the people of the land, and then to those persons labeled as migrants. These migrants could be randomly defined on the basis of religion, language, caste or territory. These are signs of merely a superficial commitment to democracy and secularism. Bal Thackeray may have passed on, but his legacy it appears, may still linger on.

Goans should read essays such as "Why Maharashtra Loved Bal Thackeray" only with the greatest of circumspection. This is because, in the light of the demands for 'Special Status' such essays are softening up the public opinion for the kind of horrendous changes that Bal Thackeray wrought on Bombay. A good many Goans may believe that they are being marginalized in their own land, but the Thackeray route is not solution, since it will not address the needs of the truly marginalized within Goa, and it will be built on a Hindu majoritarianism, cleverly disguised as was the result of the Konkani language movement. No, Bal Thackeray, and Special Status, despite what many fondly believe, are not the response to Goa's challenges.

A Post-Colonial agenda for IFFI 2010: Pointing the significance and relevance of 2010 to a peoples’ history

A couple of days ago, Dr. Nandkumar Kamat, from the Goa University, made a rather interesting suggestion via email to the Chief Minister of Goa. Rather than be an occasion to mindlessly spend huge amounts of state revenue, he has suggested that the International Film Festival of India (IFFI), now held annually in Goa, be themed for the year 2010 to commemorate “Colonialism and peoples’ struggles / movements across the world”. To this already interesting proposition he adds one more laudable suggestion; rather than invite an actor or actress from Bombay, who as he says leave no ideas behind, why not invite Arundhati Roy to inaugurate the festival? Roy, he suggests, could also be asked to speak on “Colonialism down 500 years a topic which would be suitable considering the completion of 500 years of Goa's conquest by Afonso de Albuquerque, on 25th November 2010 and foundation of colonial rule in Asia”.

This is perhaps one of the more incredible suggestions that have been made regarding the IFFI and perhaps in the intellectual and cultural life of the State. Subsequent to his email to the Chief Minister Dr. Kamat has requested public support for this suggestion and it is incumbent on all of us to support this suggestion and ensure that it gets converted from an idea to solid fact. This column today, seeks to be not just a public show of support for Dr. Kamat’s stellar suggestion, but a request to all those who may read this column to send emails of support to the Chief Minister’s email id and ensure that the proposal is converted to reality.

There are a number of reasons why this proposal must be supported wholeheartedly. The organization of recent IFFI has been disappointing to say the least. Rather than an occasion to reflect on the messages that film can and do generate, the focus seems to be on creating a hedonistic bubble where movie stars can be feted. Where a number of Goans believed that the arrival of IFFI would contribute to the intellectual and cultural life of ordinary Goans, we have been disappointed to see that rather that critical world cinema, it is Hindi potboilers that have been dished out to the Goan public as a part of the festival. To theme the IFFI in the manner Dr. Kamat suggests would perhaps reorient the Entertainment Society of Goa (ESG), the local organizers of the IFFI to ensure it contributes to an enhancing the referents for local cultural articulations.

But Dr. Kamat’s suggestion has value beyond the limited scope of a renewal of the possibilities of the IFFI. Some weeks ago a Coimbra based researcher remarked that there was an almost eerie silence, both in Portugal and in Goa as regards the fact that the year 2010 marks 500 years since the formal establishment of the Portuguese State in Goa. Kamat seems to underscore this fact and points that this event that inaugurated the long durée of colonialism in Asia deserves some reflection. Kamat’s suggestion is wonderfully nuanced in that is skips over the polemics that often govern this field to nudge us in the direction of recognizing that colonialism and the struggles that challenge it did not end with formal decolonization. The colonial relationship has been continued, if not renewed, under the aegis of the national states that were left behind by the colonial regimes. It is because these national states fail to mirror the desires of substantial sections of its people that popular movements of discontent plague these post-colonial states across the world. India is but one of those states.

Dr. Kamat further nuances our appreciation of the moment of 2010 and its possible commemoration by pointing out the double significance of the year, a century since 1910 when formal citizenship rights were definitively extended and claimed by a wide variety of Goans. In doing so, he once more eases us out of nationalist jingoism, to make sure our focus is on the rights of peoples, rather than some nationalist one-upmanship. The point of the commemoration of 2010 is not about Portugal, or India, it is about focusing on the need for the recognition of the rights of people.

Dr. Kamat’s suggestion is rather daring in that it challenges both the Goan and Indian state to display its true commitment to democracy. By inviting Arundhati Roy he argues, ‘the government and state of Goa would be able to demonstrate that the most dissenting voice is given a public platform in this state and we're not a ‘failed democracy’. In so doing, Kamat rightly points out that democracy is sustained not by quinquennial elections, but in fact only by ‘our own willingness to welcome dissent and dissenters’.

As wonderful as his suggestion is however, it is possible that it has come a little too late in the day for the IFFI 2010. This should however not dampen our spirits. By a queer twist of history, the year 2010 melts into the year 2011, the latter marking fifty years of the end of the Portuguese State in India. If 1510 opened a new chapter in global history, and 1910 opened new possibilities for the Goan, then so did 1961. If we cannot get the IFFI to focus on colonialism and peoples’ struggles in 2010, then 2011 would be just as well. If however the organizers of the IFFI refuse to comply, then there is nothing that should stop the people of Goa from organizing their own festival in which they could commemorate the dates that are significant not just to their own history, but the global history of colonialism and peoples’ rights. There is a precedent here in the actions of the Ganv Ghor Rakhon Manch who in 2008 organized parallel to the IFFI, the Goan Peoples’ Film Festival. Organized in a remarkably short time, the festival managed to attract some attention and international support. There is no reason why this story should not be repeated, with Arundhati in attendance, in 2010. One hopes however that the Goan government will take Dr. Kamat’s suggestion seriously. In doing so it would redress the unjustified silence in marking 2010, it would reorient the IFFI to make it more meaningful than just a bash for national and international film stars. In this latter aspect, this reorientation would only add to the prestige of the IFFI, and simultaneously enrich the cultural lives of the Goan people, which is the primary reason why some of us welcome the IFFI in Goa.

Thank you Dr. Kamat, and all power to your suggestion. As for you dear Reader, remember your emails to the Chief Minister!

(First published in the Gomantak Times, 23 June 2010)