Gunga Din: Creating an Illusion of Permanence

Priyanka Srivastava

The 1939 Hollywood film, Gunga Din, is based on a short poem by Rudyard Kipling, which was published in 1892. This poem narrates the story of a low-caste bhishti (water career), Gunga Din, who lost his life while fulfilling his duty of quenching the thirst of wounded soldiers in the British Indian Army. Producer RKO and director George Stevens of Hollywood made a swashbuckler, cinematic version of the poem. This high-adventure drama is located in the rugged region of the North-West Frontier Provinces (NWFP) of the late nineteenth century colonial India. The screen adaptation of Kipling’s poem illustrates a breathtaking tale of three adventurous British Sergeants and their ‘low witted’ Indian water bearer’s fight against a vicious gang of thugs, a supposedly religious cult of ritualistic stranglers in colonial India who worshiped the ferocious Hindu goddess, Kali. These three confident British officers are assigned the task of eliminating thugee in NWFP.

Apart from being a brave protector of the Raj, one of these officers, Sergeant Cutter is also a gold digger. Gunga Din convinces him to make the dangerous journey to a mysterious temple and claim its hidden treasures. However, upon reaching this temple, Sergeant Cutter discovers that it is actually a hiding place for thugs. Rest of the film is a tale of the three Sergeants’ determination, shrewdness and bravery in fighting the ‘savage’ thugs. The developed cinematic representation of Kipling’s short verse was remarkable for its magnitude, sophisticated cinematography, engaging performances, and a tight, suspense-filled script. This cinematic text, however, is equally important for its specific portrayal of British and Indian characters as well as its emphasis on the ‘civilizing’ role of the empire.

Although it was produced in Hollywood, Gunga Din represented a dominant British discourse regarding the empire and Indian society. In view of the nineteenth century liberal, utilitarian and Evangelical reformers, India was a land of stationary and superstitious religions and cultures. In this context, the primitive practices of sutee and thugee were often cited to underline the characteristics of a ‘bloodthirsty’ and ‘irrational’ people. Such constructions created a hierarchy of the civilizations, situating Britain at top while India was placed at the bottom. British imperial ideology thus deployed its superior position to legitimize its colonization of India as a moral mission, which would civilize and modernize India. In this sense, Gunga Din’s most striking twist to Kipling’s poem is the depiction of a resurrection of the thugee cult. This addition to the main narrative not only gave a sensational angle to the film but also confirmed India’s supposed insularity to forces of progress. Along with the cinematic shots of snakes, elephants, and the references to buried treasures, this emphasis on thugee conjures an exotic and inherently ‘different’ image of the orient.

In one of the opening sequences, a British Colonel tells his subordinates that thugee was a murderous, Hindu religious cult that had spread throughout India and Ceylon whereas historically it was limited mainly to central India. These factual errors apart, the existence of thugee as a coherent and specifically religious cult, different from other bands of dacoits, is still a debatable question among historians. In the early nineteenth century, its members included landless peasants and unemployed people who were forced to adopt criminal methods as a survival strategy. However, in colonial records, thugee was defined as a specific cult whose presence was another example of natives’ ‘barbarity’. Its supposed elimination by a British soldier and administrator Sir W H Sleeman illustrated the British empire’s enlightening role in India. In this context, the film’s central narrative around thugee has certain important implications. The fictitious reincarnation of thugee in Gunga Din frames colonial India as a timeless and stagnant society. One of the scenes shows a group of thugs damaging telegraph wires and forcefully driving away the inhabitants of a village, which depicts them as a threat to modernity and colonial order. In contrast, the discipline, shrewdness and concerns of British army men show their determination to protect the colony against such retrogressive forces. In many ways thus, this film could be compared with American journalist Katherine Mayo’s 1927 book, Mother India, which provided graphic details of Indian ‘savagery’ and ‘backwardness.’ While this highly circulated book stimulated waves of angry rejoinders from Indian nationalist leaders in both Britain and the US it reestablished the Raj as a necessary evil and a ‘civilizing mission’. Both Gunga Din and Mother India emphasized colonial people’s backwardness and thus held them responsible for their own political subjugation.

Moreover, it is not accidental that the thugs and their leader, Guru, are shown using the nationalist and revolutionary jargons of the early twentieth century anti-imperialist struggles. The film deliberately superimposes nationalist consciousness onto a criminal group to undermine the growing mass appeal of both Gandhian nationalist and socialist revolutionary organizations of the 1920s and 30s. For example, the leader of the thugs is a replica of Gandhi. Although actor Eduardo Ciannelli’s muscular frame makes him unfit to play a look alike of Gandhi, his loin cloth, shaved head, bamboo staff, slightly bended body as well as the language of sacrifice and nationalism consistently remind viewers of the Congress leader. Moreover, many militant nationalist leaders, particularly those coming from Bengal and Maharashtra, were followers of Hindu goddess Kali and Bhawani. Gunga Din’s depiction of Kali’s followers as a sinister lot effectively ridicules such revolutionary movements as nothing but primitive and diabolical designs against western forces of progress and modernity.

Since the beginning of the nationalist opposition of its rule in India, the empire had frequently projected itself as a champion of the interests of the Muslims and lower castes. The images of Hindu thugs’ attack on Muslim villages reinforced minorities’ anxieties about a hegemonic Hindu nationalism. Although the Hindu nationalist underpinnings of the Indian National Congress are undeniable, in the particular context of the NWFP, Gunga Din undermined the efforts of the Red Shirts and the Indian National Congress for building a common front against British Imperialism. The portrayal of dalit water career, Gunga Din reflects a same patronizing attitude. Although the sergeants frequently use verbal violence against the “untouchable” and lower-ranked bhishti, their condescending behavior to him simultaneously shows the white man’s greater capability to accommodate the outcasts of Indian society. In reality, the post 1857 British policies consciously aimed at forming alliances with the upper castes and aristocratic sections of Indian society. The non-ranked, lower position of dalit Gunga Din is a reflection of this upper caste bias in imperial institutions including the army. Apparently Gunga Din aspired to become a soldier in the army, an ambition which merely creates comic situations in the film. Therefore, despite a positive depiction of the raj, the film clearly shows that the caste biases of ‘civilized’ British officers were hardly different from the views of ‘uncivilized’, upper caste/class Indians.

Cinema studies scholars frequently point out that a strong and successful cinematic history takes artistic liberties to produce a less academic and more marketable narrative. However, such creative adjustments should be balanced, tolerant, and thoughtful. Gunga Din could be judged as an authentic film in its depiction of imperial army and attitudes of some British officers about India and Indians. However, it thoroughly ignores Indian people’s anti-imperialist struggles and represents an apologetic perspective on the Raj. The emphasis on Hindu nationalism and the overwhelming shots of Indian army men killing and chasing away the thugs (rebels) show the division among Indians. In the late 1930s a worldwide economic depression and Indian nationalist demands had substantially weakened the British Empire. In this backdrop empire films such as Gunga Din emphasized the military aspect of the empire, creating a false consciousness of imperial control over the colony, an illusion of permanence.

Priyanka Srivastava is a graduate student at the Department of History, University of Cincinnati. Her doctoral research focuses on labor and gender history of South Asia.

Media and the Indian State: On the Draft Broadcasting Services Regulation Bill, 2006

Pothik Ghosh

I am afraid I am going to have to admit that I shall somewhat complicate this discussion. And I begin doing that by asking – would it suffice for the Indian Left – both its communist and non-communist variants alike – to protest against the current government proposal to bring in a broadcasting bill that seeks to limit the ‘free’ media’s operations? If the intended broadcasting bill is an act of state censorship – which it most certainly is – would it do for the Indian Left to simply see it as such and resist it? In other words, shouldn”t we on the Left, before we take a definite political position against the proposal, understand the tension within a system of which both the government and the media are integral parts? Only when we are able to comprehend this systemic tension would our praxis become a really interventionist critique of the political economy of the mass media. To put it broadly, the principal concerns of the proposed bill are regulation of market-share of TV companies to purportedly prevent media monopolies from coming up, so that homogenisation of opinion can be checked. After all, shouldn’t the state in a capitalist democracy like ours be concerned about homogenisation of opinion, and be sensitive to the question of consumer choice? Of course, given the sameness of the content on most of our TV channels, choice is really an illusion. An illusion that is intrinsic to the political economy of the mass media. But more of that later. Coming back to where we were:

The state’s intent, in proposing the bill, is to putatively articulate the wishes, demands and concerns of those social groups, whose concerns either find no reflection in, or are undermined and/or contradicted by, programming on cable TV channels, which articulate the concerns of the hegemonic classes. We can sense in this a dialectical tension between two visions of hegemony: One which considers that the project of hegemonisation is complete. And the other, represented in this case by the government, which thinks that the hegemony of the ruling classes is yet to be conclusively established. So, the current move to bring in the bill is meant to emphasise the fact that the state is as much concerned and bothered about those social groups, which do not ‘identify’ with the interests of the ruling classes, as the ruling classes themselves as also those who have accepted their ideological hegemony despite the fact that their interests do not really converge with those of the ruling classes.

(In fact, when we say that a particular group does or does not identify with the interests of the ruling classes we must qualify that by saying that some groups identify with the interests of the system more than others. For, the political economy of capital excludes identities, commodities, ideas, cultures to the extent that it orders them in a hierarchy of exchange values. But since things higher up in the hierarchy valorise themselves by transferring value from things, different from them occupying the lower tiers, nothing, from the point of view of the total system, is excluded. We can safely say that capitalism creates hierarchical exclusion of difference even as it includes those differences productively! The bourgeois social formation, which is civil society in common parlance, is constituted by a differential hierarchy of social relations or relations of production.)

To come back to the government gesture of proposing the broadcast bill: In this gesture of the state, at any rate a sizeable section of it, lies the will of the ruling ideology – not class since the latter is too internally fragmented and heterogeneous an entity – to hegemonise.

But this tension, or contradiction, between two visions of ideological hegemony of the ruling classes has two possible syntheses, or to borrow from Hegel, ‘aufhebung’. The first unity of opposites is obviously the will to hegemonise. It is positive, present and status-quoist. The second dialectic, and this is our main concern, is critical, absent and revolutionary. That, in this instance, must be seen as a Marxian overturning of the Hegelian dialectic.

It is the will to construct a counter-hegemony, or to be more precise a counter-ideological position. This is the will we on the Left have to extract from the consensus that is being articulated by the government to bring the bill to control the freemarket of the free media. Let’s understand this better. The strand of the government gesture to bring in the broadcast bill, which in what it manifests – as we well truly know – is the will of the ruling classes to hegemonise on the larger political terrain. But it seeks to do so in the name of demand for more choice from among certain social sections lower down in the systemic hierarchy. It is the essence of this demand for more choice from among those social sections, which the Marxists must comprehend. In the Marxist’s revolutionary scheme, this social demand must be first seen, and then articulated, as being inflected with its negative, counter-ideological and autonomously political desire to reject and unravel the law-constituting gesture of the ruling classes to dominate – through ideological hegemony and consensus or direct coercion, or a combination of both.

Of course, if we were to deal with this within the conceptually segmented domain of the mass media the Left should read in this positive demand for certain kind of TV programmes over others, the absent or sedimented desire to disavow, even challenge, the anti-dialogic spirit intrinsic to the mass media, thanks to the larger political economy within which it is situated and, at the same time, facilitates.

Another aspect, which is brought out by this tension between two visions of the ruling classes, is the idea of the autonomization of the executive. That is, when the state ceases to be a mere executive representative of the ruling class, and becomes an independent entity in itself. Virtually a class for itself, whose decisions are often at variance and in conflict with those of the dominant social class. This happens when polity is faced with, what some Marxists have called the “crisis of representation”. This crisis of representation, together with the autonomization of the executive, has been very evident in India and some other post-colonial Asian nation-states for at least the past few decades. That is typical of a fascist conjuncture. This crisis of representation happens when the ruling class, and in fact the entire social formation created by and enabling its political economy, is deeply fractured and becomes too internally differentiated to articulate a single cohesive set of interests and ideologies. In other words, the ideological hegemony of the ruling classes collapses and various contending ideologies, facilitating various sectional interests, come to fore. The state then steps in to fill the hegemonical vacuum by asserting its independent coercive and administrative role. It does so by playing one class against the other – the bourgeoisie against the proletariat; the petty bourgeoisie against the proletariat; the proletariat against the peasantry; and the petty bourgeoisie against the big bourgeoisie.

This means two things:
a. The state’s interests are independent of the interest of all social classes, though it may at times converge with one, at another with the other.

b. Its interests are best served by preserving the current political economy of exchange value and its attendant system of differential inclusion. Consequently, it does everything except unravel the socio-economic origins of the system.

Let us go back to the broadcast bill in the light of this analysis. To the extent that it seeks to curb the power of an influential section of the dominant classes (the media barons); through executive fiat, it indicates the crisis of representation. (1)

I repeat once again that the political economy of the modern state, whatever be its form, is a capitalist political economy of valorisation through value transfer, which creates an anti-dialogic, stratified system of productive inclusion. Given this political economy of the state and its various attendant political and social institutions, it would be too much to expect that this tension would, objectively on its own, have a revolutionary, critical resolution. As a matter of fact, the absence of any progressive subjective political intervention would most likely resolve it in favour of the status quo: a continuous extension of the hegemonic project of the ruling classes and their ruling ideology.

That revolutionary subjectivity will, however, have to be premised on a critical understanding of the political economy and ideological character of the mass media. The Left must understand that this radical subjectivity would be most effectively deployed when the subjectivity is fully seized of the crisis of representation. Mostly, people resist the state, but without any new paradigm of politics that would seek to understand the state as a function of a certain type of political economy; a certain mode of production; and a certain structure of social relations. Such resistance is, therefore, doomed to be plotted in terms of the status quo of social relations. Thus capturing state power inevitably becomes, for them, an end-in-itself. Every such act of resistance, as a result, ends with some sections of those resisting being absorbed into the state. Those who are not absorbed, again align with those who are preparing to launch a fresh assault against the might of the new state. And thus the vicious cycle continues.

The preponderant tendency of the state is to close itself and exclude others, but it can never do so completely because, objectively, there’s a counter-tendency in it to deal with others and include them, if only in a hierarchical fashion and if only to oppress and exploit them in order to transfer value and accumulate capital in all its ‘materialised’ and ‘dematerialised’ forms – cultural capital, social capital, political power, money and so forth. The modern state, as a consequence, remains precariously open to challenge. This tension results in it being forced to reflect the demands of those who are lower down in the systemic hierarchy, and who through resistance are trying to move upwards, or to-wards the centre of it all. But since this demand is articulated by the state; and also because the demand itself is inscribed within the paradigm of modern political power and form of state, even in its resistance it ultimately fails to articulate itself without distorting its counter-ideological, critical essence – the essence, which wants to escape the mediatory appearance of the prevailing political economy and its ideological-ethical framework.

So, the UPA government has, through its gesture of proposing the broadcast bill, articulated the ‘aam aadmi’s’ mandate, which demands of it more choice as a consumer. Something that monopolising media houses would obviously be loath to grant them. But this manifest demand and mandate are distorted by the mediation of the politics of state power, its ideologies and institutions, and, most fundamentally, its political economy. It would be the Marxian Left’s task to cut through the clutter and recover what the appearance of this mandate, or this demand has distorted beyond recognition.

Now let’s see where this approach of unmasking disguised and alienated political-economic/ideological categories can lead us to in the segmented domain of the mass media. Once we accept this approach, media can be seen to be answering affirmatively to only one of these two questions: Is it meant to aid leisure, and ideological indoctrination and/or skilling of workers by purveying programmes that are passively consumed by them as part and parcel of the reified ritual to socially re-produce themselves? Or, is it a zone where pleasure intersects with critique to produce a radical rupture with the prevailing political economy in both its content and form, which are entwined thoroughly with each other? The question that we on the Left should choose to answer in the affirmative is clear.

To understand the fundamental difference between these visions of the media, we need to simply remember what French filmmaker Goddard had once said: “TV transmits, while cinema expresses.” Here, of course, we must also understand that for Goddard TV is the epitome of the bourgeois mass media purveying entertainment, ideologies and skills, while cinema is the supreme expression of what a left-wing cultural-political resistance against such a mass media and its political economy ought to be. For Goddard, TV transmits things as they are, and that transmission is meant to be passively recognised, received and consumed as reality by its intended viewers for entertainment and/or ‘education’. Cinema, on the other hand, is to express that reality. In other words, it is meant to reflect upon and investigate as to how this reality is constituted. Not just that, it also ends up provoking the audience, too, to participate in that reflection and probe. That implies engagement and active participation of the audience. It is this vision of Goddard’s cinema that has to permeate the Left’s cultural-political discourse and its vision of an alternative media.

This kind of cultural politics of resistance has a long and rich legacy.

A. First, of course, is the anti-narrative films of Goddard himself. His cinema is known to suddenly rupture the narrative and take recourse to various devices and tropes that lead to reflection on the reality that the narrative is seeking to capture or depict.

B. And then, of course, there is Brecht, whose debt Goddard has acknowledged time and again, and whose idea and practice of epic theatre did to culture and aesthetics what Marx’s did to politics and political economy. In his epic theatre Brecht sought to alienate the audience from the play, by interrupting its narrative through use of various devices like melodrama, documentary film clips, newspaper cuttings, actual audio recordings of historical events, etc, in order to unearth and foreground the various processes that constitute and contextualise the reality being depicted in his plays. His intention: to destroy the cathartic consumption of theatre, and the reality it represents, by a passive audience; and provoke that audience into thinking about how reality is historically constituted. His didactic approach was meant to provoke audiences into a dialogue with the producer so that they become active participants in the process of producing the plays, and by extension the reality outside theatre itself. Brecht was actually known to have rewritten many of his plays by taking into account the reactions and responses of politically engaged German workers, who were his primary audience.

C. South American Augusto Boal has taken this Brechtian experiment a step further. His plays of the theatre-of-the-oppressed vintage are produced in a fashion that it provokes the audience not just to reflect on how the narrative is constituted but to actually become part of the play and start participating in it.

D. Filmmaker John Abraham’s Odessa film club experiment closer home in Kerala is also another example of how the audiences of cinema can become its producers. Abraham and Odessa made some films successfully with money raised from poor villagers, radical intellectuals and the urban underclass, who often enough also became its cast and supplied their intellectual inputs, too, to the making of those films.

Eventually, however, Odessa has significantly been diminished and it is a pale shadow of its past. There’s, however, a moral to this story of Odessa’s diminution. A moral that the Left, particularly its cultural political practitioners would do good to learn by heart. Odessa succeeded only till that time when there was a certain kind of active, left-wing, anti-systemic consensus at work. As soon as that politics went into retreat there were few if any takers for an experiment like the Odessa. This means that cultural-aesthetic practices, like the ones just mentioned, have radical implications in terms of critiquing the prevalent system and its political economy. But those implications have to be actualised through active political praxis.

In the absence of such praxis, these experiments are doomed to be reified into aesthetic-cultural artefacts or forms, by the market’s Ricardian logic of value ascription through demand and supply. These experiments become yet another commodity/ideology that the bourgeois mass media includes in its hierarchical jungle of commodities, ideologies and brands.

The Delhi-based Public Service Broadcasting Trust (PSBT) is a good example of illustrating this. The PSBT’s efforts are geared towards producing short films, both documentaries and features, that the ‘public’ would ‘actually’ want to see. It has even gone so far as to produce films by filmmakers drawn from local communities and with participant-actors taken from those communities for those communities as well as others like them. But then, the PSBT is a kind of an NGO that looks at people’s media and its practices purely in cultural terms, and is completely divorced from a larger anti-systemic political movement and its political-economic critique. As a result, most of its films and programmes are telecast by the Doordarshan. In other words, the PSBT has to depend on government assistance and subsidy to realise and propagate its purportedly progressive cultural-political vision. In the process, the PSBT programmes, too, have willy-nilly fallen prey to the market’s logic of TRP ratings, ad revenue, branding and so forth. Consequently, they are condemned to either survive precariously as government-subsidised arte-facts of good culture, which can disappear any moment, just like the National Film Development Corporation (NFDC) of India-sponsored art-house cinema; or they go beyond the pale of lei-sure-driven mass media to become highly prized cultural commodities, which are accessed by a privileged few to indulge their supposedly non-utilitarian pleasures. This, according to Theodor Adorno, is precisely how the culture industry creates the reified domains of mass culture and high culture, in which the latter category absorbs everything that is avant-garde and radical, cutting of larger society’s access to them, completely defanging them in the process.

That is not to say those ‘good cultural’ programmes and art-house movies should not be there. (Albeit one must admit that a lot of those NFDC-sponsored films were ponderous, pretentious, junk with no real cultural-aesthetic merit and political use.) The point is to see how they can thrive even in the bourgeois mass media, whether owned by the state or private players.

Such programming can be made viable only by going beyond the market principle of demand and supply; or, more precisely, the split between the active producer and the passive consumer-audience. That would be possible only when media and art are transformed into a de-commodified zone of political resistance and political-economic critique. For, a media that seeks to transform the passive audience into active participant-producer will have to situate itself within, and simultaneously drive, a larger political movement that critiques and seeks to transform the political economy of exchange value and value transfer, which through creation of differential hierarchies privileges oppressive and pedagogic determination of identities, over an open dialogue.

Only when such larger politics frames our protest against state censorship or our demand for transparent regulation would they be effective in becoming something more than effete editorials written by well-meaning editorial writers in the mainline press.

Such a political approach also implies, and I believe that’s by now clear, the creation of alternative media, and popular cultural-political initiatives that want to change the world, not merely interpret it. Such initiatives, of which the alternative media would be the instrumentality, would be a movement that intends to heal the producer-consumer breach, and turn passive audiences into active participants in the production of politics, and a horizontal, non-hierarchical political economy of non-exploitation.

Such cultural-political initiatives must not, however, be confused with reified models of Soviet-style socialist realism and Proletkult. We already have far too much of useless, status-quoist ‘janwadi’ cultural-political artefacts, like the hoary street theatre, being churned out by various cultural fronts of equally various communist parties. Instead, we would do well to recall Walter Benjamin’s words: “Rather than ask, ‘What is the attitude of a work (of art) to the relations of production of its time?’ I should like to ask, ‘What is its position within them.'” No longer do the cultural-political initiatives of the Indian Left exhibit their original awareness of how their techniques of production, or the forms of representation that resulted from those production processes are in sync with the socialisation of production that this left seeks to establish.

To put it briefly let’s modify a little a maxim of historian E. P. Thompson: “There can be no culture without struggle.” Certainly not for the Marxists.

But this politics of struggle is not just somewhere outside. It is, in fact, situated, on point where the inside inflects with the outside. The inside in this case being people like us: journalists yes, but more importantly media workers.

I’m not very experienced in matters organisational and will, therefore, refrain from trying to come up with an organisational plan. But I will certainly stress the need for a media workers” organisation, which would contemplate its revolutionary politics in terms of struggles within their place of work. These struggles must not focus merely on gaining more wages and/or more time for leisure, but, more importantly in this conjuncture, control over their production process.

Pothik Ghosh is a professional journalist with The Economic Times. He has long been involved with various grassroots organisational efforts and Marxist study circles in India.

Notes:

(1) The “crisis of representation” has been explicated well by Marx in his ‘The 18th Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte’; and later by August Thalheimer and Trotsky while theoretically dealing with the ascendancy of Nazism. The resemblance with India of the past, at least, three decades is uncanny.

Singur in Context: Capital flight or Flight of Fancy?

CG

Comrade Budhadeb Bhattacharjee is a man in a hurry – he has to undo the pyrrhic victory of the labor-peasant movement in West Bengal: capital flight. He thought he got it fixed when he had the party and the government machinery close in on Singur, to evict people, erect a barricade and encircle the site. A technique developed in the bygone labor militancy days – gherao (encirclement) came in handy even in distancing oneself from its fruit! Who knew! There was perhaps a fleeting smile on his face, a sigh of relief as now that the site is secured, it is only a political matter of dealing with the Banerjees, Patkars and Roys. But pesky Tapasi Malik came along to ruin it all. The teenage daughter of one of the evicted landless workers strayed into the site at night to relieve herself and ended up as a smoldering corpse in a pit, the stench waking up her folks. Any sensible woman would have known better than to venture into such territory so there must be an explanation – other than the unlikely fact that she was just a teenager who was not very sensible. With 14 per cent of all crime in India being rape or dowry related, Indian policemen do not need any lessons in creative writing. So the wheels of imagination began to spin: Tapasi had slipped out of her home for an illicit rendezvous with a jealous lover and pick your choice: 1) she committed suicide shortly after 2) the jealous lover along with his drunken friends raped and murdered her.

This is not exactly a laughing matter anymore. History and geography are serious business and if we get one wrong we get the other wrong too. So lets get to the bottom of it. According to Comrade Budhadeb Bhattacharjee and his party, and oddly enough according to any number of economists and politicians of all ideological pursuasions, Bengal experienced a flight of capital ever since the Left Front came to power in 1977. The left and the right diverge from that point on: if you are on the left, Bengal survived by enhancing agricultural productivity, taking over sick industries and selling power to neighboring states while Kolkata itself languished in interminable power outages. If you are on the right, then Bengal drove out industries, indoctrinated youth and captured all key institutions. Both agree, with some important differences over specific details, however, that Kolkata must be restored to its past glory as an entrepot to investments and to surplus extraction. It must be the port through which it will all flow in and out as majestically as the Ganges. Implanting the Tata people’s car plant on the Singur farmlands is the latest in that direction. (Did I just say that? You are right. The Ganges only flows out. But of course, this is different. Things will also flow in here and it will be good for the entire Eastern India because we will have downstream vendors, and suppliers. Don’t ask me which way is downstream because it is really hard to tell these days.)

Let us not waste time on the disagreements between the left and the right and instead look at what the left and the right agree on – namely the self evident fact that capital fled Bengal because of labor militancy. The most astounding thing about this ‘fact’ is that it is as if it were happening in outerspace and had nothing at all to do with the politics and economics and history of India. Little seems to be the need to explain what exactly was this labor militancy about. Where did capital fly to? How did it fly? But since such questions require an intimate detailed knowledge of Bengal, let us start the story from some other place to at least locate this outer space object in some relation to other objects in space. The Communist Party of India-Marxist (CPIM) came to power in Bengal at a peculiar moment in India. It was when an all-round anti-Congressism based on an aversion to its flirtation with the authoritarian Brazilian path to development, and a frustration with the singular failure of national coalitions found expression through the rising regional bourgeoisie whatever that word means – mostly rich and middle farmers, government employees, contractors, professionals, small and medium industrialists and so on. The specific configurations of these regional formations varied from state to state depending on local agrarian histories and the implications of caste identities in successive rounds of modernization. If it called itself NT Rama Rao in Andhra Pradesh, it called itself Lalu Prasad Yadav in Bihar, it called itself Bhindranwale in Punjab just as it called itself Sharad Pawar in Maharashtra. This was truly a historic period in the Indian political economy. First and second generation sarkari employees were preparing to retire and look for avenues to invest their savings in the cities. Restless agrarian rich were moving into the cities. Some centrally owned public sector industries were slowly getting into trouble even as others especially in the electronics and communications sector began to thrive and supported a number of ancillaries. It was an economy in which older privately owned industries were getting into trouble because of technological outdatedness and changes in supply chains. In short in certain sectors industrialists were truly looking for labor trouble so they could legitimately pack up. What we know about these developments is mostly locked in the archives of area studies centers all over India with piles of MA, MPhil and PhD dissertations with microlevel local data.

Within this socio political dynamism in the state, the fight in Bengal as everywhere else was for regional autonomy, a freedom from the center – a process that Achin Vanaik described in a quaintly Newtonian metaphor: centrifugal and centripetal forces. What makes this a uniquely leftist endeavor is not clear but it is quite charming how many leftists would be offended if you were to suggest to them that this anti-center, anti-Congress trait was nothing peculiar to the Left. But perhaps we can press the comparison a little further to the actual strategies of the regional leaders. Most of the regional leaders faced a twin challenge: to wrest some degree of political autonomy from the center and curb threats posed by various Marxist-Leninist (ML) groups’ militant rural mobilizations. To this end, all of them experimented with political institutions, administrative structures and police strategies. The large section of rural voters who were restless under the Congress networks of feudal power and yet were urbane enough not to be attracted to the ML was the main target for the emerging regional leadership. In incorporating these sections into their politics, all the regional leaders followed similar patterns: tinker with panchayati and district political institutions to create appropriate avenues that would be accessible to these sections and not to the Congress, rustle up policy and administrative recipes to create stakes for these voters in the productivity of land – through sharecropper registrations, power subsidies, borewell subsidies and so on. Sharecropper registration data from Bengal villages overlaid with voting patterns over two or three successive elections in Bengal should reveal a pretty clear picture. But even without all that gimmickry, Pranab Bardhan and his colleagues demonstrate how sharecropper registration in Bengal was most intensive in villages where the left and right held equal power. Villages which were left strongholds reveal a pretty low level of sharecropper registration. Given their shared project of wresting autonomy from the center the regional leaders made common cause against the Congress, and came to each other’s rescue in national politics – Indira Gandhi’s nasty habit of using gubernatorial services to dismiss troublesome chief ministers was one issue that rallied together the left and the right in a remarkable way. Yet faced first with a crafty statesman in Indira Gandhi, and then her charismatic son, they also made pragmatic compromises with the center on an individual basis. Among other things, the Sarkaria Commission on center state relations was one of the major accomplishments of the solidarity among these regional leaders. So if this is at least in part the history of Bengal CPIM, why does it all sound so garbled? It is because the Bengal CPIM faces a challenge that no other regional leader faces: it has to tell a story of regional success, but it has to also tell it in national terms. That is the origin of the story of labor militancy. To acknowledge that Bengal CPIM is simply a cadre based regional operation to undermine the Congress party would make it sound parochial – something that does not suit the refined culture of its leadership. Hence it has to be packaged as a universal struggle against capital rather than a parochial fight against the Congress. This is why the CPIM’s cadre operations, capture of institutions, its day to day struggles and its police operations against Naxalites all these have to be packaged as labor militancy. Ordinary stories of mill closures because of ordinary reasons and ordinary collusions between union leaders and mill managements, and mundane stories of government will simply not do. It has to be the universal labor militancy. That is how Bengal’s elite distinguishes itself from the other regional elite.

After the launch of the economic reforms, the need for a united struggle against the center was largely gone. During the first five years itself, they started using their respective capacities to send MPs to the center to negotiate concessions to their own regions but in the second round of reforms this became an established practice in Indian politics. In fact, the political power of the regions was so striking that even the World Bank could not resist using it effectively. One powerful chief minister who commands sufficient MPs to threaten the central government is worth a dozen zealous bureaucrats at the center… so long as that chief minister is plied with enough funds to restructure the state’s economy, the central government will stay steady on reforms course. Bengal was not above this new dynamic of interregional competition for investments.

Against this backdrop, let us look at the actual history of Bengal’s industrial decline. Regardless of Comrade Budhadeb Bhattacharjee’s penchant to blame it on labor militancy, industrial decline of Bengal started soon after independence, as most of the investors in Bengal were foreigners. As these industries slowly packed up, the commanding heights economy centered in Delhi’s bureaucratic control, industrial finance clusters being located in Bombay proved disadvantageous to Bengal. The most pernicious of the policy interventions from Delhi was the freight equalization policy which effectively meant that eastern mining areas – Bengal, Bihar, Orissa all began losing to the southern states. Ever since the Left Front came to power in 1977, it largely blamed its industrial decline on discrimination by the center. While there is no clear evidence to establish this, substantial amounts of research based on time series data shows that mandays lost due to lockouts in Bengal is a significant proportion of the total mandays lost due to labor unrest.

A quick search indicates very little about how and where and when capital actually fled from Bengal because of labor militancy although everyone repeats it these days and it has actually begun to sound quite nice. “We are the guys who threw out capital and now we can do business as equals.” Regardless, it is possible to discern some patterns in inflows and growth elsewhere. During the 1980s in other states some of the public sector undertakings nurtured a fair amount of experimentation and growth especially in new industries like electronics, pharmaceuticals and so on. In the 1990s many of these came apart with workers being sent home with retrenchment packages, and senior level scientists and engineers walking away with technical knowhow. Using the social capital gained via their careers in these companies some of them sourced work, supply chains and work orders from abroad from Europe and the US – while some of them remained kitchen top pharmaceuticals and guest room data processing outfits, a few of them managed to grow into large corporations. To what extent this happened in Bengal is not clear. Available evidence suggests that the state did pretty well in attracting FDI in the post reforms period. It did alright in attracting the medium industry. It didn’t do too well with the sunrise industries and didn’t do too well with national big capital. Labor militancy cannot explain all this variation. As we have already seen, if some of it had to do with the ability of the regional leaders to negotiate with the center, some had to do with geohistoric inequities of the commanding heights economy, and some had to do with the social policies of the state government such as training the right kind of manpower, some had to do with corporate strategies and yet some of it was just contingent factors. If it is such a complex story even without any intimate knowledge of Bengal, why does everyone so glibly agree that labor militancy resulted in capital flight in Bengal? Why do statements ‘we must industrialize or we will perish’ sound right even when their blindness is so obvious? What kind of industry? What kind of labor? What kind of militancy and what kind of flight? Where to?

Part of the explanation could lie in CPIM’s need to distinguish itself from the run of the mill regional leaders. Part of it in Bengal’s nostalgia for its colonial industrial past. If that were all, there would be no reason to complain. Who could grudge the old comrade a touch of fancy? The trouble really is the consequence of that claim to inheritance of labor militancy gives the CPIM, the moral authority that is denied all other regional leaders to discipline workers and peasants now. It can conveniently wrap up a range of projects from real estate and retail to water privatization all in the industrialization blanket along with rising aspirations of the new middle class, the rent seeking behavior of politicians and bureaucrats and the recommendations of its international consultants. Bengal needs industrialization because for 25 years we have experienced capital flight due to labor militancy. If Kolkata develops East India develops. It is in that flight of fancy – rather than in the flight of capital that Tapasi’s death seems like a complicated case which needs creative scripting to suit the occasion. Why? Ask her mother. Tapasi died because she did not know that for Eastern India to develop she had to control her bladder!