ver
since the Ambedkar cartoon controversy erupted, I have not stopped
wondering about the irony of the situation. The attempt, perhaps the
first one in national textbooks, to accord Babasaheb Ambedkar his due
place as one of the founders of our republic, was being attacked for
insulting him. Professor Suhas Palshikar, who has taught me to read
Ambedkar more carefully, has been attacked in Ambedkar’s name. To be
honest, we did expect an attack on these books at some point from some
quarters. But little did we imagine that it would come from proponents
of social justice.
Over the last two days we have tried explaining this
to anyone who cares to listen. Palshikar tried explaining this to his
attackers too. The cartoon in the spotlight is actually one of the
more innocuous of the hundreds used in the political science textbooks
of the National Council of Educational Research and Training (NCERT).
It has been made to look offensive by a series of misreadings. One,
the content of the cartoon has been mischievously presented by
overlooking the positive symbolism (that Ambedkar holds the reins to
the Constitution and holds a whip) and overplaying a possible negative
symbolism (Nehru holding a whip behind Ambedkar has been presented as
Nehru whipping Ambedkar). Two, the art form of a cartoon is negated by
a crass literal reading of the symbol of a whip. Three, the cartoon is
detached from the text accompanying it on the same page that
celebrates the deliberations that led to the delay in the making of
the Constitution. Four, the cartoon is isolated from other cartoons
involving Nehru, Indira Gandhi and other leaders that appear in this
and other textbooks. Finally, Ambedkar’s depiction in this cartoon is
torn out of the context of how Ambedkar and his ideas are treated in
this and other textbooks.
Having gone over this a few dozen times, it became
clear to me that this debate was no longer about Ambedkar or the
cartoon. The real danger is not what you can see and identify clearly.
The danger lies lurking just beyond your vision.
For starters, the danger is not that one or a few
controversial cartoons may be removed from the textbooks without good
reasons. That would be sad but not a cause for alarm. The danger is
that this is just the beginning. The minister’s reply in Parliament
mentioned a review of other "objectionable" cartoons and content in
the textbooks. A group of parliamentarians has been demanding the
deletion of several cartoons that showed politicians in a poor light.
Many MPs are uncomfortable with the truthful account of
post-independence history in these books. Ambedkar’s name may have
been used to shield much else. This may be the beginning of a slow and
imperceptible rollback of a historical transition in the writing of
textbooks in this country that took place between 2005 and 2008,
following the adoption of the National Curriculum Framework.
This is linked to the issue of autonomy of
institutions like the NCERT. Again, the danger is not that of a sudden
loss of autonomy vis-à-vis the government. It is hardly a secret that
the autonomy of such institutions vis-à-vis the babus in the ministry
is at best highly circumscribed and often non-existent. The rights of
the authors and advisers vis-à-vis the NCERT and that of the NCERT
vis-à-vis the ministry are admittedly in a grey zone. The
parliamentarians obviously did not see anything grey here. They wanted
to settle on the floor of the House an issue concerning the content of
a textbook that had gone through a due internal process. The minister
obliged. The real danger is that this would begin to appear normal to
us, that we would forget that institutional autonomy is an issue.
Again, the danger is not that this issue would
compromise our freedom of expression in a general sense. The media’s
intense scrutiny of the political class on this question has
demonstrated, if it needed any demonstration, that the Indian media
enjoys ample freedom to take on the government. Besides, the textbook
is not the site for an unbridled exercise of freedom of expression.
Textbook writing is an exercise in caution and balance. The danger
here is that we would miss an opportunity to define what freedom of
expression should mean in the context of a textbook. In the course of
a TV debate, a fairly well-read MP complained that this cartoon sowed
doubt in the minds of young students. The danger is that we might
begin to think that textbooks must not create doubts, must not leave
any questions.
The attack on Palshikar’s office has momentarily
shifted attention to the physical danger to which scholars involved in
such an exercise may be exposed. He handled the attack with the
equanimity, dignity and courage that I have come to associate with
him. If and when my turn comes, I would try and emulate him. But that
is not the real long-term issue. The danger is psychological. Just
think of the message such an incident sends to any future textbook
writers. You cannot blame them for looking at every passage, every
image, every drawing, to ensure they have eliminated the possibility
of giving rise to any offence to any group that may exist then or in
the future. The worst form of censorship is the one that lies in the
mind of the author. In any case, a text pruned of the possibility of
misreading is a text devoid of any interest and substance.
Finally, the danger is not that loud voices of
identity politics will triumph through brute parliamentary majority.
The real danger is that any such "triumph" may be counterproductive.
This incident might end up damaging Dalit politics in more ways than
one. It is not just that the Dalit-bahujan leaders have lived
up to their worst stereotypes in the mainstream media and reinforced
the prejudices of the chattering classes. Unfortunately, the shrill
pitch of the parliamentary debate and its echoes in the media may have
already created an insult for Babasaheb that was never inflicted, let
alone intended. The censorship that the Dalit leadership and its loyal
intellectuals demand today could end up deifying Ambedkar into an
empty symbol, worse than any caricature.