In the intervening days of January, between the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. and the martyrdom of Mahatma Gandhi, I had an engaging conversation with a veteran, non-violent agitationist who had also become a litigious public intellectual. He had not been cynical that change had not come despite his relentless years in courtrooms and torn tents by the street. However, he believed in that simple, self-effacing thought: ek dhakka aur do. Give it another try, give it one more push.
Invariably, the conversation, which happened a day before January 26, veered around the farmers’ protest happening at multiple points outside Delhi. An important question was raised. There was also a context to the question—the Gandhian had just come back from Delhi after expressing his solidarity with the farmers. Anyway, the question was: Should the protesting farmers have claimed democratic victory after the Supreme Court suspended the laws for 18 months? This was not the kind of question that would be settled with a dumb agreement or a passionate disagreement. It created a labyrinth of fascinating arguments.
Should the farmers have agreed to something that looked like a clever postponement of their demand, or a clever deferment of the problem? Since the farmers are demanding that the laws be repealed, can suspension be treated as victory? But the larger issue here is should victory in a public battle be viewed in absolutist terms? Or, do a sum of small victories create a mirage of a big victory? Therefore, should the farmers have seen the suspension of the laws as a small victory, and then accumulated such small victories over a period of time to claim a larger victory. Should they have dispersed to deepen the movement across India and educate the primary stakeholders? Or is it erroneous to frame things in terms of victories and defeats when it comes to mass movements? There can only be learnings, un-learnings and impact.
Another related idea: Should those who get into public battles escape the Abhimanyu trap? Obviously, the reference here is to the Mahabharata, where Abhimanyu the brave enters a defensive battle formation, a chakravyuha or padmavyuha, with half-knowledge. That is, he knows how to break into the military formation but does not possess knowledge to exit its complexity. If this analogy is extended, should leaders who lead mass movements first work on an exit plan or should they think of sharp bends that lie ten steps ahead? From the many accounts of Gandhi’s work, it is clear that he meticulously thought through his campaigns. That he knew where to get off and where to persist. There were many occasions when he disappointed his followers by calling off campaigns, abruptly, for reasons and paths only he could foresee. For Gandhi, victories were imagined small, but the cumulative effect of these victories was big, and the impact eternal.
Martin Luther King Jr, who was greatly influenced by Gandhi, not just borrowed his philosophy of passive resistance and truth-force, but continuously deliberated on his tactical sense. From this he developed an independent strategy of organisation and tactics. This is apparent if one reads Clayborne Carson’s reconstructed life of the Black civil rights leader. Even after the success of a well-strategised Montgomery bus boycott in 1955-56, King fails in Albany. But the manner in which he reflects on his failure is extraordinary. He says instead of aiming for a big victory, a small victory would have been symbolic. It would have galvanised more support and boosted morale.
However, he concludes that like the victory in Montgomery was not total, the failure in Albany was ‘far from an unqualified failure.’ It helped the civil rights campaign in other cities once they had analysed the defeat and sharpened tactics. Of course, even a failed situation in Albany ensured thousands of Blacks entered the voters list, and in the governor’s race later, a moderate had defeated a segregationist. King concluded that the people of Albany had straightened their backs and as Gandhi had said, ‘No one can ride on the back of a man unless it is bent’. King’s campaign in Birmingham next was so much more about tactics, timing, leadership, legal manoeuvres, raising money, resolving moral anguish and ‘ruthless realities’.
Coming back to the farmers’ protest, were tactics discussed—diligently and pragmatically? The Gandhian was thinking aloud. Why is there an overwhelming desire to create a spectacle of the protest? Did nobody tell the farmers that a tractor rally on January 26, in and around Delhi, was a huge risk? What if something went wrong? Who would give the call to an emotionally charged crowd to retreat if the plan went haywire? What is the symbolism of such an unwieldy enterprise? He wondered with enormous concern, and the next day, as feared, the rally did go wrong. It was sabotaged. There is no doubt that emotion draws people out to the streets, but then it is an arduous task to channel emotion into constructive political action. There is a slowness and detachment required, without of course losing passion and direction.
At another level, in terms of rhetoric, the Gandhian was annoyed that people were quick to pronounce the end of democracy, the end of the idea of India, the end of this and that they had learnt in college, but never spoke of the specifics of recouping, revival and leadership. That is where tactics would be essential and that was hard work. Interestingly, Robyn Rihanna Fenty, the singer who created a storm with her question on the farmers’ protest, was mirroring King’s spirit and method of enquiry. Nobody thought about it. She was either trolled or made an instant icon of the protest. Nobody reflected on the broad smile of King that was her Twitter handle’s cover image.
Sugata Srinivasaraju
Senior journalist and author
(sugataraju@gmail.com)