The trope of today is, words speak louder than actions. A din of dismay, summoned forth from the bitter belfry of testy sanctimony, is louder than a kitty party.
“Ban the book!”
“Boycott the film!”
“Arrest the contrarian!”
“File FIRs!”
“Send the comedian to jail!”
“Disrupt the art show!”
Never before has the national atmosphere been so livid with righteousness. It is as if innumerable citizens are sleeper agents of moral outrage, who have been woken by a sudden bugle blast to go forth and defend an idea of India about which they have, at the most, just a hazy clue. Or none at all. It is politics, stupid.
Clued into this get-famous-quick formula, a ministerial luminary has become a loudspeaker warrior of Indian culture and gods. Until a few years ago, he was just a local politician with national ambitions. Now, he is the enfant terrible of nationalist umbrage. Like so many of his colleagues, irrespective of political affiliations, he has discovered the power of the legal threat, and the honourable justices are too willing to oblige. He took umbrage against the depiction of the Goddess in Bengal. He vowed to stop a famous comedian from performing. He terrified ad agencies which made short films on Hindu marriage rituals, forcing the advertisements to be dropped.
He bullied the makers and actors of the Tandav series. Now he is a film critic who has warned the people behind Adipurush of legal action if they don't make the changes he has ordered. The mantri is the mantra -- no longer just another regional politician with a handlebar moustache. Panhandling the rich veins of national huff has made him an unofficial spokesman for the moralist majority. In his ecosystem, self-appointed champions of mythology and history get good reviews. The movie isn't even out -- its trailer is enough to get the filmmakers sweating and the visual-effects guys denying their involvement. Is there a shadowy group of vigilantes hiding somewhere in a choleric cloud, constantly on the lookout for a chance to pummel a TV interview, a film, a book or a play? Creative people are easy to bully. They don't have political clout or economic might. Most of them are from villages and small towns, rowing their boats of inspiration towards the bright city lights. Most politicians, too, are from similar backgrounds. The difference between the two groups lies in their success formula; the first uses the power of imagination to send a message. The second sends the cops.
Having vented against unaccredited political censorship, it is important to note that India is not an exception in indignation against indignity, imagined or real. Groups like the Catholic League in the US are stout defenders of cinematic deviations from the written Biblical narrative. Believers called Monty Python’s Life of Brian, which features the protagonist who gets mistaken for Jesus, blasphemous; the film was banned in Ireland and Norway. Thai Buddhists forced government censors to order Director Sutape Tunnirut to cut scenes from Angulimala, which featured the Buddha. Innocence of Muslims inflamed passions in the Islamic world -- producer Nakoula Basseley Nakoula went into hiding after a Pakistani minister offered a $100,000 bounty on his head; the poor guy had to change his name several times. Compared to the Pakistani, our Minister for Outrage is a reasonable man.
Freedom of expression, however, is not a licence to offend. Sense must account for sensibilities in all matters creative and political.