Since September 22, the people of Tamil Nadu have been watching events unfold at No 21 Greams Lane, Chennai, home to Apollo Hospital’s flagship multi-speciality centre where Chief Minister J Jayalalithaa is admitted. We have read hospital bulletins that were empty, some strewn with hints, a few that actually said something, watched the entry and exit of specialists from Delhi and London, and flirted with gossip and rumours. Put all this into one story line and what you have is a most readable medical thriller.
Outside the hospital and around the state, hardcore AIADMK-ites and Amma devotees have been displaying their loyalty in full force. Multi-religious prayers, musical prayers, temple offerings, all that people can do other than administer medicine, they have done without fail.
Barring a few, the media by and large has reported on Jayalalithaa warily. Not sure how much they can say, how it should be said, or whether they can comment at all, they have tip-toed around words, phrases and different hypotheses.
Amidst all this, party politicians who adorn colours across the vibgyor have made a beeline to Hippocrates’ famous Chennai abode. There is no doubt in my mind that political opportunism has played a role in these visits. Other prominent personalties have also made furtive visits to register their presence. How much of this was out of love, and how much came from making sure that when the chief minister is back she remembers they called on her, we will never know.
But beyond the hospital bed, there are a few things that strike me about how the aam aadmi has reacted to this situation. The truth of the matter is that for the general public, it has been life as always, except for those with people hospitalised at Apollo. I have not seen work slow down, initiatives stalled, shops shut (except on days when rumours were being spread across the city of Chennai) or normal life affected by the fact that the chief minister has been in the critical care unit for over a month now. People are full of laughter, arguing as always. Cinema tickets are being booked, the Diwali shopping madness is underway, traffic is a crawl and, as usual, artistic performances across the state are being enjoyed unabated. I would like to celebrate this as a sign of a mature democracy, but I am afraid that the real reasons for this normalcy lie elsewhere.
Disturbing apathy
An incapacitated chief minister implies empty governance, especially in a state where the chief minister is the lord or lords. This is as true of the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam as it is of the All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam. Yet, none of us seem worried. It is almost as if administratively, there is no difference between the chief minister being in hospital or at her office.
This apathy is disturbing. What does it say about the connection between the government and the governed, and the engagement we Tamil Nadu residents have with elected authority? Beyond the iconic image and myth around the chief minister, I wonder whether we engage seriously with her policies or actions as our elected leader. Freebies are received with great gratitude and consumed like the gifts the praja would receive from a benevolent monarch. The function of the government has been reduced in the minds of the people to largesse. This is also evident in the fact that the citizenry at large has not forced the government to do anything about the waterways, drainage, illegal construction, piling garbage and encroachments even after the horrific floods in 2015.
It is in the confluence of responsibilities and rights that democracy comes alive. In this interaction, the elected and the electing members of society frame their roles, giving us vibrancy and vitality. When this is systematically assaulted and mutilated, what remains is a dangerous farce, a delusion that garbs itself as freedom.
It is essential that elected leaders realise that what is being displayed as love and affection is not real. People have no clue about your ideas, projects or vision. You are just a symbol of power. If not you, there will be another. And it is the fear and reverence generated by the seat of the chief minister that matters. You are just a name tag. All this is the doing of these powerful individuals and their respective parties. And we have allowed this to happen on our watch.
Over the last three decades, Tamil Nadu’s politicians have used fear, threats and physical violence to make everyone speak in low tones and accept whatever is doled out as a favour from the powers in control. Party acronyms may differ but the mechanisms of bullying have remained the same. They have made people defensive, timid, mentally lethargic, and consumers of a free-kingdom.
The panchayat presidents and councillors mimic the same authority structure and the chief minister’s theatrical model is played out up to the grassroots party worker. Nowhere in this flow of power is there an engagement with larger ideas.
Yet, in an inversion of my argument, the interest in the local-level politician is evident in rural Tamil Nadu and subaltern urban spaces. And as a consequence, this leader is directly held responsible for providing socio-cultural and economic development. But this relationship remains completely local and, hence, the fulfilment of the immediate is all that anyone is concerned about. Nothing beyond that is encouraged and people are held captive to their own problems.
Need for change
When free from political manipulations, the poorest of the poor feel and think for others naturally. But Tamil Nadu’s politicians have made sure they struggle only with their own problems. Caste is the tool used to ensure this limitedness. As we move up in party politics, the distance between the people and party leaders widens, until it just does not exist anymore. The pecking order within parties and government makes sure this link does not exist, because that is the only way of keeping the myth real.
In council elections, it is the economically and socially marginalised who go out to vote. One would think that as the citizen’s socio-economic status gradually improves, wider issues would matter, but the opposite happens. Disinterest and safety take over, making the middle and upper classes least interested in governance. In fact, even up to the MLA level, politicians may feel the pinch of inaction electorally, but the chief minister and the inner circle have always returned unscathed.
We are a state that gave the country Periyar (social activist and politician), Muthulakshmi Reddi (medical practitioner and India’s first woman legislator), C Rajagopalachari (politician), Kamaraj (politician and free education advocate) and APJ Abdul Kalam (space scientist and president). Today, both in discourse and activism, we have become lazy, selfish and unable to break the fear syndrome. We have given up sharing, empathy is marginal, condescension flourishing.
There is an urgent need for this to change, for an awakening among us. We need to claim our right to politics and dismantle the mindless violent apparatus that has been established by the two mammoth political beings, the DMK and the AIADMK. Care has to be brought back into our vocabulary. What will happen to these parties after their present leaders leave the stage, we do not know. We have to prepare now for the day when there will be a vacuum, a moment with possibilities. But let us keep in mind that another giant is lurking just behind, waiting in the wings to pounce, grab power and maintain status quo.
