Imagine the following story taking place in one of our larger States. Say the State is one that has traditionally prospered over the decades, having managed some things really well: advanced infrastructure; ease of doing business; absence of crazily rampant corruption among politicians and bureaucrats; an enviable work culture and ‘business sense’ produced by a good work ethos; frugality and groundedness that sees the State through the ups and downs of the national economy and keeps it in the wealthiest and ‘most advanced’ category.
Now, imagine a certain kind of politics taking over this State in the 80s and 90s, the burgeoning of a majoritarian ideology that twins up with the aspirations and ‘me first’ ethos released by a newly liberalised economy. Imagine that around the start of this century, a certain kind of man is put in charge as Chief Minister by a party that rules both the Centre and the State.
Role model
Within months of him taking charge, the State is racked by grotesque mass violence and communal strife. As the violence becomes viral, the Chief Minister watches, silent and unmoving. The opinion of most observers is that the man is either complicit in creating the violence or indifferent to the plight of thousands and completely incompetent in handling such a crisis. Despite national and international outrage, the party at the Centre lets the Chief Minister continue.
This Chief Minister rules the State for over a decade. A rival party comes to power at the Centre but, due to weaknesses of its own, its leaders can neither bring the man to account nor end his political career. In the period between 2004 and 2014 the national economy does reasonably well and the State — always ahead — is further buoyed by this growth. The official propaganda from the State speaks of a miracle, a ‘Model’ for the rest of the country to follow.
For people inside the State though, things aren’t quite so rosy or lotus-like. The gap between the rich and the poor is growing; environmental safeguards are being systematically destroyed to favour industrialists; minorities are ghettoised and the condition of adivasis and marginalised castes isn’t much better; two major state responsibilities, education and health, are increasingly communalised and privatised, while glitzy government building projects start to appear in the media as examples of the miracle Model. There is a palpable atmosphere of fear; dissent against the government is fraught with dangers that should not be seen in any democracy.
Imagine that the Chief Minister manages to move to Delhi to take over as the ‘First Servant’ of the country, on the promise of a sternly-captained, corruption-free rule. Within months, the whole State starts talking about the spectacular corruption of his chosen successor and close family. The successor is then replaced. Replacement Squared is famous in the State as ‘He who can’t even visit the toilet without an okay from Delhi’. It is Shri He-Who-Can’t-Even who’s in charge when the COVID-19 crisis hits the Model State.
Hacked away
All the efficient bureaucrats from the State have been whisked away to Delhi by the First Servant. The State’s once enviable public health system has been progressively eviscerated since 2001, large sections privatised, the old great public hospitals bequeathed by mill-owners now hollowed out. Instead of any early anticipation of the virus spreading, the State has hosted a mammoth spectacle with the First Servant and Agent Orange in the biggest stadium in the capital. Instead of acknowledging this disaster zone of mass infection, the only narrative the government can come up with is that those dratted minorities have spread the disease.
Imagine this State, its social cohesion hacked away over three decades, its economy tanking with the rest of the country, now being mauled by one of the worst outbreaks of a deadly virus. Imagine patients being released prematurely, fraudulent ventilators being forced on hospitals, and statistics being fudged to hide the sharp spike of COVID-19 deaths.
Imagine the map of the State’s capital completely covered with the icon signifying infections; imagine hungry and beleaguered workers turning to violence in one of its major cities. Then imagine the State administration simply giving up on containing the virus and doing what the First Servant does best — just put a spin on everything to contain the fallout of botched governance.
In this imaginary tale of ours, when the Chief Minister becomes the Chief Servant of the nation, worshipful supporters from his State gloat: “The country will now get what we have received!” Try to avoid imagining what a catastrophe that would be.
Ruchir Joshi is a filmmaker and columnist.
