June 5, 2014

NEWLY ELECTED PARLIAMENTARIANS TAKE OATH IN SANSKRIT

[The trend was initiated by India’s minister of external affairs, Sushma Swaraj, a senior leader of the Bharatiya Janata Party who is known for using her oratory skills as the leader of the opposition in the last Parliament. Most of the members of Parliament who took the oath in Sanskrit belong to the B.J.P., which won an unprecedented mandate in these elections, including Health Minister Harsh Vardhan and the minister of water resources, Uma Bharti.]

By Hari Kumar
NEW DELHI -— At least two dozen newly elected members of India’s lower house of Parliament, which had its second meeting on Thursday, took their oaths in Sanskrit, India’s traditional language that harkens back to its ancient civilization.
The trend was initiated by India’s minister of external affairs, Sushma Swaraj, a senior leader of the Bharatiya Janata Party who is known for using her oratory skills as the leader of the opposition in the last Parliament. Most of the members of Parliament who took the oath in Sanskrit belong to the B.J.P., which won an unprecedented mandate in these elections, including Health Minister Harsh Vardhan and the minister of water resources, Uma Bharti.
It was an unusually high number of oaths in a language hardly known by most Indians, let alone used in daily life, aside from the work of Sanskrit scholars. Just over 14,000 people recorded Sanskrit as their mother tongue in the 2001 census, though the number more than tripled in 2011, to almost 50,000.
But it’s a language that is at the root of Hindu culture, the language of its ancient texts, including the Bhagavad Gita, and aligned with the muscular religious and cultural nationalism that the B.J.P. espouses.
In its election manifesto, the B.J.P. referenced the language obliquely, referring to “Indian languages” as “repositories of our rich literature, history, culture, art and scientific achievements.”
Though largely unused, Sanskrit is included in India’s Constitution in a list of the country’s 22 official languages, and in Parliament any member can speak or demand translation in Sanskrit.
“This is a symbolic act by the B.J.P. to identify themselves with Hindutva,” or Hindu nationalism, said Ramesh Bhardwaj, the head of the Sanskrit department at the University of Delhi. Another symbolic act was Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s decision to contest elections from Varanasi, the holiest of holy sites for Hindus, where some of the purest, Sanskrit-influenced Hindi is spoken.
Ramesh Pandey, the head of research and publication at a Sanskrit university in Delhi, said that he was heartened by the oath-taking gesture, and that Sanskrit’s further use would “halt moral degradation” in the country. He said it was not the language of Hindu priests, but rather “the language of Indian-ness.”
 @ The New York Times
IN WEST BENGAL, COMMUNISTS’ DEFEAT SIGNALS A LARGER LOSS
[This dogmatic strain within the party, obsessed with notions of purity and fearful of ideological dilution, meant the Communists lost the chance to make a greater national imprint through governance. In 2011, the historian Ramachandra Guha criticized the decision in a debate with the Communist supremo Prakash Karat, played out in the pages of The Caravan, a magazine in New Delhi. “The CPI(M) does not join coalitions where it is not Big Brother — which is why it stayed away from multiparty governments at the Centre in 1996 and 2004. The decision, both times, cost the party, and perhaps cost the people of India too,” Mr. Guha wrote.]

By Vaibhav Vats

One afternoon in April in Baruipur, a rural expanse on the edge of Kolkata, Sujan Chakraborty, a leader of the Communist Party of India (Marxist), presided over a meeting with party workers before he set out to campaign on foot, days before the parliamentary election vote was held there.
Mr. Chakraborty was the Communist Party’s candidate from Kolkata’s Jadavpur constituency, and as campaigning entered its last weeks, Mr. Chakraborty was making a last push against his main rival, Sugata Bose of the Trinamool Congress party, which is in power in the state.
At the meeting, a short, stocky man -— one of Mr. Chakraborty’s colleagues -— launched into sharp attacks against the Trinamool Congress party. But his fiery speech drew little response from the squatting workers, and his attempt to rouse spirits was failing. Sitting in a plastic chair, Mr. Chakraborty quietly observed the meeting.
Later, as we traveled in a car, Mr. Chakraborty said that the Communist Party was on the verge of a resurgence in the national elections. The graffiti on Baruipur’s walls suggested otherwise: The three-colored flower, the symbol of the Trinamool Congress party, was everywhere, while the hammer and sickle of the Communists appeared only occasionally.
It was inconceivable that Mr. Chakraborty had not taken note of this himself, an ominous sign of things to come, but he put on a brave face. “We will do very well in the national elections,” he said. Pressed to specify how many seats the Communists expected to win, Mr. Chakraborty evaded the question. “I would not like to go into numbers,” he said.
Mr. Chakraborty lost the election to Mr. Bose by 125,203 votes. His Communist Party, which had governed West Bengal for 34 years, was decimated in the state and reduced to just two seats out of a total of 42. The news from the rest of the country was of no consolation, either: The Communists won nine seats in all, their worst performance in decades.
It was a precipitous decline for a party that had garnered 60 seats, while leading a front including smaller leftist parties, in 2004. But a series of mistakes over the past decade have meant that India’s Communists are now facing an existential crisis.
In 2004, the Communists stayed out of the Congress-led coalition government in New Delhi. This decision mirrored one from the mid-’90s, when Jyoti Basu, then the Communist chief minister of West Bengal, was prevented by his own party from leading a multiparty coalition as prime minister.
This dogmatic strain within the party, obsessed with notions of purity and fearful of ideological dilution, meant the Communists lost the chance to make a greater national imprint through governance. In 2011, the historian Ramachandra Guha criticized the decision in a debate with the Communist supremo Prakash Karat, played out in the pages of The Caravan, a magazine in New Delhi. “The CPI(M) does not join coalitions where it is not Big Brother —— which is why it stayed away from multiparty governments at the Centre in 1996 and 2004. The decision, both times, cost the party, and perhaps cost the people of India too,” Mr. Guha wrote.
While the party held firm to a non-pragmatic position at the national level, in the states the Communists were mired in ideological confusion. In 2006, after leading a Communist-led coalition to power for the seventh successive time in West Bengal, Chief Minister Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee decided to reverse the course set by his party for the previous three decades.
When Mr. Bhattacharjee was re-elected in 2006, Kolkata, a once-thriving metropolis, had fallen into steady decline and felt removed from the energy and ambition of cities such as Bangalore and New Delhi. West Bengal, one of India’s most industrialized states when the Communists took power, had become an economic wasteland.
In a break from Communist tradition, Mr. Bhattacharjee decided to aggressively woo back capital to the state in an attempt to resurrect its ailing economy. But reports of land grabbing by the government led to the 2007 incident at Nandigram, a village in West Bengal, where 14 people were killed and dozens injured in a police shootout as they resisted the handover of their farmland to an industrial conglomerate. The killings galvanized the opposition Trinamool Congress party, which stormed to power in the state in 2011, and dealt a grievous blow to the Communists, previously seen as caring for the poor and disenfranchised. It is a blow from which the Communists have yet to recover.
After humiliation in 2014, the Communists’ road to resurgence faces two major obstacles: a more competitive political landscape and the larger ideological churn in Indian politics reflecting the shifting desires of the country’s populace.
Their abysmal performance in West Bengal makes returning to power in the state in 2016, when the next local elections are scheduled, all the more arduous. After the lost opportunity of 2004, the Communists’ ambitions of making an impression at the national level are now more difficult to realize than ever. The rise of fresh entrants such as the Aam Aadmi Party, which seek to occupy the same space as the Communists while being less ideologically rigid, poses a new challenge.
Meanwhile, in a country in the throes of aspiration and quest for material betterment, the Communists’ uncritical dedication to Marxist tenets place it ever more firmly in the past. “Being Communist in the 21st-century India means having to perennially swim against the tide,” said Hartosh Singh Bal, political editor of The Caravan. “In addition, the cadre is deeply attached to the ideology, so it makes it difficult for the leaders to change direction.”
Finally, there is the specter of a party being hollowed out from the ground up. Much like the Congress party, leaders lacking a mass base populate the top rung of the Communists. Led by the British-educated Mr. Karat, the male-dominated politburo consists of a number of leaders well versed in the theories of the Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci, but singularly incapable of connecting with voters and winning seats.
Since the results of the national election were declared in mid-May, much attention has been paid to the fall of the Congress party’s Nehru-Gandhi dynasty. But the results are also a perilous omen for the Communists.
Though they remain in government in Tripura, one of India’s smallest states, and may return to power in the southern state of Kerala, the loss of West Bengal means that the Communists no longer have a significant national voice. It raises the possibility that the Communists, once a permanent fixture in the country’s political landscape, may now forever become marginal players in Indian politics.
 @ The New York Times