From Courtroom to Politics: The Rising Anti-Intellectualism In India

We live in strange times and we have been made to get accustomed to new slogans and strange shibboleths; but we are still surprised—no, rather scandalised—to learn that a senior law officer can argue in the Supreme Court of India that “intellectuals” could be more dangerous than “ground-level terrorists”.

The formulation was made the other day by the Additional Solicitor General of India, S. V. Raju, opposing bail for Sharjeel Imam, a co-accused in the Umar Khalid case. That case, it needs to be noted, has brought no glory to the Indian judiciary and is increasingly beginning to look like a milder version of the infamous Moscow trials during the Stalin era in the Soviet Union.

For a prosecutor, it was clever of Raju to add spice to his argument by bringing in the matter of a few doctors allegedly involved in what has come to be called the “Red Fort terror incident”. But surely the Additional Solicitor General could not mean that all doctors, or engineers, ipso facto, get to be called potentially dangerous “intellectuals”. Just think if the entire faculty at the AIIMS in Delhi gets dabbed with the stigma of being godfathers of the “Umar Khalids”.

Admittedly, various news outlets reported the good solicitor’s exact formulations differently, but all did manage to convey the disapproving tone the prosecutor used for “intellectuals”, as if he was talking about a dirty and undesirable category. We do not know what meaning and insinuation the law officer had in mind when speaking of dangerous “intellectuals”. He certainly could not be referring to the vastly accepted definition, attributed to sociologist Edward Shils, who described a group of thinkers/men of learning who exhibit “an unusual sensitivity to the sacred, an uncommon reflectiveness about the nature of their universe, and the rules which govern their society”.

The solicitor’s formulation in the Supreme Court was a revealing moment. It only confirmed how far down the line the anti-intellectual and anti-learning impulses have seeped into the ruling elite. It needs to be recalled that soon after 2014, the highest pulpit was used to mock ‘Harvard’ and, instead, ‘hard-work’ was extolled as a virtue superior to be learnt at the Ivy League schools.

There is nothing new in this anti-intellectual pitch. Since ancient times, all those who itch to be absolutist rulers have found intellectuals to be a bit of a nuisance. The reason is simple: the intellectuals have this irritating habit of believing in republican values and virtues. Historian-novelist Robert Harris, in Imperium, decodes these values from a critic of the Lex Gabinia. “He never ranted or stooped to vulgarity; but eloquently restated the old republican case: that power must always be divided, hedged around with limitations, and renewed by annual votes, and that while he had nothing personally against Pompey {the Roman general}—indeed, he felt that Pompey was more worthy of supreme command than any other man in the state—it was a dangerous, un-Roman precedent that would be set by the Lex Gabinia, and that ancient liberties were not to be flung aside merely because of some passing scare about pirates.”

The argument—unfettered authority for the policeman against the pirate—has resurfaced with a vengeance since “9/11”. In India, the “terrorist” has been declared the most dreadful national enemy. Consequently, the presumed need to uphold “authority” against the terrorist has steadily been flaunted to shut down dissent and dissidents. But the much-maligned “intellectuals” have refused to fall in line.

The problem with the Indian “intellectuals” is that some of them may be influenced and inspired by “foreign” voices like Hannah Arendt, George Orwell and Noam Chomsky, but their behaviour is shaped by the example of Jawaharlal Nehru, who instigated defiance and resistance. Once derided by Nirad C. Chaudhuri as “the wordmonger par excellence”, Nehru remains one of the few—like Woodrow Wilson—who even in power did not allow his soul to get darkened by political power. [Of course, in power, intellectuals can be particularly nasty. The 20th century is littered by many brutal examples; none more brutal than the Pol Pot regime.]

The modern politician prides himself on his practical knowledge of manipulation of popular taste and values, and, on his mastery of street tactics; unsurprisingly, the modern politician is invariably dismissive of the “intellectual”. Not long ago, we in India had a long and worthy list of working politicians who took pleasure in being labelled as “intellectuals”. Subhas Chandra Bose, C. Rajagopalachari, Krishna Menon, Minoo Masani, Ram Manohar Lohia, Madhu Limaye, and Chandra Shekhar were men of formidable intellect who could hold their own against anyone on the global stage. The only outlier to this slate is the brilliant Babasaheb B. R. Ambedkar, who was not much of a success as an organiser in his lifetime, but has become a very potent rallying voice after his death.

Despite this glorious tradition, the modern Indian politician has no use for the intellectual. There is an aura of unworkability about them; they are deemed to be good at producing sometimes interesting ideas, but have little knack for organising men and matters. The intellectuals may have the imagination of an architect, but lack the requisite skills of a mason, a carpenter and that ubiquitous executive engineer.

The Indian politician no longer feels embarrassed at this anti-intellectual disposition. Even in America, the land which twice fielded Adlai Stevenson II as a democratic presidential candidate—against the war-time hero, General Dwight Eisenhower—is now mentally and emotionally at ease with a street-hustler like Donald Trump.

Most Indian political parties find the intellectual a misfit; he is zealous of his “voice” whereas the party demands submission, obedience, and conformity. What use can an intellectual voice have for a Mayawati or a Lalu Prasad Yadav or an Amit Shah—except to use his/her talent to gild the unappetising face of the unattractive “leader”.

The “Sarkari” exceptions apart, the intellects in India have a very bad shortcoming: they believe in the Constitution of India and insist that its promises and commitments be honoured in letter and spirit. Their espousal of the Constitution of India is different from the lawyers and judges who are content to get bogged down in textual sophistry; the intellectuals arrogate to themselves the role of a guardian of the Constitution being the conscience of society.

Therefore, for a law officer of India to assert before the Supreme Court that the intellectuals are inherently inclined to be anti-national is to betray the daroga’s mindset. Our scriptures, holy books, and the traditions and legacies of national struggle against the colonial authority arm the intellectual to raise his/her voice against unjust authority and its unjust laws.

Remember “Lok Nayak” Jayaprakash Narayan reciting our own Ramdhari Singh Dinkar’s Singhasan khali karo, Janata aati hai at Ramlila Ground, a day before the infamous “Emergency” was proclaimed? Though Dinkar had penned the poem on January 26, 1950, as an ode to the new Republic, Narayan gave it a rebellious tinge, challenging “the Empress” to make way for the “Janata”. Since that day in June 1975, Dinkar has been the guiding light for all those who refuse to submit to the autocrat’s demand for obedience.

The Indian intellectual is an obdurate fellow. He is not content to be a critic, but demands that sides be taken. He, again, cites Dinkar: “Jo tatsth hai, samay likehga unka apradh (history will chronicle the crimes of those who choose to remain neutral in the battle of righteousness…).

This funny fellow, with no cadres to command and no militia to unleash, refuses to acknowledge the insatiable needs of the totalitarian regime. This intellectual becomes a definite menace. A dangerous persona.

(Views expressed are personal)

Harish Khare is a Delhi-based senior journalist and public commentator

This story appeared as We Are Intellectuals in Outlook’s December 11 issue, Dravida, which captures these tensions that shape the state at this crossroads as it chronicles the past and future of Dravidian politics in the state.