Emergence of Democratic Fascism

                                                                                                                                                                                                        

The term ‘Fascist’, once reserved for the likes of Benito Mussolini, Adolf Hitler, Juan Peron, and Francisco Franco, is in vogue these days. Heads of governments, political leaders, social activists, prominent intellectuals, and even performing artistes are now called fascists with ease.

President Vladimir Putin calls the Ukrainians fascists. President Putin himself is labeled a fascist by several commentators and politicians. A well-known Indian poet and lyricist calls his Prime Minister a fascist. Paul Krugman insists President Donald Trump is a fascist. Meanwhile, President Trump refers to the protesters and activists as a form of ‘new far-left fascism’. These are only a handful of examples.

Such claims cannot be ignored as random ramblings, given compelling arguments about the personalities, their proclamations, actions, and considered inaction. Is fascism returning in a new avatar?

Fascism is ‘a political philosophy, movement, or regime that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition’(Merriam-Webster). This definition today resonates with many democratically elected governments around the world.    

Philippines President Duterte imposed martial law and publicly threatened anyone who dared to challenge his decision, “… you ask me to lift it? I will arrest you and put you behind bars”. He told his security apparatus, ‘You can arrest any person, search any house…If you happen to have raped three women, I will own up to it.’ President Trump relentlessly rubbished the fourth estate known as a pillar of democracy. Turkish President Erdogan arrested over 50,000 citizens and sacked or suspended 150,000 people from jobs post a failed coup attempt. In an increasingly intolerant India, people may get cornered on suspicion of eating a specific kind of food, jailed for caricaturing politicians, beaten up for criticizing religion, and threatened for trivial acts in stand-up comedy shows while the top leadership maintains an eerie silence. Rather than inspiring democratic joie de vivre, such events remind us of the first half of the twentieth century.

Demagoguery, centralization of power, disregard for traditional institutions, push for a monolithic society, majoritarian mindset, ultra-nationalist propaganda, and branding of contradicting opinions as anti-national seems to be a new normal even in matured democracies. Their leaders enjoy a cult-like following. The electorate returns them to power despite telltale signs of dictatorial traits. Prime Minister Viktor Orban’s recent triumph in Hungary is the latest example of this phenomenon. Why do leaders with proven disregard for democratic principles get democratically reelected, often with a bigger majority?

Frustrated with the elected representatives’ chronic failure to deliver, the voters are losing faith in classic democracy. They want sustainable peace, security, and prosperity and are willing to look the other way when charismatic leaders trample on egalitarian fundamentals. The stage is set for a new order. We have disillusioned electorates happy to compromise their freedom for a better existence. And we have a new crop of rightist leaders with magnetic personalities, hypnotic oratory skills, arrogance, well-disguised mercilessness, disdain for democratic practices, and belief in societal homogeneity. A new form of governance emerges. These leaders lead establishments that exhibit fascist traits – ‘far-right ultra-nationalism, strong regulation of the society, supremacist beliefs, a relentless exaltation of past national glory, the myth of decadence, majoritarianism et. el. But they are not fascist because they rise to power, remain in control, and execute their policies using democratic platforms. They abuse institutions to harass the opposition but do not openly intimidate or eliminate them. The civic institutions are not shut but controlled within the available legal framework. These leaders look like democrats; behave like fascists. The majority who elected them to power applaud by the ringside. The rest do not matter. Their votes aren’t required for the leaders to return to power.

It is Democratic Fascism. Love it or hate it, this is another form of governance gaining strength across the world, from Brazil to The Philippines and in other beacons of democracies in between.  

This trend is likely to continue till we unwittingly find ourselves in the grips of benevolently authoritarian rules shaved off the garb of democracy. But the leaders will degenerate, slowly but surely, into oppressive dictators. The people will then realize the costly trade-off. A déjà vu – a renewed struggle for freedom, democracy, socialism, and justice – shall follow.

For now, stand by to witness more democratic fascists emerge around the globe!

 Love colors for what they are - the bounty of colors!

 

Imagine our world without colors! Imagine if the flora and fauna, our houses, the cars, and the clothes were all plain white! What if there were no rainbows? What if the captivating classics like a peacock’s brilliant plumage, the sky in twilight hours, a freshly cut piece of ripe watermelon, and the rosy pink cheeks of children in cold highlands were devoid of any colors?

Yes, the colors are central to the splendor of our world; they make this world worth living in. We have our preferences. If one likes blue, someone else loves pink. If John likes Green, Sanjana may loath it insisting only on purple. Her best friend may accept nothing but light yellow. Our chemistry with colors is not easy to explain since our perceptions and preferences vary wildly. I love blue in all its shades. A friend of mine keeps anything blue at arm’s length. I can’t understand. How can a man not like blue? Pass it on to individuality. Just the way we have our preferences for food, friends, cars, and hairstyles, let there be the personalization of colors to suit everyone.

Even deities have their preferences. If Lord Shiva prefers deep blue, the Sun loves red. While performing a religious ritual, I used to always keep aside a red Hibiscus for the ultimate offering to Surya Devta. 

However, our fixations with colors transcend fundamental personal likes and dislikes. We let them pervade the world of our feelings, emotions, and relationships. Colors start representing, symbolizing, and influencing our state of mind. This is where conventional wisdom loses; tradition and collective behavior take over.

Many years back, a close friend saw me in a restaurant dining with a stunner. He came to me and whispered, “Hey, I am all green.” I looked at him and found no trace of green in him. He was wearing blue jeans and a white shirt! I thought he was out of his mind and I let it pass with a smile. I could not figure it out till someone told me later that it was a metaphor for envy! Poor green! What has the color done to earn that curse? 

I love the song titled ‘Any Day Now’ by Elvis Presley, sung by various artistes over the years. When I heard the lyrics carefully for the first time, I wondered why should ‘the blue shadow fall all over town’ when his love’s ‘restless eyes meet someone new’. I was enlightened by a friend that blue is associated with sadness. My heart cried out for my favorite color. How on earth did blue, a hue full of freshness and sobriety, get linked up with melancholy? Then why don’t we all wear blue in a funeral?

We say the man is in pink of his health! What has pink got to do with sound health? If the intention is to reflect vibrancy, youth, agility, and strength, there could have been other true representatives from the fascinating array of colors that we are blessed with.

Red does evoke a sense of aggression, power, boldness, and flamboyance. Even the bulls love it! But, why does a company go red when it loses money? Why associate despondency with a color that elsewhere symbolizes aggression and bravado? Why does it turn black when it starts making profits again? Isn’t black the color we chose to mourn? How come we celebrate black in our corporate life?

Not to forget the lovely white color; a color that is so serene, soothing, fresh, peaceful, and non-controversial! It makes a whole lot of sense that white flags symbolize truce. Warring factions use flags of this color to depute representatives for discussions and negotiations. Even in the days of Mahabharata, it was an absolute taboo to attack anyone galloping in with a white flag. Then, why do we call the vanquished whitewashed even in innocuous games between nations? Why do we say the Australians were whitewashed when they last played test cricket in India? Are we being fair to this sober color when we misuse it to depict an absolute triumph over a hapless opposition? Looking from where the vanquished stand, the white must be looking blood red!

Colors are blessings in our lives. They are best relished and celebrated for what they are. When we relate them to the complex world of the human mind, they lose their character, get confusing and lose the very purpose for which they exist. Let us enjoy the joie de vivre in each color. Let the shades of green in our paddy fields inspire us with that unique freshness without reminding us of our worst enemy, the envy. Let us enjoy the divine beauty of a clear blue sky without a trace of sadness. For all of us with corporate responsibilities, let us enjoy the boldness of red without remembering our worst professional nightmare. Let us wear black when we want without being reminded that mourning is a part of our life we can never avoid.

Let us indulge ourselves in the bounty of colors that nature has blessed us with. Let us love them for the exquisite beauty that they are. Let us not give them any other name.     

 

 

 Peace, ultimately!

 

Lately, my mind has been peaceful and positive, despite all the virus-driven restrictions! Either something has happened that has not happened before, or something has not happened that used to happen before. I dug in to find out why.

I realized, after some introspection, that I’ve been skipping a routine act for over a week – the habit of spending the post-office evening hours in front of the idiot box! Instead, I have been sipping my evening tea elsewhere – legs stretched out, serenaded by choice lounge music, lost in a beautiful world!

I have stayed away from the chaos called ‘debates’ on topics pedestrian to critical, chaperoned by rude ‘I-know-it-all’ anchors. I have shunned the starved 24X7 channels that pick up the worst ‘news’ and present their dramatized versions with background scores that can challenge the best of Bond movies. I have not bothered for the ‘Breaking News’ reportage that highlight, reinforce, magnify and rub negativity in viewers’ minds, something that burgeons like cockroaches leading to despair and abandon.

The lingering effects of the negative news hard-sold by our media are self-administered poison for us. No respite in sight my fellow victims! They will do what it takes to make their money. We need to do what it takes to defend our mental peace.

I found my peace away from them. Are you still a sitting duck for the predators?

The formidable fifties!

                                                                                                            

Each phase of life has its own challenges, excitements, disappointments, triumphs, and embarrassments. But which is the most formidable decade in the life of a healthy average human being? We can argue for hours without reaching any conclusion. This is my take. If you agree, you are my buddy; if not, you are my friend!

The first decade is an innocent, cheerful sail-through under the doting watch of the elders. We demand what we want, get ecstatic when we get them, and cry aloud when we don’t. This is a decade happy for many and carefree for most. In the next decade dominated by the teens, our dreams get bigger, confidence soars, patience shrinks, and tolerance deserts. We get hurt easily, we hurt easily; a beautiful decade if we hold our heads over our shoulders.

The next one is the foundation for what is to follow. The wild, dreamy teenage years get a jolt as we face the challenge of taking on the world. We enjoy spending our own money. We learn to see independence and responsibility as two sides of the same coin.

And then, we get married!

The next two decades center around our families. We work harder to make our families happier. For the first few years, our ‘better halves’ steal the attention. By the late thirties, they are dethroned by our children. We live for our children and their future.

Let’s give the fifties a pass, for the moment.

In the sixties, redemption years begin and we look forward to a quiet life ahead. With children not needing support and not heeding unsolicited advice, we try to focus again on ourselves. But our minds fail to escape from our fixation with the children. Some adapt gracefully and get involved in meaningful work, social or creative, with an urge to leave a legacy. Great years to acquire knowledge without care to materialistic relevance; great years to repay our ecosystem; great years to work to be remembered after we are gone, and miserable years for those who cannot adapt. Going forward, whatever dominates our sixties - frustration or revelation - multiplies in the seventies and beyond as we set out for the sunset.

Now, the fifties! This decade stands in the twilight zone where extended youth prepares to reluctantly give in to advanced superannuation. Children leave home to pursue their careers; the dreaded ‘empty nest’ syndrome begins. Professional life gets less stimulating with reducing options. We discover that walking every day is necessary for good health. Counting calories, we start taking dry toasts for breakfast, munching it with a grimace, keeping the butter pot and the jam bottle at arm’s length. We worry too much; worry about the children surviving their first tryst with true independence, worry about the health of aging parents, worry about the adequacy of finances to see us through, worry about a recession, worry about our health-driven by fear of the unknown.

Top it with yesteryear regrets and you get a potent toxin to drink every day. To complicate things further, we struggle to rediscover and redefine our intimate relationships.  With the natural evolution of each person as an individual, we find it hard to renew vital connections on this alien landscape. Like famed Abhimanyu, we get to fight a formation of seemingly unbeatable challenges on all sides. The fifties, truly, are the years that push us to the limit!

This one is to salute those valiant fifty-something folks fighting it out there. May you come out stronger, shining like gold through a fire!  

August, 2013-08-03

Living with the extremes

Thirty-five thousand feet above the city of Munich, I flipped through the 9^th June edition of TIME magazine. A full page advertisement from an organization called Water.org moaned the fact that over 780 million people, more than a tenth of entire humanity, do not have access to safe drinking water. Tidbit news on the opposite page flaunted that the estimated expenses for the wedding in Florence between celebrated artist Kanye West and the reality show star Kim Kardashian was $2.8 million and that the median of a CEO’s annual pay in the US rose to $10.5 million in 2013. These are not breaking news; just facts that we live with. But raw statistics does strike hard; and it hurts reading them in that sequence. Life with the extremes!

Disturbed, I dumped the magazine and looked out through the window searching for a better view of this world. It was a bright European sky. I found nothing but some more emptiness till the horizon. I closed my eyes, stretched myself a bit, and let my mind free; free from sways of my eyes, buried under a resolute pair of eyelids.

Riding on simulated darkness I wondered why I was dismayed at all. Wasn’t that a true rendering of the world we live in?

Information age is taking us to zetta bytes of data while we argue on millisecond latency. A giant Advanced Technology Large-Aperture Space Telescope is slated to be placed one million miles away from our planet to look for life up to 30 light years away while scientists elsewhere are studying sub-atomic particles like Higgs boson and Fermion.

Recently, I was fortunate to have a personal chat with the thirteen times Grand Prix winning Formula One celebrity Mr. David Coulthard. He treated me to nerve rattling narrations on split-second decisions he had to make on treacherous racing circuits around the world; decisions that stood between his life and death! When asked which track he feared and which he loved the most, he said, “It is Monaco. I love it the most because I fear it the most”. Love for extreme fear!

Later on the same day, I met with a Bulgarian businessman who hated life on the fast lane, talked passionately about Kundalini yoga, Mahatma Gandhi and Lord Buddha. Yet another encounter with extremes on a single day!

Extremes are a part and parcel of our lives and this world. Growing up in the blessed gray oasis called the middle class, most of us flirt with extremes when convenient, like a daredevil ride in Disneyland, exotic feast on ultra-luxurious spread of buffets, or a round of golf under a sweltering sun. But, this oasis occupies a rather small portion of our planet. Bulk of the human race, most of the landfill, and the water bodies live in the extremes. Either too cold or too hot, very fertile or absolute wasteland; ultra-rich or pathetically poor, highly educated or abysmally illiterate, superb healthcare or scarce first aid, devastating floods or dreaded droughts. The list goes on.

Realization of this reality is a good first step. Trying to do one’s best to bridge the gap is a great second. Getting upset and escaping on a flight of denial is retrograde and defeatist.

I opened my eyes, and picked up the TIME to read on.

June, 2014

A jewel on the street

                                                                                              

We have an unenviable knack for criticising what we have. Criticise and crib about everything, our future as a nation, our polity, society, infrastructure, government, neighbors, well just about everything except ourselves. Indulging in nostalgia, we lament our present and pooh-pooh the future. The poor are busy with their eternal fight for survival.

The super-rich have no time for the mundane. People like us, living in that large space called the middle class, spend just too much time on discussing, criticising, lambasting, lampooning others and others’ actions. We masquerade as experts to pass judgements; but do precious little about the issues ourselves. When was the last time you met with your friends over dinner? Didn’t you cover all the topics that you and your friends think plague our country, often with frenzied arguments? Didn’t some of your friends make authoritative pronouncements dishing out panacea?

I talk to people, given half a chance, everywhere I go; talk to taxi drivers, waiters, shopkeepers, politicians, journalists, cousins and uncles.

“These politicians have really looted our country.”

 “India has no future. Population, corruption, communalism, tribalism, castes, damn everything.”

“It is so hot and humid. Really, the weather is sick. I hate it here.”

And so on and so forth...don’t they sound familiar?

We focus on the negatives, true as they are, and miss out on our celebrations. It is naive to say that we do not have major challenges. But, we sure have a lot to cheer about as well. Our obsession with failures, soaked in elitist cynicism, is suicidal. We need people who see silver linings amongst the darkest clouds. Need people who dwell on the positives; people who spread positivity. They are rare.

I found one the other day.

Taxi drivers are always a good source of information. Befriend them and you get to feel the pulse of the country. It is true from New York to Taipei (i.e. in this case, if you are lucky to get one who understands any of the languages you know), and Iceland to South Africa. On this early morning visit to New Delhi, I tried to catch some sleep instead on way to the hotel, with a long day’s work ahead.

However, when we got stuck in traffic over the narrow fly-over near Vasant Vihar, I had to talk. “Traffic is not good even at this hour! This fly-over in particular is not well designed.” I expected an instant endorsement from the taxi driver, someone who suffers the most from traffic woes. He replied, to my utter surprise, “Not true. It was terrible before. Going to the airport, we used to queue from Munirka till Dhoula Kuan turn. Delhi roads have improved a lot.”

That was an unknown territory for me! I looked around as if I was trying to make sure I was indeed in New Delhi! Reassured by the Army Hospital and the Hanuman Mandir on either side, I wanted more.

“This city is the best in the world? When I left home for the airport, it was raining; lovely to get a few showers at this time of the year. Now it is bright and sunny here. Where will I get a city that offers such a contrast in one morning?”

I had no reason to correct his facts. Facts were not important at that time; it was all about the sentiments.

He continued, “You should come to this city after ten years. By then, all traffic problems will disappear. Government is bringing in big changes; New laws to restrict number of cars on the road and for parking, with huge fines. The problem is with us. Complain about everything; do nothing. We list what the government has not done; but never consider what we did not.”

After some time, I saw silhouette of the mega malls adorning Saket skyline. My champ continued. “You see those malls, sir? Many people today go and buy a shirt there for five thousand rupees; but, they would not pay their taxes... Even then, I tell you something sir; we are a great nation. It is incredible. We have so many problems. Yet, we are getting stronger and better. Whole world respects India today. Even the American Presidents come to India more often now than they ever did.”

“You said a few lovely things, brother”, I said with full admiration for this jewel on New Delhi street. I paid his dues with handsome tips and went in to the hotel literally singing to myself. My staunch faith in a bright future for our country was reinforced.

Sipping a drink in the lounge, later that evening, I heard people talk on the next table. “My God, what a horrible traffic condition in this city; this is disgusting! I have never seen traffic as bad as this anywhere in the world.” Convinced that the man had not seen much of the world, I turned my head. He continued with his onslaught, “What are the authorities doing? Is anyone in charge? This country is really going down the drain.”

Another man added, vigorously shaking his head in disgust, “It is straightforward. The corrupt politicians have ruined everything. They don’t care. Look at the Swiss bank accounts? The Germans have...”

I felt suffocated. Leaving my drink, I went out of the hotel aimlessly towards the busy road. I might have been looking for another jewel on the street...far away from the madding crowd! 

                                                     Before writing the epitaph

I wonder how it feels to consciously wait for death. How it is for a healthy person to pass every day doing the daily chores, eat, sleep, read, watch, talk, feel happy, get angry and be disappointed knowing well that the end is not far away. How does it feel to receive news of contemporaries leave this world one after the other? What kind of thoughts cross one’s mind on hearing comments like ‘Good thing he did not suffer; after all he had a full life’ when a close buddy dies. What if the person who died was a few years younger?

Death strikes ruthlessly without any concern for age. However, our reactions to death do depend on the age of the deceased. Death in a tender age is devastating news for everyone in the society. Death in the thirties and forties is termed cruel, unacceptable and shocking. In the fifties, it is lamented as premature and unfortunate. In the sixties, depending on which part of the world one lives in, it evokes silent acceptance to guarded disappointments. But, it is still news. Death in the seventies is considered understandable. It is not considered out of turn; surprise is unceremoniously replaced by sympathy. All you get is a general feeling of ‘wish he got a few more years’.

But, beyond the eighties, death slowly turns logical. This ultimate truth starts digging deep and one sees tell-tale signs of changes in behavior of the people. We see people turn somber, affectionate, reflective and spiritual. Now, spare a thought for the good old folks, past their nineties, when the world waits for their final moments. How does it feel to know that one’s death will not surprise anyone?

Death is the only guarantee birth brings with it. But, we live our lives, just the way we must, as if we shall go on forever. We feed on hopes; hopes for a better day tomorrow. We valiantly fight everything that comes our way riding on these hopes. We juggle with priorities, wrestle with crisis after crisis, from health to profession to family, convinced that there are years ahead to live, enjoy, contribute and share. Where do we get strength to do the same when there is not much of tomorrow left? If one falls sick, everyone prays for a speedy recovery. But, in the nineties, everyone prays for a peaceful end. How depressing would it be to know this?

I have seen old citizens, barely able to take a few firm steps at one go, push makeshift trolleys with daily provisions on the streets of Amsterdam, to Paris to New York. Born to a culture where taking care of aging parents is considered a sacred duty, I used to wonder where their family members could have been as they struggled to survive a day with not much of the next to look forward to. As I saw more, surprises slowly gave in to an understanding of the harsh reality. After my chat a few years ago with a senior executive in Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland, it became clearer. He was intrigued to hear from me that aging parents in our society are expected to be taken care of by the children. To quote him, “That is sure not expected of us. They took care of their children, we take care of ours and our children shall take care of theirs.” Chilling stuff! Looking from where we stand, the lives of old people in those societies must be even more agonizing. How dearly I hope that we hold on to ours despite relentless assault by alien cultures.

That is only a hope. Alas, it is not a conviction! The other day, I was in a small grocery in Kolkata with my friend to pick up a few things for breakfast. A gentleman, probably in his late eighties, wobbled to the shop asking for a small loaf of bread. The shopkeeper, himself in late sixties, told him that there was no stock for the same. Clearly short of hearing, the old man asked the shopkeeper twice again. The man in the sixties, forgetting that his time was not very far away, lost his temper and started abusing the old man for wasting his time. Strange! First of all, what was the compulsion under which such an old man had to come himself to fetch the bread? On top of it, why did the shopkeeper have to shout at an elderly man who obviously was short of hearing? Is that a preview of things to come? Are we going the wrong way? At home and on the streets, does our present generation hold the aged people in reverence as we have been traditionally doing?

We cannot reverse the clock. But, we must what we can. When we come across people in the eighties and nineties, we must be compassionate. We need to spend quality time with them. If they are our own, we need to find ways to be with them as often as we can. We should commit ourselves to the formidable task of making them feel wanted; make them believe that our world has been richer with their contribution. Encourage them to take pride in their past. Let them relish every moment in the present. They are lonely in this wide, big world.  

Do it before it gets too late. Writing a poignant epitaph later is just not good enough!