Tamil Pride and the Indian Hitlers
I
Communalism, nationalism, the rhetoric of statehood — such grand words have echoed through India’s political chambers for decades. Today, even the bereaved lips of a martyr’s widow are made to mouth the slogans of nationalism, her sorrow drafted into the ledger of political gain. Nothing inflames the public heart so swiftly as the narcotic of nationalist emotion. Modern men and women, who were slowly turning secular, cosmopolitan, indifferent to the walls of caste and creed, have again and again been dragged back into the trenches by the fundamentalists’ lash. In a country of many faiths, many tongues, many castes, democracy finds no easier leash than nationalism. And so, religion and caste become the tickling feather, the ready bait with which elections are won. These are the blunt instruments of our so-called secular statesmen. The bitter harvest of this politics was seen most recently in Tamil Nadu.
II
Who are the guardians of democracy? Are they seasoned custodians with iron in their spine, or brittle watchmen, hollow at the core? I have asked this before. The truth is already plain: India’s institutions have never matured into steady sentinels. The Emergency proved it with cruel clarity, forcing our eyes open. And now, even the people themselves — the common citizens — prove equally unsteady, unaware of their rights, easy to seduce by the caress of nationalist fervor. They are shepherded, almost sleep-walking, towards paths that fracture democracy’s scaffolding. Let us turn to Tamil Nadu: a case that cannot be read without glancing into the rear-mirror of history.
III
For more than twenty years the state has breathed only one intoxicant: Tamil pride. Two Dravidian parties, born of the same ethnic mythos, alternate in power every five years like rival kings of a single dynasty. Each time, with near-monarchical authority, they embed the creed of Tamil nationalism deeper into the state’s arteries. When one party rules, the other is throttled — law circumvented, opponents punished, democracy turned into theatre. Repetition has crystallized into ritual. Now, under Jayalalithaa’s hand, the ritual has grown into a Hitlerian drama.
IV
History whispers: it was the wound of German pride after the First World War that prepared the ground for Hitler. His rise was nothing but the injured nationalism of a humiliated nation seeking its savior. A passionate people turned Mein Kampf into scripture, their secular Bible of racial destiny. And we know where that road ended — in rubble, fire, and shame. In Tamil Nadu too, we see echoes. Jayalalithaa, convicted by courts for crimes economic and social, ought to have lived within prison walls. Yet Tamil pride has enthroned her, lifted her once again to the seat of power. Riding emotion, she has turned to fascist methods: suppressing rivals, unleashing police with Goebbelsian zeal. In three short days she ordered thirty thousand opposition supporters arrested without cause. This, in a federal democracy, shows how authoritarian a state police can become. Tamil Nadu stands today as our Indian mirror to Weimar’s fall.
V
The simple eye would blame Tamil pride itself — a people enchanted, delivering power knowingly to an offender. But one must not forget: even at the Centre, democracy has bent into dictatorship before. Indira Gandhi — was she not our first Indian Hitler? She gagged the press, hunted opposition leaders, cut down every freedom, and yet returned through the ballot box. The same narcotic of nationalism had carried her back. For had she not freed Bangladesh from Pakistan? In that hour she became Bharat Mata, and the nation and the Mother fused into one voice, one myth.
Now look at Jayalalithaa. To the Tamil heart she is Amma — mother of the nation. She muzzles the press, curtails liberty, persecutes her foes, all with one hand. She repeats the Indira pattern, draped in the same cloak of nationalism. And so in both cases we see the paradox: within the shell of democracy, totalitarianism blooms, its roots fed by the water of ethnic pride.
VI
My own belief is harder still: at Centre or state, no leader since Independence has ruled without some tincture of the Hitlerian method. Bal Thackeray summoned Marathi chauvinism, Lalu Prasad weaponized caste pride, Bengal’s Politburo exalted its doctrinaire Marxism. Right and Left alike have doctrines that cannot endure dissent. And intolerance of dissent is but fascism in another mask. Thus Jayalalithaa’s methods surprise no one; they were expected, almost rehearsed. New Delhi’s interventions appear less like justice than like a bandit chieftain disciplining a thief.
VII
And yet a question gnaws: when shall the wretched citizens of this land see a truly democratic dawn? When in a nation of a billion, a thousand policemen may toy with freedom as a child toys with pebbles, when four hired guns can overturn the voice of four lakhs at the ballot box — what meaning has democracy left? It sits adorned like a courtesan, painted and perfumed, within the fat, solemn pages of the Constitution, far removed from life outside.
VIII
How long will new Hitlers rise — teasing ethnic, religious, linguistic pride into frenzy — only to loot the nation when enthroned? How long will citizens vote not for economy, not for education, not for health, but for myth and emotion? Fifty-five years have passed since Independence, and yet India, though schooled in British parliamentary practice, remains under a carousel of autocrats wearing ideological masks.
If blame is sought, it must begin with the people. For across caste and creed, they fail to discern the true custodians of democracy. Identity and pride are sold by the kilo, and the masses devour them with relish. Thus the leaders have succeeded, turning the democratic process into a fascist mechanism, its gears oiled by sentiment. The marketplace now overflows with Hitlers. The voter must choose one; no true alternative exists.
And so another truth emerges: perhaps the system itself has rusted. This parliamentary machine, imported from Westminster, has grown obsolete on Indian soil. If the republic is to survive, the structure of governance must be reformed — and soon.
Communalism, nationalism, the rhetoric of statehood — such grand words have echoed through India’s political chambers for decades. Today, even the bereaved lips of a martyr’s widow are made to mouth the slogans of nationalism, her sorrow drafted into the ledger of political gain. Nothing inflames the public heart so swiftly as the narcotic of nationalist emotion. Modern men and women, who were slowly turning secular, cosmopolitan, indifferent to the walls of caste and creed, have again and again been dragged back into the trenches by the fundamentalists’ lash. In a country of many faiths, many tongues, many castes, democracy finds no easier leash than nationalism. And so, religion and caste become the tickling feather, the ready bait with which elections are won. These are the blunt instruments of our so-called secular statesmen. The bitter harvest of this politics was seen most recently in Tamil Nadu.
II
Who are the guardians of democracy? Are they seasoned custodians with iron in their spine, or brittle watchmen, hollow at the core? I have asked this before. The truth is already plain: India’s institutions have never matured into steady sentinels. The Emergency proved it with cruel clarity, forcing our eyes open. And now, even the people themselves — the common citizens — prove equally unsteady, unaware of their rights, easy to seduce by the caress of nationalist fervor. They are shepherded, almost sleep-walking, towards paths that fracture democracy’s scaffolding. Let us turn to Tamil Nadu: a case that cannot be read without glancing into the rear-mirror of history.
III
For more than twenty years the state has breathed only one intoxicant: Tamil pride. Two Dravidian parties, born of the same ethnic mythos, alternate in power every five years like rival kings of a single dynasty. Each time, with near-monarchical authority, they embed the creed of Tamil nationalism deeper into the state’s arteries. When one party rules, the other is throttled — law circumvented, opponents punished, democracy turned into theatre. Repetition has crystallized into ritual. Now, under Jayalalithaa’s hand, the ritual has grown into a Hitlerian drama.
IV
History whispers: it was the wound of German pride after the First World War that prepared the ground for Hitler. His rise was nothing but the injured nationalism of a humiliated nation seeking its savior. A passionate people turned Mein Kampf into scripture, their secular Bible of racial destiny. And we know where that road ended — in rubble, fire, and shame. In Tamil Nadu too, we see echoes. Jayalalithaa, convicted by courts for crimes economic and social, ought to have lived within prison walls. Yet Tamil pride has enthroned her, lifted her once again to the seat of power. Riding emotion, she has turned to fascist methods: suppressing rivals, unleashing police with Goebbelsian zeal. In three short days she ordered thirty thousand opposition supporters arrested without cause. This, in a federal democracy, shows how authoritarian a state police can become. Tamil Nadu stands today as our Indian mirror to Weimar’s fall.
V
The simple eye would blame Tamil pride itself — a people enchanted, delivering power knowingly to an offender. But one must not forget: even at the Centre, democracy has bent into dictatorship before. Indira Gandhi — was she not our first Indian Hitler? She gagged the press, hunted opposition leaders, cut down every freedom, and yet returned through the ballot box. The same narcotic of nationalism had carried her back. For had she not freed Bangladesh from Pakistan? In that hour she became Bharat Mata, and the nation and the Mother fused into one voice, one myth.
Now look at Jayalalithaa. To the Tamil heart she is Amma — mother of the nation. She muzzles the press, curtails liberty, persecutes her foes, all with one hand. She repeats the Indira pattern, draped in the same cloak of nationalism. And so in both cases we see the paradox: within the shell of democracy, totalitarianism blooms, its roots fed by the water of ethnic pride.
VI
My own belief is harder still: at Centre or state, no leader since Independence has ruled without some tincture of the Hitlerian method. Bal Thackeray summoned Marathi chauvinism, Lalu Prasad weaponized caste pride, Bengal’s Politburo exalted its doctrinaire Marxism. Right and Left alike have doctrines that cannot endure dissent. And intolerance of dissent is but fascism in another mask. Thus Jayalalithaa’s methods surprise no one; they were expected, almost rehearsed. New Delhi’s interventions appear less like justice than like a bandit chieftain disciplining a thief.
VII
And yet a question gnaws: when shall the wretched citizens of this land see a truly democratic dawn? When in a nation of a billion, a thousand policemen may toy with freedom as a child toys with pebbles, when four hired guns can overturn the voice of four lakhs at the ballot box — what meaning has democracy left? It sits adorned like a courtesan, painted and perfumed, within the fat, solemn pages of the Constitution, far removed from life outside.
VIII
How long will new Hitlers rise — teasing ethnic, religious, linguistic pride into frenzy — only to loot the nation when enthroned? How long will citizens vote not for economy, not for education, not for health, but for myth and emotion? Fifty-five years have passed since Independence, and yet India, though schooled in British parliamentary practice, remains under a carousel of autocrats wearing ideological masks.
If blame is sought, it must begin with the people. For across caste and creed, they fail to discern the true custodians of democracy. Identity and pride are sold by the kilo, and the masses devour them with relish. Thus the leaders have succeeded, turning the democratic process into a fascist mechanism, its gears oiled by sentiment. The marketplace now overflows with Hitlers. The voter must choose one; no true alternative exists.
And so another truth emerges: perhaps the system itself has rusted. This parliamentary machine, imported from Westminster, has grown obsolete on Indian soil. If the republic is to survive, the structure of governance must be reformed — and soon.
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