Why do we bow down to our ministers for doing the things they were elected to do?
We have a problem with servility that defines every aspect of our lives. It’s why many of our ministers accused of serious crimes that would lead to jail time in most countries are greeted not with contempt but with the folding of hands. Rep pic/AFP
I have no respect for our political leaders in Delhi. I never have, and never will. I have been asked to be respectful, by people who seem to have turned them into demigods instead of accepting them as the career bureaucrats they really are. They aren’t even good at their jobs, eliminating the possibility of my respecting them as professionals. Saying this is not allowed though, because the act of criticism has been turned into a crime. If I mention this on Twitter, for instance, I will be asked to apologise, by people who don’t know me, and refuse to accept any opinion that differs from their own.
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We have a problem with servility that defines every aspect of our lives. It’s why our ministers—most of whom are accused of serious crimes that would lead to jail time in most countries that treated law and order seriously—are greeted not with contempt but with the folding of hands. We bow down to them, lay out red carpets, applaud when they open their mouths, and accept their inane statements as wisdom. It is this need to bend over for no apparent reason that has made it possible for charlatans of every hue to step in and take control of our lives for centuries. This is why growing a beard is now given more importance than doing any real work.
Why does a politician’s face need to be on a vaccine certificate? Does he or she pay for the vaccine? Is he or she responsible for how it was discovered, created, distributed, or dispensed? Why do I have to feel gratitude to someone elected to office because he wakes up after years of inefficiency and incompetence to do the job he was elected to do? Why do I have to be grateful for receiving a vaccine that was paid for by taxes I wilfully hand over year after year? Our refusal to answer this question, let alone acknowledge it, explains why our streets are blighted by photographs of men and women who have taken it upon themselves to treat us with condescension simply because they have used our money to do what they were hired to do.
There are innumerable examples throughout history of what happens when mediocre men and women are placed on pedestals and worshipped as individuals capable of great things. They fail, of course, but then use all the resources at their disposal to try and prove that they have succeeded. This explains why our ministers have been congratulating themselves for how well they have managed the COVID-19 pandemic, conveniently ignoring the 300,000 Indians who died gasping for breath on their watch. It’s also why they congratulated themselves for the joke that was demonetisation, trying their best to airbrush that embarrassing episode from our collective memories with overdoses of propaganda.
Our ministers get away with incompetence because we have no measures in place to evaluate their performance. We live in a time where press conferences, accountability, and transparency have been relegated to a time of myth and legend, and where journalists who once swore to uphold the truth have been silenced. The power of our collective voices has also been diminished by a combination of fear, apathy, and exhaustion, which is why hungry farmers camped outside our nation’s capital are treated with derision instead of empathy. The tools our forefathers gifted us have been blunted, replaced by paid tweets and WhatsApp chats. Added to this is our bigotry and prejudice, which we place above everything else. It’s why we are okay with paying more for fuel than we ever have before, laughing as we cut our noses to spite our faces.
We will get back on our feet some day, because every pandemic and economic crisis has a beginning and an end. What I hope we can bring closure to, at some point, is our confusion that the people we elect to represent us in Parliament are rulers who manage us and control our destinies. They are not in charge of us; they are simply employees tasked with managing resources we place at their disposal. They are there by our leave; we do not exist by their good graces.
This is why I have no respect for our ministers. If this were an office and I were allowed to gauge their performance as employees the way the rest of us are, I would call them out on their repeated failures to do anything right. I would sack them.
When he isn’t ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper
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