The problem

IT is often claimed that Bengal – a fringe region in the East of the subcontinent with only a fringe role in politics and culture for over two millennia – was relatively unburdened with the weight of portentous traditions which so marked the regions of traditional Aryavrata. Art critic Rita Datta suggests that this very characteristic – the presence of multiple heterodox sects more wedded to the Shakti cult than male Aryan gods and Brahmanical influence resulting in ‘no overwhelming past to anchor its psyche ensured just the lightness of being for promiscuous mingling with foreign people’, as also new ideas and ideologies. Possibly this may be why Bengal not only proved receptive to Buddhism but also subsequently to Islam. It is insufficiently recognized that in a trend starting well before the Mughal era but gathering steam in the early 17th century, undivided Bengal was home to the largest Muslim presence in the subcontinent by the early 20th century.

More significantly, few other regions were as dramatically shaped by the encounter with British colonialism. For much of the 18th and 19th centuries, Bengal and in particular the city of Calcutta, was the epicentre of British India, giving rise to forces and trends, both destructive and creative, which decisively shaped modern India. Accompanying the consolidation of the pernicious Permanent Settlement, entrenching a strata of feudatory landowners while immiserizing the peasantry, implications of which are felt to date, was also the growth of modern industry and trading houses, and a vibrant urban culture epitomized by Calcutta. The establishment of modern institutions of education and health, the emergence of new services and professions, the creation of a new middle class led to a proliferation in the arts and literature as people struggled to make sense of changing circumstances.

This was the era of new reform movements – of Raja Rammohan Roy and Ishwarchandra Vidyasagar, the emergence of the Brahmo Samaj and subsequently Vivekananda and the Ramakrishna Mission movement. Also the early stirrings of modern anti-colonial politics which sought to combine social reform with swadeshi.

Nothing, however, so dramatically altered the fate of the people and province as first, the decision (subsequently reversed) to partition Bengal and then, to shift the capital of British India to Delhi. The loss of centrality and the dislocation to the periphery so seems to have seeped into Bengali consciousness that even today, more than a century later, the Bengali mind remains afflicted with an intriguing sense of loss and grievance, a nostalgia about the perceived glory of the past and a bitterness about being relegated to a neglected province, distant from the concerns of rulers based in New Delhi. Over time, arguably, what was once seen as a welcoming province and people, willingly providing space to a range of immigrant communities seeking new opportunities and gaining from their energy and enterprise, seems to have turned inwards, only the remembered past anchoring a sense of self-worth.

The ramifications of colonial policy – disaffection in the countryside and a declining cityscape – indubitably shaped emerging politics and political culture: a spate of militant protests from the Rajbansi uprising to the Tebhaga movement, a growth of communal mobilization, a militant edge to the larger national struggle. Even more significant was the impact of the partition of 1947, resulting in a massive influx of refugees in an already densely populated region. The perception, partly based on fact, that the refugee problem in the East received far less attention than that in the West, has left behind a vestige of bitterness that still survives.

Nothing, however, affected the state and moulded its political culture more than the developments in the decade starting with the mid-sixties. The Naxalite movement which began as a militant peasant protest, while gathering admiration from a disaffected intelligentsia, soon degenerated into mindless violence, both internecine and against perceived class enemies, affecting both the countryside and cities. Between the ‘annihilation’ tactics of the ‘misguided revolutionaries’ and the counter-terror launched by the state, Bengal lost an entire generation of its youth. As terror stalked the land, thousands were killed, tortured and imprisoned, and many more left for safer climes; institutions were shattered, industry and capital fled. Four decades on, that memory, though differentially read, is still alive.

Many felt that after the lost years of Naxalite violence, the fallout of the Bangladesh war and the excesses of the Emergency, the advent of Left Front rule in 1977 would mark a new beginning. And there is little doubt that the initial phase of land and tenurial reforms and panchayati raj, overseen by a relatively efficient and corruption free government, did make a difference. As did the dramatic increases in boro rice cultivation. Yet, far too many Left Front policies – a marked anti-industry, anti-urban bias; a shameful neglect of primary education, health care and civic infrastructure; inability to reform work culture in public institutions, and above all, foregrounding the interests of the party and party cadre, resulting in a kleptocracy of the party – significantly weakened public morale.

An economic policy which devalues wealth creation and fails to focus on creating meaningful employment opportunities for the young can only cause despair. And thus, even as the Left Front repeatedly won elections, it failed to read the growing mood of despondency and anger. The arrogance of the party, seeking to divert all blame for non-performance on discrimination by the Centre, or the impact of World Bank-IMF inspired neo-liberal policies only added to the discontent and the eventual rout of the Left Front.

Whether the current rulers, the Trinamool Congress, have a better appreciation of the needs of the people and state, is doubtful. So far, its record has failed to enthuse, as it continues to rail against the misrule of the Left and discrimination by the Centre without proposing any remedial agenda. Evidently, the tendency to not look within and blame the ‘other’ for all ills remains intact.

What the future portends for West Bengal is uncertain. The state is troubled by a severe fiscal crisis, with debt repayment charges running higher than current revenue. Meanwhile significant social segments remain restive and seek a better presence in the political structure and social discourse. For instance, it is intriguing that despite the second highest proportion of Dalits in any state (Punjab being at the top), post-independence Bengal has shown few signs of an autonomous Dalit mobilization or leadership. Claims that caste discrimination has been dissolved by a foregrounding of class politics fail to convince, as the state’s record in meeting constitutional obligations of reservation remains poor, as does the presence of lower castes in education, employment and politics. Similarly, prior to the revelations of the Sachar Committee, few were aware of the parlous condition – particularly in jobs and education – of the Bengali Muslims, both the peasantry in the countryside and the non-Bengali Muslims in the inner city slums. No riots but benign neglect. Equally, the recent upsurge in Maoist violence highlights the continuing neglect of the tribal communities. And finally, a strata, little discussed – the Hindi language speakers, not just the Marwaris but also the tea garden labour in North Bengal. Together these groups constitute a majority and yet remain marginal to the Bengali imagination. One wonders if this reflects a certain lacunae in the Bengali understanding of the collective self.

It is tempting to read the current story of West Bengal as one of terminal decline from once past greatness. That, one suspects, would be a gross over-reading even as one cannot but be overwhelmed by the immense Bengali contributions from the mid-19th to the mid-20th century. No other region of the country has produced as many greats – in literature and poetry, the arts including theatre and cinema, the sciences and humanities – in any comparable phase. Hardly surprising that the contemporary suffers by comparison.

Yet, despite the many difficulties, Bengal has no shortage of good thinkers, even as a disproportionate number are located outside the state. Whether they, more so the young, will creatively engage with the deeper Bengali predicaments, in particular help reform the work culture and eschew the tendency to seek external villains, force the political parties to look beyond partisan gains and shed the proclivity for violence, and most important, evolve new ways of wealth and employment creation, is the challenge. A different future is possible. Whether Bengal can do it is to be seen.