Thursday, Dec 18, 2014

The persistence of loss

Television cameras recorded images of two Sikh groups, armed with largely blunt ceremonial swords, attacking each other. Television cameras recorded images of two Sikh groups, armed with largely blunt ceremonial swords, attacking each other.
Posted: June 10, 2014 12:57 am | Updated: June 10, 2014 3:52 pm

By: Ravinder Kaur

The 30th anniversary of Operation Blue Star, on June 6, was marked by a rather unexpected turn of events. Television cameras recorded images of two Sikh groups, armed with largely blunt ceremonial swords, attacking each other. The disagreement, we were told, stemmed from the old tensions around the demand for a Sikh homeland, Khalistan. In fact, in the run up to the anniversary, the idea of Khalistan had cropped up frequently, as journalists reported a growing nostalgia for Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale and his favoured cause. One reporter even put forward this question: did the images of warring factions represent the troubled memories of Operation Blue Star or the more worrisome revival of Khalistan?

The use of the word “nostalgia” to describe the events unfolding in Punjab throws light on how 1984 and its aftermath are often read. To be nostalgic about something, whether it is a person, a place or an event, is to first presume its (usually pleasant) existence in the past. Yet neither the idea of Khalistan nor Bhindranwale achieved the kind of mass acceptance that is implied in the current spell of nostalgia. If Bhindranwale had followers among Sikhs, he had as many detractors and opponents in the very same community. Despite the popularity of audio-cassettes filled with Bhindranwale’s fiery speeches, Khalistan was, broadly speaking, a non-starter, especially among the urban classes. It is difficult to be nostalgic about an idea that was met with scepticism from the very beginning.

The popularity of Bhindranwale-themed memorabilia is offered up as evidence for this nostalgia — shops selling car stickers, T-shirts, photographs and other knick knacks do brisk business in the bazars around the Golden Temple. This, we are told, is a warning sign. Those who put forward this theory might never have seen mass-produced T-shirts printed with the profile of Che Guevara, or noticed how quickly Mao Zedong’s handbook on revolution became an instant bestseller once it was repackaged and introduced by Slavoj Zizek, the Elvis Presley of cultural theory. If Guevara and Mao, in their repackaged forms, are warning signs, they only warn of how commodification can produce banal cultural symbols. The popularity of Guevara T-shirts has not, to the best of our knowledge, caused a political revolution anywhere.

Perhaps Bhindranwale, in his quick-selling, profitable, commodified form, is flourishing more than he ever did when alive for two reasons. One, the blood and gore, the threats and fears connected to his persona are gone. He can now exist exactly as his consumers want him to. Two, a community ravaged by drug addiction and by the corruption of the ruling elite is desperately looking for heroic figures. The current pantheon of leaders in Punjab do not inspire any hope for the future. A printed continued…

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