An illiberal consensus

Although seemingly disparate, these examples have a common thread running through them. At one level, they all involve issues of what may or may not be said without inviting retaliation, legal or otherwise. But more disturbingly, they reveal the character of our democratic soul, in particular our lack of self-possession. When the followers of leaders engage in acts of violence, whether towards others or themselves, what do they reveal? That, first and foremost, their diminished sense of self, a willingness to fuse their identity and judgment with the reputation of their leader. Karnunanidhi8217;s response to this incident may be formally right, but the deification of leaders in Tamil Nadu politics requires deeper reflection.

But a diminished and fragile sense of self also lies behind attempts to curb expression. It is famously said that freedom of expression has meaning only when it involves freedom for the thought we hate. There may be instances where expressions cross all boundaries of acceptability. In a democracy this threshold should be extraordinarily high. But most of what we go around banning should have legitimate place in a free society. When people find artistic expression offensive, their expression does not reveal anything about the character of the art. Rather, what it reveals is that the people in question cannot handle impressions received from outside, their own fragile egos construe any difference as a sign of offence. Unfortunately, it has to be said that our courts have muddied the waters on what should count as offensive. In the recent case involving the Dharmkaarana ban, the Court used a test that democracies should worry about. The test of offensive speech is that which an 8220;ordinary8221; person would find offensive. But while the standards of the 8220;ordinary8221; person are certainly a relevant bit of information, it is dangerous to use this test as decisive. After all, what is the meaning of a right if it does not allow the freedom to sometimes go against ordinary sensibilities? The way the courts are using the ordinary person test is lowering the bar of our freedoms, not raising them.

Second, the ease with which courts let the banning of books stand has another perverse consequence. The minute you open the door to say books that are offensive to particular communities 8212; Jats, Virshaivas, Muslims, Hindus 8212; can be banned, or that a mere threat to public order is sufficient to warrant a ban, you actually incite people to create violence. There is now an incentive to mobilise, because you know creating trouble can get you results. The irony of the court8217;s low bar in these matters is further compounded by the fact that vigilantes who subvert freedom of expression are almost never brought to justice.

There is a similar oddity underlying judicial discourse on conversion. In theory the courts make a distinction between the right to propagate and the right to convert, but in practice this is a dubious distinction and licenses all kinds of intimidation. The theological and philosophical issues surrounding conversion would require a separate discussion, but the underlying premise of the court8217;s arguments are disturbing. It assumes that it is the state or society8217;s job to protect people from what it calls undue influence. Sorry. The state should not be in the business of saving anyone8217;s soul; whether people acquire beliefs because of truth, politics or money is best left to them. But the underlying premise is sinister: democratic citizens are like children who need to be paternalistically protected. This premise is seeping into society and legitimising groups who set themselves up as 8216;protectors8217; of people. This paternalism is not just a threat to our independence, but increasingly as source of violence too.

But the common thread is this: we are all too ready to behave like children, taking offence or deifying individuals at the slightest pretence. It8217;s dangerous for a democracy when courage and maturity is defined, not as developing a capacity to handle speech found offensive, but as a capacity to take offence; not as a capacity to defend freedom but as a licence to attack it, not as a capacity for self-possession, but as capacity to assert power over others. There is an uncanny psychological affinity between the sorts of people who will prostrate themselves before leaders, who will make reason subordinate to identity, and who will find artistic expression offensive. They are all likely to vandalise our liberties at the slightest pretext. Unfortunately we seem to have a whole lot more of them than we thought.

The writer is president, Centre for Police Research, New Delhi