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Journalism of Courage
Perhaps only the government and the political class have been caught by surprise at the outpouring of appreciation for Sam Manekshaw across India. Memories of the field marshal are so well underwritten by his instinct for the difference between right and wrong and between courage and recklessness that he is for us that special icon, the people8217;s soldier. No surprise then that storytelling occasioned by his passing away is exempt from the kind of hagiography that often comes with obituaries in the subcontinent. Sam Bahadur has been remembered this past weekend with doting affection, and even as we have marvelled at his repartee to his prime minister, Indira Gandhi, we were conscious that his was an informed flamboyance, that the maverick gesture and remark for him were tools to achieve the honourable aim.
The exceptional reluctance of the government and political leaders to immerse themselves in this appreciation has in a way allowed the people to take spontaneous ownership of the memory of Sam Bahadur. But the absence of top government representatives, of political parties and of the other armed forces at the funeral at Wellington reflects the acute insensitivity that now informs our public life. Nothing illustrates this better than the government8217;s failure to call a national mourning 8212; or the absence at Wellington of top leaders of the Congress, the party of India8217;s freedom movement, and the BJP, which sets such store by national security. This is not to suggest the need for a forced sobriety, but to ask, did Manekshaw not do enough in his career as a soldier to merit the highest honours this country otherwise bestows on random individuals?
Heroism is a remarkable litmus test. In its differential recognition by the people and by the ruling class, look at the gulf that has suddenly revealed itself. Flags are not flying at half mast. But enough Indians salute the field marshal.
