Pratibha Patil’s ascent to the highest office in the land is an apt occasion to consider the role of Indian women in public life if only because the proponents of gender equality feel that a male bias has been working against them.
Women’s empowerment is increasingly regarded, therefore, as an overdue measure to set right the balance in a largely patriarchal society. Even where matrilineal traditions are prevalent, as in the north-east and the deep south, the politically correct position is in favour of enhancing the status of women apart from strengthening the roots of equality.
In addition to empowerment, another plus point for women is that they are expected to bring into public life an element of gentleness, an attitude of compassion towards other marginalised groups and even efficiency because they do not share the penchant of men to treat the office as a place of gossip over endless cups of tea.
Even if much of this is true, an assessment of women who have reached the top of the ladder can give a different picture. If one starts with the tallest of them in the pro-independence period – Indira Gandhi – the scene isn’t a clear-cut one.
After climbing the heights of glory as Goddess Durga, as Atal Behari Vajpayee called her during the Bangladesh war, her fall from grace was suggestive of a flawed personality. Little wonder that she was rejected by a massive vote against her within six years of her Bangladesh triumph.
And the reason for the electorate’s disenchantment was her attempt to virtually subvert the rule of law during the Emergency.
The most shocking episode in this period when fundamental rights were inoperative was the suspension of habeas corpus.
During the hearing of a case on the issue in the Supreme Court, Justice H R Khanna asked Attorney General Niren De, “supposing some policeman, for reasons of enmity, not of state, kills someone, would there be a remedy?” De’s chilling reply was: “My Lord, not so long as the Emergency lasts. It shocks my conscience, it may shock yours, but there is no remedy”. That was undoubtedly one of the darkest chapters in Indian history.
India’s only woman prime minister will always be known for her anti-democratic instincts, which were on display even before the Emergency when she favoured a committed bureaucracy and judiciary.
For all her faults, however, there has been no other politician of either gender who had her larger-than-life persona. She was even voted as one of India’s best prime ministers in a magazine poll, presumably because of the curious preference in this country for a “strong” leader. Little wonder that she is also Bal Thackeray’s favourite.
It goes without saying that none of today’s women leaders is a match for her. Most of them are regional politicians with a restricted vision who can hardly be regarded as prime ministerial material although at least one of them – Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Mayawati – has openly expressed her desire to adorn the post.
But her negative features are obvious. Apart from her burgeoning personal wealth, which saw a 400 per cent jump over the last three years, creating doubts about her commitment to probity and rectitude in public life, she has given no sign of being capable of looking beyond her intricate caste permutations and combinations to win votes.
Even if these reflect the ground reality of a fractured society, the cynicism of such an approach is obvious, especially when there have been leaders whose charisma transcended such divisions to fetch their parties huge political dividends, as Indira Gandhi’s 1971 and Rajiv Gandhi’s 1984 victories demonstrated.
If Mayawati’s politics is typical of the Hindi belt, Jayalalitha’s are a mirror image of the politics of her arch rival, M Karunanidhi, in its Tamil Nadu-centric preoccupations. Moreover, the AIADMK leader’s pomposity, usually charitably described as her imperiousness, gives her a decadent feudal air which doesn’t gel with the modern democratic world.
Neither Mayawati nor Jayalalitha can be regarded, therefore, as sterling examples of how empowerment converts women into models for emulation either as chief ministers or for an outlook which is not bound by region or caste.
Mamata Banerjee, too, has a similar blinkered attitude confined to West Bengal. And having never been in a position of responsibility in the state, she is not shy of displaying a nihilistic streak by her opposition to industrialisation – something which Amartya Sen finds incomprehensible.
If the provincial bases of Mayawati, Jayalalitha and Mamata Banerjee circumscribe their thinking, Meira Kumar at the centre should have been able to overcome her restrictive viewpoint.
But she, too, remains obsessed with her scheduled caste status, forever demanding quotas for her caste brethren in the private sector although her father, Jagjivan Ram, had risen above his background to attain the status of a national leader who stood for all communities.
Evidently, the logic behind women’s empowerment is no better or no worse than the case for the quota system. It simply aims at providing greater opportunities to a section which hasn’t had much say in public affairs. But there’s no certainty that the country would benefit.
