JOIN USWhen the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, reimagined Otis Redding’s Respect and released her iconic version in 1967, the rendition soon became a black power anthem as well as a theme song for the burgeoning feminist movement. So much power, so much impact, but all Aretha was asking for was just a little respect (just a little bit, just a little bit).
Two decades earlier, in a jarringly different time and place, India’s Constituent Assembly was engaged in multiple redraftings of our Constitution. This laborious process, across three separate readings over a duration of some two years, was finally coming to a conclusion toward the end of 1949. On November 25 that year, Babasaheb Ambedkar, who had steered the project from its inception, made a motion in the Assembly that the Constitution should now be adopted. In the process, Ambedkar delivered his final address, certainly one of the finest speeches of his stellar career.
The speech is well known. It has been commented upon innumerable times, with some of its catchiest phrases (‘the grammar of anarchy’, ‘a life of contradictions’) later becoming appropriated as book titles. But there is one peculiar aspect of this address that gets nearly universally passed over without mention. And it is this overlooked aspect of the speech that I want to focus on here — just a little bit.
Ambedkar began his final address in the customary way, thanking members of the Drafting Committee, its support staff and advisers, the ruling party members and their effective whip and others who had helped complete the Herculean task. But then the speech took an unexpected turn. Ambedkar mentioned individually several members of the Assembly who had done the opposite of all of those whom he had just thanked. He called out and thanked the ‘rebels’, salient voices of opposition who had challenged Ambedkar’s drafting, not once, not occasionally, but frequently and consistently throughout the entire process. Again, to be clear, Ambedkar thanked individually and by name each one of his most vociferous political opponents.
As he had put it, “The points they raised were mostly ideological. That I was not prepared to accept their suggestions does not diminish the value of their suggestions...I am grateful to them. But for them, I would not have had the opportunity which I got for expounding the principles underlying the Constitution, which was more important than the mere mechanical work of passing the Constitution.”
R-E-S-P-E-C-T, that’s what Ambedkar gave to them. Now, let’s look at why.
Ambedkar said he was grateful to his ideological opponents because their constant challenges had forced him to reflect upon and expound his own position in a much more thorough-going way than if he had been surrounded by ‘yes-men’ only. Principles, he pointed out, were ultimately more important than mechanics and procedures. This was especially true when constitutional essentials (basic structures, separation of powers, fundamental rights) were on the line. Disturbing or delaying the process in order to ensure the clarity and soundness of the underlying principles was something that policymakers, leaders, persons in power, ought to welcome.
In plain terms, what Ambedkar was highlighting was that dissent improves us. It enriches constitutional democracy.
That Ambedkar enjoyed the wisdom to recognise this provides the backdrop for the central role that ‘fraternity’ played in the later parts of this historic speech. He argued that cultivating fraternity — an attitude of mutual respect, even for our ideological opponents — was what would one day allow our fractured state and polarised society to become unified as a nation.
Who in positions of power today heed these historic words of Ambedkar? All we’re asking for is just a little respect. Just a little bit.
Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me…
(Aakash Singh Rathore as Dr Jekyll is a Professor of Philosophy, Politics and Law, author and editor of over 20 books and counting, and as Mr Hyde, one of India’s top-ranking Ironman triathletes. @ASR_metta)