The continuing campaign to caricature Vinayak Damodar Savarkar says rather more about the impoverishment of India’s political discourse than it does about Savarkar himself. A recent viral video mocking him proffers the familiar spectacle of those who believe that reducing a complex historical figure to a punchline constitutes serious political argument. The most revealing aspect of the latest mockery is its casualness. It treats the man as though he were merely a political opponent from yesterday, rather than a revolutionary who spent years confronting the British Raj and endured the extraordinary brutality of Cellular Jail in the Andamans. The conditions of Kala Pani were marked by punishing isolation, hard labour, oil grinding and coir pounding, which were instruments of punishment designed to break prisoners physically and psychologically. The argument over his mercy petitions illustrates precisely this problem. Critics cite them as proof of capitulation while Savarkar’s defenders point to the circumstances in which they were written and reject the conclusion that they erase his revolutionary record. But even more telling is the erasure of the human cost borne by Savarkar and his family. In 1909, while he was in London, his four-year-old son Prabhakar died of smallpox. His brother Baburao was imprisoned and the family was subjected to severe persecution. Savarkar could not simply return home without exposing himself to arrest. At Brighton, amid this personal catastrophe and exile, he composed Sagara Pran Talamalala, a cry of longing for his motherland. One need not share Savarkar’s politics to recognise the human tragedy behind it. There is also a delicious irony in the selective memory surrounding him. India itself has never treated Savarkar as an uncomplicated historical footnote. It was the government headed by Congress scion Rahul Gandhi’s own grandmother - Indira Gandhi – that had issued a commemorative stamp bearing his portrait and the Cellular Jail. The country’s historical establishment has, at different times, recognised his place in the freedom struggle even while disagreeing profoundly with his politics. But today’s political class appears less interested in such complexity. Rahul Gandhi and other Congress leaders have repeatedly used Savarkar as a rhetorical punching bag, apparently calculating that attacking him is an easy way to attack the political tradition they oppose. A democracy does not become more liberal by making contempt its substitute for history. Savarkar does not need protection from criticism. It is Indian history that needs protection from intellectual laziness. The man can be debated and his ideas challenged. But what should not pass for political courage is the cheap denigration of someone like Savarkar, whose life was marked by sacrifice, imprisonment and extraordinary historical consequence unimaginable to his detractors. In fact, the real weakness of Savarkar’s detractors is not that they criticise him. It is that, so often, they seem incapable of doing anything more serious.
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