APOLOGIES AND OUR PAST

Recently, Sudhin Dhavalikar of the Maharashtrawadi Gomantak Party (MGP) demanded an apology from the current Prime Minister of Portugal, Antonio Costa, who is of Goan origin, when the Goa Legislative Assembly moved a motion to felicitate him. Costa should apologize, said Dhavalikar, for colonial injustices. The RSS soon joined Dhavalikar and demanded an apology not only for colonialism, but also for conversions to Christianity. It would not be out of place to revisit past instances of demands for apologies due to the manner in which Portuguese colonialism is used as a stick with which to beat Christians in Goa.

In June 1980, the name of Camões was mired in controversy. This controversy erupted, it seems, for a number of reasons. These included the cultural programs organized to commemorate the Fourth Death Centenary of Camões, the installation of a marble medallion bearing the image of Camões on the Ashoka Pillar in the Municipal Garden in Panjim, and the invitation extended to the last Governor-General of Portuguese India, Manuel Antonio Vassalo e Silva to attend the celebrations. Owing to the fact that diplomatic relations were normalized between Lisbon and New Delhi in 1974, the decision to commemorate the Fourth Death Centenary of Camões and to invite Vassalo e Silva seems to have been approved at the highest governmental levels in Portugal and India.

The Nationalist Citizens Action Committee mobilized the protests against the celebration of a Portuguese literary and national icon. There are no prizes for guessing what these protests were against – Portuguese colonialism and the indignities, injustices, and oppression of four-and-a-half centuries. In the ensuing melee, the one event that actually grabbed headlines was the apology that Vassalo e Silva was made to offer, after a demonstration that stopped him from paying his respects at the Martyr’s Memorial in Panjim. As one of the newspapers at that time reported, “The former Governor General yielded to the demand for [an] apology when the demonstrators told him that they had no objection to his placing the wreath but only if he expressed regret for the indignities committed on Goan people including freedom fighters by the erstwhile Portuguese regime”.^§

Vassalo e Silva was forced to apologize despite the fact that he believed that “[t]he liberation of Goa was in the interest of Goans. Though Portugal ruled Goa for 450 years, this territory had always remained a part and parcel of India, irrespective of some people who might feel otherwise. It was also in the interest of Portugal that Goa should go back to the hands of Goans”. Similarly, George Vaz, a member of the Communist Party of India, made an important observation which can help us in understanding why Vassalo e Silva held such an opinion: “General Vassalo e Silva … when he was the Governor General of Goa, was secretly associated with the left movement in Portugal, which finally overthrew the Salazar dictatorship; a movement which ushered in the liberation of most of the African colonies of Portugal … General Vassalo e Silva represented that section in Portugal which had hailed the Liberation of Goa”.^§

In fact, during the days surrounding the controversy, the “humanitarian approach” of Vassalo e Silva and his love for Goa were highlighted. Writing to the editor of a newspaper in June 1980, D. W. Desai observed, “If there would have been any other representative [of] an imperialist country to govern Goa, Goans would have suffered horrible bloodshed. In spite of this fact, many Goans are kept [in the] blind to the good deeds of this good man.  [Goans] are prejudiced by his picture as is exhibited by some politicians who wanted only to create ill-feeling towards [the] Portuguese regime” [emphasis added].^§

From Navprabha (Marathi daily), dt: 5 June, 1980. Workers of the Panjim Municipality are pictured removing the marble medallion bearing Camoes' image. 

The 1980 demand could appear to be ‘secular’, with the protests against Vassalo e Silva led by the Nationalist Citizens Action Committee; and the Camões-medallion incident being condemned by the Bharatiya Depressed Classes League, Goa Unit, and the Congress-I.  Much like today, it would not be surprising if the protests in 1980 also had a subtext of hurt at the history of Christianization in Goa, as is today clearly expressed by the statements issued by the RSS. Thus, even though we might observe secular political outfits and Bahujan organizations leading the protests in 1980, the movement nevertheless was trapped within a nationalist understanding of Goa’s past, wherein Christianization and Portuguese colonialism are viewed to have caused the destruction of the culture of Goa.

The multi-faceted figure of Vassalo e Silva and the complex history in which he was situated, exposes the hollowness of demands for apologies. For surely, one apology tended by a former functionary of the colonial regime should have been enough, right? But apparently that is not so. The business of apologies has an insidious relationship with nationalism and how Bahujan identities are manipulated for devious gains. Given that Indian nationalism in Goa has always pitched itself against an enemy, first against Portuguese colonialism, and then against Goan Christians as continuing that ‘colonial’ legacy, it is by ignoring and/or distorting certain facts/events in history today that the Hindu Bahujan are perpetually pitched against their Christian counterparts, and as a substitute for Portuguese colonialism. This is perhaps how brahmanical power and communalization thrives in Goa.

 Due to his association with the Portuguese left, Vassalo e Silva may have believed that an apology may have been apt for past colonial rule. However, such apologies end up condemning Christians in Goa, marking them as enemies, and pitching Hindu Bahujans against them for crimes that are more ‘imagined’ than real. It is time to recognize this fact.    

^§ Quotations from The Navhind Times, dt: 10 & 11 June, 1980. 

(First published in O Heraldo, dt: 3 February, 2016)

THE GHOST OF ‘DENATIONALISATION’

The recent vituperative comments made by certain writers and ‘freedom-fighters’, reported in the press in the context of the demand for state support for English as Medium of Instruction (MoI) forces us to search for a deeper understanding of the issue of language politics. Given that the problem identified by such statements is about doing something that is antithetical to the national ways of life, one need to ask how we have reached this moment. One of the ways that we can understand the issue is by focusing on the operation of Indian nationalism in Goa.

Reference to T. B. Cunha’s pamphlet Denationalisation of Goans, (1944) is critical to the task at hand as many of these offensive comments either make a direct reference to Cunha and/or base their arguments on his ‘denationalisation’ thesis. Cunha wrote this pamphlet at a time when Indian nationalism was growing powerfully and anti-imperialist nationalist movements were emerging around the globe. While it is clear that Cunha went hammer and tongs against the propaganda of the Portuguese state, one would also be struck with the contradictory nature of his ideological claims. Cunha’s basic thesis was that Portuguese colonialism had “enslaved” the Goan – particularly the monolithically constructed Goan Catholic, thus preventing a national feeling or pride from emerging in their hearts. According to Cunha, a long history of the Portuguese presence in Goa and a long and complex history of Christianization had produced a Goan “essentially [of] a slavish character”, who was happy to ape Western manners and customs on his own volition.

The most glaring contradiction in Cunha’s pamphlet was his attempt at creating a single enemy against which Indian nationalism could be positioned. In this scheme of things, Cunha not only identified the Portuguese rule as the enemy, but also ended up portraying all Goan Christians as a comprador class. Reading Cunha’s pamphlet carefully one realizes that to delegitimize the Portuguese state he portrayed Goan people as being denied agency and being oppressed. However, he also claimed that Goans – particularly the Christians – were happy in their enslavement by the Portuguese and thereby furthering the interests of the Portuguese state against Indian interests. What was never explained was how a people who had been enslaved by a system, ideology, or culture had, simultaneously, the agency to further the interests of the same system, ideology, or culture. Even if we assume that some Goans were enslaved, how could slaves be the bad guys or the compradors?

In his haste to make Goa Indian and evoke feelings of Indian-ness in Goans, Cunha left Goan Catholics no choice – either you had to be Indian or you were nothing. Such an attitude is reflected in his rather bizarre assertion: “Even in her present return to saree, the Catholic Goan woman is not guided by any national feeling since she still prefers foreign material to Indian for her new dress. It would be a better proof of her patriotic spirit to continue to dress in European attire but give preference to Indian cloth” (p. 30).

This skewed logic of the oppressed simultaneously furthering their own oppression is also seen when Cunha discusses the state of language and literature in Goa, as part of ‘denationalisation’ thesis. Critical to the current politics in linguistic and pedagogic policies, it needs to be quoted at length. Cunha says, “The obstacles set up to the cultivation of their mother-tongue [by the Portuguese] deprived Goans of their most natural instrument for the expression of their highest thoughts and deepest feelings, checked all spontaneity and deprived them of a literature worthy of the name. Ashamed of their uncultivated language, the educated class professes to despise it. Forced to write in a foreign language, they are bound to produce merely imitations lacking in the creative spirit and originality which are the privilege of those who are inspired by the deep consciousness of the race. Their thoughts are borrowed from the distant West…” (p. 25).

Following the ‘denationalisation’ thesis wherein the church, the Portuguese state, and all Christians were claimed to be working to enslave all Goans, it becomes immediately clear why the demand of English as MoI was initially (and still seen) as a conspiracy hatched by Christians and supported by the Church. Apart from the bizarre accusation made by Naguesh Karmali against the church, Raju Nayak, the editor of a prominent Marathi daily recently berated the Church for its lack of Indian-ness. Further the editor in question said that the church was responsible for Goans opting for Portuguese citizenship, and concluded that “English education is not only inadequate to create ideal citizens and skilled service class, but also responsible for the sin (sic) of creating a generation of selfish, narrow-minded individuals who have no sense of belonging towards the nation. Cunha referred to this attitude as ‘denationalisation’ because the Church strengthened the colonial power in Goa and continued a colonial legacy after that”.

In other words, the nationalism espoused by Cunha and blindly reproduced by his followers continues to create problems – like a ghost that haunts frequently. What the followers of the ‘denationalisation’ thesis do not understand is that it is an inadequate framework to deal with the problems of Goa. In fact, it is such offensive views that push people to a corner, and not the other way round.

Cunha’s thesis fails to recognize that rather than being enslaved Goans were using a variety of strategies to better their lives, the most famous amongst them was to educate their children in Portuguese, English, and Marathi (at least from the nineteenth-century). Writings were produced in Romi Konkani, Portuguese, Marathi, and perhaps even French in Goa. Rather than recognize and encourage diversity and choice, Cunha’s thesis restricts them. This is exactly how linguistic chauvinists think and act in Goa today.

The ideology of ‘denationalisation’ thrives because it is positioned against an enemy: it was Portuguese colonialism and the ‘denationalised’ Goan before, now only the ‘denationalised’ Christian remains.

(All quotes from Denationalisation are from the edition published by the Goa Government, no date)

(A slightly modified version was first published in O Heraldo, dt: 20 January, 2016)

NATIONALIST SAINTS: T. B. CUNHA AND GOAN HISTORY

There is a difference between a biography and a hagiography. The former is written about a historical person whose life may be something other than ordinary. A hagiography is generally the life of a saint and the miracles that s/he had performed in his/her life. Although there is a difference between these two genres, scholars and critics complain that biographical accounts and sketches often read like hagiographies (without the miracles, of course!). This is exactly the thought that came to my mind after I finished reading the recently released graphic novel, The Life and Times of T. B. Cunha (2015) narrated by Nishtha Desai, with illustrations by Ved Prabhudesai.

In recent times, Goans, especially Catholics, have been accused of being inadequately Indian/nationalist and being overtly westernized – a stick that secular nationalists and right-wing nationalists alike use against Goan Catholics. This view has been heavily influenced by Cunha’s rather infamous pamphlet, Denationalisation of Goans (1944). In such a scenario, a minister in the present government, Mr. Dayanand Mandrekar asserts in the introductory pages, “Cunha’s views continue to be relevant. Our people continue to be fascinated by the west and fail to appreciate our history.” His words are only symptomatic of the many problems within the ‘denationalisation’ thesis of Cunha and those who subscribe to his views.

If one reads Denationalisation, Cunha is seen to understand all the policies introduced by the Portuguese empire and state as a means to destroy the authentic culture of Goa and to enslave Goans – although he does not specify what this authentic culture was. Thus, for Cunha, even Christianization was a means of westernization and enslavement of the Goan people. Unfortunately, in keeping with the model of nationalist politics during the ’40s and ’50s, Cunha’s critique was only confined to European imperialism while the internal fractures within Goan society, in terms of class and caste, were either ignored or conveniently forgotten. In his Denationalisation tract, Cunha had – proverbially speaking – thrown the baby out with the bath water. In one sweep, Cunha was able to mark Christians as suspects within his nationalist vision.

The graphic novel in question is faithful to Cunha and his views on Goan history and, as such, reproduces many of his problematical nationalist stances. Like Cunha, this graphic novel is also selective of the facts that it chooses to mention and illustrate. For instance, it is an well-known fact that Afonso de Albuquerque conquered the city of Goa on 25 November, 1510. But it is also eminent fact that Albuquerque had native collaboration in the form of Mhal Pai Vernekar and Timayya.

From the moment of Albuquerque’s conquest in 1510, the book draws on the usual, clichéd, and endless saga of mass conversions, mass migrations, and mass suppressions. The problem is not that the book is unable to include all facts about colonialism in Goa, but the problem lies in a certain narrow and nationalistic interpretation of the few selected facts. “A few people were happy with Portuguese rule as they were given positions of power and respect – they thought themselves superior to ‘Indians’”, we are told without any specificity. Interestingly, the illustration immediately below depicts a group of suited men, sipping alcohol, and smoking cigars – or elite Christians. Further, it was not just elite Christians who enjoyed positions of power and privilege within the Portuguese state, elite Hindus did too. To further problematize the simplistic understandings of Goan history, new research by Dr. Anjali Arondekar has brought to light how the Gomant Maratha Samaj in the nineteenth century was successful in petitioning the Portuguese state for rights to land and protection against upper-caste aggression. How different would this graphic-novel and Cunha’s politics look, if both had pondered on such facts a little more? Surely, this notion of pure victimhood at the hands of an all-powerful outsider would have been tougher to sustain.

And since Cunha’s writings and politics were entirely focused on dealing with imperialism, the graphic novel is unable to ask why Cunha did not view the internal inequality within Goan society as an equal – if not a greater – threat in realizing a just and democratic society. After all, the creation of an equal society was the main thrust of Cunha’s political activism. Instead, we are presented with an image of a saint who, right from childhood, displays signs of greatness and is moved by the poverty of the people of the land – stopping just short of performing miracles. This is exactly what the illustrations seem to be trying to do – prop up a hero or a saint. The text of the novel, in contrast, is quite thin, besides being devoid of any critical gaze on both Cunha’s political career and activism, or Goan history. One would have expected a lot more given that Cunha’s ideas and writings show a change over a period of time – especially since he was unhappy with the manner in which India was handling the question of Goan self-emancipation. Thus, this book does not do justice to either the times or the life of Cunha.

In understanding and evaluating the life and times of Cunha one can be very sure that there is a lot more to the man than merely his image as the ‘Father of Goan nationalism’. A celebratory account will only obscure it.

See also, 'The English Language and Denationalisation', here.

(First published in O Heraldo, dt: 6 January, 2016)

WHAT’S IN A NAME? EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING

Russell Peters, the Indo-Canadian stand-up comic, has a joke about Indians changing the names of their cities from British usages to more ‘Indian’ ones. Like most of his humor, the joke is rather a no-brainer. Indians, he says, waited for so long after the departure of the British only to be very sure that the Brits have indeed left and would never ever come back again. Since this is not a real reason, one could indeed ask what took the Vasco da Gama-Sambhaji Nagar controversy so long to erupt, given that it has been in circulation for more than 50 years since the Portuguese left?

Actually there were efforts to change the name of Goa’s only port-town right from the ’70s. One does not know the details of this attempt by the Dayanand Bandodkar regime, except that the change was vehemently opposed even then, including by tiatrists like the trio of Conception, Nelson, and Anthony.

Coming to the current Vasco da Gama-Sambhaji Nagar controversy, by and large, it has been represented in the media as a ploy to whip up communal sentiments, and polarize the electoral prior to the state assembly election in 2017. Given the BJP’s proven track record in using this strategy there is no denying this possibility. However, it appears that in the process commentators have missed the larger picture of obfuscating and erasing history. A focus on the longer time period is critical, because it helps us understand the process of how propagandists, demagogues, and ideologues would create a political controversy before transforming it into votes.

The names of places in India are often changed in order (or ostensibly) to move away from British colonial history. There is no doubt that an effort to change names (surreptitiously or otherwise) is easily achieved by groups who enjoy political representation and power. The marginalized groups within the nation, or those marginalized on the basis of caste and/or religion have to battle it out to inscribe their identity and icons onto the public sphere. Name-changes therefore is the display of triumphalism by dominant groups in power and one should be aware of the manner in which history is deployed through such a misuse.

The case of Goa, and the history and legacy bequeathed by the Portuguese, are in a sense different from the experience of British colonialism in the rest of India. This is the reason why Goan identity within the Indian nation itself is structured on foregrounding the influences of Portuguese culture and language on the Goans. A Goan self can be said to have slowly emerged from European and Catholic influences over four centuries. Though the upper caste Catholics assumed and appropriated for themselves the guardianship of this identity, this Europeanized-Catholic identity permeated almost all sections of Goans today, both Catholic and others. Therefore, for many of these diverse groups, taking away the element of Portuguese heritage would mean taking something fundamental out of their Goan identity or ‘Goan-ness’.

So, what does one do with a certain Vasco – glorified as well as reviled within the history of European colonialism? The Vasco-Sambhaji Nagar case illustrates the immaturity of the powers-to-be in Goa in handling such issues. It seems that one of the motives was to overwrite the history of the town of Vasco using icons that the Hindu right has appropriated. Whether Sambhaji was really a defender of Hindu dharma, as he is portrayed in some quarters, is not the question that I want to address in this column. What I would like to stress is that the Hindu right and the State today has neglected the complex geo-political maneuvering between the Portuguese, the Mughals, and the Marathas solely to appropriate Sambhaji as one who stood against a proselytizing Christian (and Muslim) power. In fact Sambhaji had allied with Prince Akbar, the son of Aurangzeb, against the Portuguese. Before that the Portuguese are believed to have provided refuge to Prince Akbar. Thus, the complex history of diplomacy, trade, and political strategies are completely forgotten in order to propagate a narrow Hindutva agenda.

We must also ask ourselves what exactly has the Maratha ruler to do with Goa or indeed the town of Vasco? Apart from the panic and terror that Sambhaji’s raids had caused amongst the residents of villages and towns of Bardez and the Portuguese administration, Sambhaji seems to have little connect with the history of Goa or the town of Vasco. Rather, Sambhaji seems to be a convenient figure to pit against that of Vasco da Gama in an easy binary scheme of ‘us’ (Hindus) against ‘them’ (colonizers/Portuguese/Christians).

This understanding of Portuguese colonialism and the overwriting of this history seems plausible as the Christians – the group that (despite internal divisions) is perceived to be the most Westernized and closest to the Portuguese – appears to be once again held suspect for steadfastly refusing to let go of their love for Portugal or the colonial hangover. In fact, this can be very clearly seen in the comment of Custodio D’Souza, a resident of Vasco: “This is an effort to change the very identity of our home town and our lives…Instead of giving us good governance, all this government is trying to do is needle the minority community with such tricks and upset Goa’s peace”.

If we think about the Vasco-Sambhaji Nagar controversy more deeply, we can place it in a series of events wherein Goa’s legitimate history, made by its people, is continuously undermined. One is reminded of the Jack de Sequeira incident, wherein his role in the Opinion Poll and the role of the Christian community  in leading the agitation for Goa’s statehood was sought to be undermined. Similarly, one can also ask why stadia in Goa are named after politicians like Shyama Prasad Mookerjee and Nehru, when they have nothing to do with Goan sports? Thus, if we would like such kind of events not to repeat themselves we would not only be vigilant to the ways in which history is twisted and erased in contemporary debates over Goa’s past.

(First published in O Heraldo, dt: 23 December, 2015)