A Man of Quality
Jyoti
Basu did not dress like a man of the masses. Jyoti Basu did not talk
like a man of the masses. Jyoti Basu did not have any of the personal
accoutrements one associates with a man of the masses. And yet the masses
loved him. He did not seek popularity; the idea of doing so would have
repelled him. Yet popularity came to him. And it came precisely because
the idea of seeking popularity was repugnant to him. His very "naturalness",
his very distaste for frills, was a symptom of a man of quality; and
the masses loved him because of this quality. He had charisma because
he did not seek charisma.
In fact all his remarkable traits, his courage, his straightforwardness,
his integrity, his tenacity, his keeping faith with the masses, came
"naturally" to him. He was courageous because it would not
occur to him to be anything else. He had integrity because this to him
was the "natural" thing. He kept faith with the masses because
it would be against his "nature" to be otherwise. Most people
in life strike poses; it is difficult not to be an actor, at least on
occasions; it is difficult not to pretend to be different from oneself
on occasions. Jyoti Basu was remarkable because he was not a poseur,
because he never play-acted, because he never pretended to be different
from what he really was. And what he really was is a man of quality,
for whom being "cheap", being low, being duplicitous, being
manipulative and being mendacious is simply foreign to his personality.
It is this directness that appealed to the masses. They loved him because
they could trust him. He kept his word. He would not wilfully lead them
astray; and if he made mistakes they were genuine mistakes which he
would own up to.
And above all, he had faith in the masses. The masses knew it and responded
to his faith in them. His immense strength, his supreme self-confidence
came not because of any specific honing of his personality, not because
of any "cultivation" of his personality. It came from this
simple alchemy between him and the masses: each of them trusted the
other; each was sure of the other’s response to it. One may like reading
detective novels as Jyoti Basu did; one may like good food as Jyoti
Basu did; one may be England-educated and like visiting England occasionally
as Jyoti Basu did; one may be as unascetic and as much of a bon vivant
as Jyoti Basu was; but as long as this alchemy exists one is a "man
of the masses". Being a "man of the masses" is a matter
of this alchemy, not of dress or food or asceticism.
It is exceedingly difficult to come across a person who combines these
three qualities: "naturalness"; complete freedom from "cheapness",
duplicity and mendacity; and faith in the masses. Jyoti Basu combined
these in full measure. That is what defined him. It was apparent in
several episodes of his life, and also in the totality of his political
career.
In the late nineteen sixties during the rule of one of the United Front
governments, there was a police revolt against the government. Rebellious
policemen attacked the state legislature building. Legislators, including
the Speaker himself, fled in all directions. Jyoti Basu, who was in
his room in the Assembly building, kept working there, unflappable as
ever. As the Home Minister he was the prime target of the rebellious
policemen, but he stayed put. When the police mob got to his room, the
very sight of him, sitting there unflinchingly, brought it to a halt.
Then he coolly addressed them: "You can do what you please here,
but how will you face the masses who will come for you when they hear
the news of your attack?" The mob disappeared sheepishly. This
combination of raw courage that is almost "natural" since
no other course of action would strike him on an occasion like this,
and of faith in the masses, defined Jyoti Basu. One cannot get away
doing what one likes; one is accountable to the masses who will come
eventually.
Journalese is in the habit of crediting Jyoti Basu with "flexibility".
Underlying this "flexibility", however, was immense courage.
It was not "flexibility" of opportunism but "flexibility"
based on principles, "flexibility" necessary in the interests
of the people, the kind of "flexibility" that the Chinese
Communists had displayed when they had abducted Chiang Kai-shek from
Xian to sign an agreement with them to defend China against Japanese
invasion. Anyone familiar with events in West Bengal in the early-seventies
knows the immense sacrifices made by the Marxists during the period
of semi-fascist terror. Jyoti Basu had been a witness and a victim of
it. He had called off his polling agents from the Baranagar constituency
in the face of the massive booth capturing that his opponents had unleashed
in the 1972 Assembly polls. And yet it was Jyoti Basu who was the architect
of a united front with the very same opponents in 2004, when the UPA
formed a government at the centre supported from the outside by the
Left. And that support was steadfast; if that government did not last
its full term, it was for no fault of Jyoti Basu and his Party.
To be able to unite even against one’s bitterest opponents when the
interests of the people so demand requires intellectual courage of the
highest order. In leading his Party to support the UPA in order to prevent
the ascendancy of communal fascism, Jyoti Basu displayed that rare intellectual
courage, which again can come only from a deep knowledge and understanding
of the masses.
I had met Jyoti Basu for the last time in 2005, when, as the Conference-President-elect
of the Indian Society of Labour Economics, I had gone to invite him
to inaugurate the Conference. He agreed graciously despite poor health.
After he had spoken, deeply critical of neoliberal economic policies
and, in particular, of the introduction of "labour market flexibility",
he asked me to send a copy of the speech to Prime Minister Manmohan
Singh. "Flexibility" of the sort Jyoti Basu valued meant speaking
truth to all, including those whose views are opposed to yours.