In the 50th year of Independence, Indian politicians line up at the samadhis to pay homage to the freedom fighters and inflict their sermons on a beleaguered nation. One wonders how many give credence to their pledges or retain confidence in their ability to deliver.

Our polity is plagued with contradictions, though the basic malaise is that political parties, having failed to enlarge their power base beyond regions or castes, are not able to instil confidence in their ability to govern. Their leaders win elections without legitimising their position in the eyes of the electorate. Hence, the growing disillusionment with their performance and conduct in public life.

It was different not so long ago when politicians, regardless of ideological inconsistencies, inspired confidence among their supporters. That is why so many flocked to their meetings. Though the British tried to suppress public gatherings, the power of language, as evident during Gandhi's satyagraha against the Rowlatt Bills (1919), prevailed over sterile legislation.

For the leaders themselves, words and ideas became the weapons of choice in the context of the non-violent struggle. Yet their control was essential to develop a nationwide consensus. Words and ideas under control versus words and ideas out of control concerned Gandhi more than any another leader.

From the Champaran satyagraha onwards, Gandhi disseminated his ideas and devised his strategies with skill and dexterity. But he ensured that his mobilisation efforts were not undermined by a careless speech or an emotionally-charged editorial. The Chauri Chaura episode (1922) revealed that he was averse to violence. His concern was with a particular social and economic agenda which informed his definitions of political freedom.

Nobody had the Mahatma's stature to make the same use of the spoken and the written word. Jawaharlal Nehru spoke well, though he was not necessarily eloquent in the conventional sense. What made him popular was his capacity of persuading the multitude that what they passionately desired was attainable, and that he, through his visualisation, was the man to attain it. That is probably why the `tryst with destiny' speech continues to generate such fervour and enthusiasm.

Nehru and his fellow-parliamentarians set high standards in public life. Wit and humour combined well with serious parliamentary deliberations. Regardless of party affiliations, most leaders endeavoured to build something new, something different from the colonial era. Nehru, for example, was keen on socialism not as some rigid doctrinaire theory, but rather as a broad objective which had to be adapted to India's needs. Others did not share his passion for socialism but were equally committed to India's socio-economic transformation.

Today, we bemoan the state of public institutions, the party system and the electoral process. We decry the decline in public morality, the rise of corruption in public life, and the noisy and violent scenes in the legislatures. Just a few weeks ago, a beleaguered Speaker asked: `Don't you feel sorry to convert Parliament into a street?''

Well said, Mr Speaker. But, alas, not many pay heed to your pleas. What do words mean in the murky world of Indian politics? The appeal of the written word has, likewise, diminished. Political manifestos are today consigned to the dustbin of history before the electoral battle moves into first gear. The print media does not mould public opinion anymore. Try putting sense into those who have built their support system through family, caste and factional networks. Such gold-diggers are convinced that their bandwagon would roll on regardless of adverse public opinion.

Turn to Nehru's temples of learning. Until the 1970s, campus life was alive with teachers and students responding to contemporary affairs, including apartheid, Zionism, colonialism and imperialism. Left-wing journals, in particular, debated major issues with passion. Social scientists reflected on the colonial experience afresh. Ideas still mattered in academic life.Today, the deafening silence in centres of learning is a sign of changing times. Many are content with their station in life, wary of disturbing the status quo and indifferent to the ideal that inspired the national leaders to build a democratic, secular and egalitarian society.

Neglect of education has constrained the flow of innovative ideas. We boast of hundreds of universities and thousands of colleges, even though the educational system is crumbling. `We pay the schoolmaster less than our chaprasi,' Nehru wrote in 1958, `and expect him to mould our younger generation'. Not much has changed since then. We expect graduates to respond to the winds of change without creating a climate conducive for their intellectual growth.

Consider how ideas are stifled in another area. The reading and interpretation of religious scriptures is mediated, more than ever before, by the priestly class -- a class committed to reinforcing sectarian and parochial identities. Deviate from the established norms and you invite their wrath. Comment against the banning of books and land up in hospital with a bruised skull. This is Gandhi's and Nehru's India for you.

The Indian state has abdicated its responsibility of defending intellectual freedom and democratic values. It did not allow a professor to enter his own campus for over four years. So what? After all, the fate of a professor is of no consequence to the higher values we cherish. Just pat the person on his back, especially if he is a Muslim. No point losing sleep over an eccentric (`controversial'?) teacher.

The Indian state has also been a mute witness to serious infringements on human rights and struck deals with communal and parochial groups for electoral gains. Is this because ideas, principles and ideologies are no longer relevant? Or that a rational and modernist approach is besieged by the strident Hindutva and Islamist forces?

This is an appropriate moment to change course, invoke the nationalist legacy, energise the nationalist idiom to combat the pernicious influence of religious fundamentalism and intolerance, and impart meaning and purpose to those written and spoken words that we associate with our foremost secular-oriented leaders. For this to happen, we need to:

Speak, for your two lips are free;

Speak, your tongue is still your own;

This straight body still is yours --

Speak, your life is still your own.

Time enough is this brief hour

Until body and tongue lie dead;

Speak, for truth is living yet --

Speak whatever must be said.

-- Faiz Ahmad Faiz

Copyright © 1997 Indian Express Newspapers (Bombay) Ltd.