First of all, a moral judgement. Rao’s supposed achievements as the “architect of reform”, even were they true, could and should not overshadow the fact that he bears considerable direct responsibility for two of the darkest acts in our post-Emergency history.
Rao spent years trying to dodge and evade responsibility for them. In 1984, as home minister, he was in charge of the Delhi Police; he has consistently tried to claim he had no power then. Few should and will believe this, given Rao’s attempt to evade responsibility for so much through his career. Evidence not tied or created to Rao — evidence from those such as Ram Vilas Paswan — suggests that Rao avoided taking any and all action, avoiding hearing from senior politicians and even then President Zail Singh. (Note: stating Rao was directly responsible does not take any of the overall accountability away from his leader, Rajiv Gandhi.)
Second, in 1992, as prime minister, Rao once again allowed the worst instincts of Indians to surface, during the Babri Masjid demolition, and then spent a long time trying to pretend he had nothing whatsoever to do with it. He perfected a central pathology of the Indian state — standing aside when its people wreak vengeance on the helpless. On both these counts alone, Rao deserves little sympathy from history.
So let us, then, look at his great supposed achievement: the liberalisations of 1991. The truth is this: in 1991, India had no choice but to reform. Rajiv Gandhi’s overspending and the oil price crisis pushed India into a corner. Our autarkic industrial and economic policies were unsustainable. Any prime minister with a horizon of more than a few months in office, unlike Rao’s predecessor Chandra Shekhar, would have had to begin the process of opening up India.
What is particularly shameful, however, about calling Rao the “architect of reform” is that Rao did not just do the least he could — but he did it in a craven and dishonourable manner that has doomed the reforms process in the decades since.
But did he not provide “political cover” to his team of reformers? No. The centre-point of the first reform Budget, in 1991, was reform of fertiliser subsidies, which had grown tenfold in cost over the previous decade. The Budget speech quite bluntly reads: “with effect from this evening... there will be an increase of 40 per cent, on an average, in price” of fertiliser. It’s said Manmohan Singh even got Rao’s consent to this particularly difficult reform — the only part of the original 1991 reforms process that was actually politically tough — in writing! Naturally, the moment that his Congress MPs raised their eyebrows at this, Rao abandoned his commitment, and it was rolled back. So much for the myth of “political cover”. It has little or no basis in reality.
In fact, the moment that Rao faced electoral setbacks — in the south, a few years into his term — he was convinced, even without any real evidence, that economic reform was responsible. And so, he stopped the process short. So no reform got done the moment that Rao imagined, even if incorrectly, that it was politically difficult. “Political cover” indeed.
The costs of this were great: we reformed industrial policy and aspects of trade, but not the many regulations that make us uncompetitive. Thanks to Rao’s evasion of his responsibilities, India lost its manufacturing sector. He deserves little credit for the positive benefits that flowed from reform — but full credit for the destruction of India’s factories that was the consequence of his reversal.
And then there’s the rhetoric that Rao, then and later, deployed. He set the tone for the political approach to economic reform in this country, which is this: lie. Blatantly lie to voters about what you are doing. Lie about its impact, and its benefits. Lie about why you need to do it. For the worst of reasons — cowardice and lack of commitment — Rao chose to lie about the need for economic reform.
And that, in fact is his real legacy, a terrible one: he set the tone for India’s subsequent approach to reform. Few politicians stand up today and defend or praise reform. When you lie to voters, your lies will catch up with you; just look at the state of British politics today, after decades of cynical Rao-like lies from its politicians about the European Union.
So, why is Rao the flavour of the month? It’s simple. Congress-leaning Indian liberals who have (correctly) lost faith in the Gandhis have cynically decided they need an untainted hero. A modern figurehead for the idea of a non-Gandhi Congress leader is needed. So they have set out to remake one of India’s most duplicitous politicians into this hero. It is a project that needs to be resisted, for the sake of Indian liberalism.
So do not be misled. Rao was neither an economic nor a social liberal, and he represents the worst of the cynical Congress, of deceitful Indian politics and of the weak ambivalence of the Indian state in the face of challenge. He deserves remembrance — but not praise.
Twitter: @mihirssharma