Outsiders sometimes point to certain Indian characteristics such as reverence for the elderly, respect for seniority and a politeness towards authority in general, as embedded in our system of “family values”. How remarkable, they say, that such virtues exist in a rapidly modernising society when they are virtually extinct in others. In truth, it’s hard to say when virtue turns to vice in the Indian system, and when perks of power taken for granted as a lifelong guarantees.
Take the overblown controversy over ex-President A P J Abdul Kalam being frisked by an American airline. The airline and the US transport authority are baffled—and rightly so—by the howls of protest emanating from the Indian government. As far as they are concerned ex-presidents revert to being regular passengers. Western heads of state or of government lose most privileges once they leave office. The likes of Bill Clinton and George W Bush must find their own housing and fend for a living when their terms end; Tony Blair had to buy his own house behind Marble Arch, with explanations as to how he found the money, when he stopped being prime minister.
But in India ex-presidents and prime ministers have become accustomed to a basket of favours at taxpayers’ expense long after their sell-by dates: huge bungalows, special security, other accoutrements of power and now, it turns out, check-free transit at all airports. With the exception of V P Singh, who voluntarily surrendered his security when he stopped being PM, no former Indian president or prime minister has said thanks but, no, thanks. Abdul Kalam is said to have made some fainthearted noises against occupying a sarkari bungalow when he demitted office but remains gratefully ensconced in one; his predecessor R Venkataraman happily took two bungalows, in Delhi and Chennai, during the course of his long retirement.
When P Chidambaram announced the withdrawal of NSG security from leaders such as Laloo Yadav, Mulayam Singh and Mayawati the other day, on the basis that there was no perceived threat that demanded such cover, the ruckus in Parliament was ample demonstration that, robust though Indian democracy may be, its more robust expressions are reserved for political leaders clinging to privilege even after sharp withdrawals of faith by voters. A former head of NSG confessed to a journalist that between 30 to 40 per cent of the force (whose exact number is secret) was deployed as cover for VIPs.
And who does this roster of virtuous VIPs include? Not all are venerable old men and women, worthy of kowtows and pranams? The crack commando force, the SPG, was meant to provide protection to the prime minister and other top officials but after Rajiv Gandhi’s assassination the SPG Act was amended to include his widow Sonia and her children. Robert Vadra gets SPG cover only when travelling with Priyanka Gandhi, not individually. But he is seen to have protection on his own just as he is apparently exempt from security checks at airports. In India, family values are deemed exceptional.
The vices of VIPs are universal. All summer in Britain the parliamentary expenses scandal, in which MPs across party lines were found to claim tax exemptions on everything from porn videos to expensive second homes, has raged on; the intense public outcry has led to a spate of resignations of ministers and the House of Commons’ speaker. But when the Supreme Court got tough about ex-ministers and MPs vacating official residences in Delhi, former Law Minister H R Bharadwaj, in an effort to mollify the judiciary, mooted a proposal to build retirement homes for senior judges on prime public land in the capital. Luckily the foolish idea was nipped in the bud.
It shouldn’t take rocket science to work out that a two-minute security check for a rocket scientist, ex-President of India, is neither a personal slight nor an insult to national self-esteem. If VIPs were virtuous, they would take it as a reality check.