I would like to propose a new form of labelling for books. Publishers should use any of the following stickers: “Warning: May Offend Religious Sentiments”, “Potentially Blasphemous”, “Only Mildly Sacrilegious”, or perhaps “This Book Has Been Sanitised and Pre-Censored For Your Comfort”.
Believers of any faith would be able to bypass the book in question without fear that their sentiments would be hurt through exposure to views on atheism, the challenging of established doctrine, or malicious bigotry against a particular religion. It would insure the publisher and the author against legal challenges. And should protesters require multiple copies of an offending book to burn, they could queue up politely like the rest of us, instead of needing to ransack media or publishing houses.
The debate over free speech, the right to offend and the extent to which blasphemy or defamation of a religion should be a crime, has unfortunately not looked at labelling as a way out of an increasingly contentious 21st century area of debate, or we might have saved ourselves a great deal of trouble.
Consider the case of RV Bhasin, a lawyer who has written several books on Hinduism and Islam. Mr Bhasin’s books are published by a press owned by his daughter, Nidhi Bhasin, and occasionally enjoy the support of extremist right-wing Hindutva organisations because of his views on Islam. His 2003 book, Islam — A Concept of Political World Invasion, failed to make it to any bestseller lists or attract any serious critical attention.
In 2007, the Bombay High Court banned the book in a judgment upheld recently by the Supreme Court. The original judgment runs to 150 pages, and I found myself in agreement with two basic points made by their lordships: the book was ill-researched and Bhasin’s views on Islam are inaccurate and highly prejudiced. Judges sometimes make excellent critics.
But one of the provocations for the original ban was the translation of the book into Marathi, bringing it to a wider audience. The courts felt that the book, while not directly inciting violence against a particular community, could be used to incite violence.
This is the line of thought that applied in the infamous 1989 decision to ban the Satanic Verses in India. In that judgment, the courts stated that they believed Salman Rushdie’s book was of artistic and literary merit, but it could still be misused to cause violence and riots by certain sections of Indian society. The ban was unsuccessful in its aim: riots and protests against the Verses happened after and despite the ban. But most bans, legal or otherwise, of this nature are ineffective.
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Last week, Kirk Westergaard, the cartoonist who drew the controversial cartoons of Prophet Muhammad in Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten in 2005, survived a murder attempt in his own home. In the years since the Danish cartoons controversy erupted, with many in the Islamic world denouncing the “blasphemous” images, few have reproduced the original images for fear of reaping the violence that might follow.
Yale University Press drew criticism when it refused to publish the cartoons in a book about the Prophet cartoons controversy by scholar Jytte Clausen. The Metropolitan Museum of Art recently withdrew three images of the Prophet from an exhibition on early Islam — even though those three images date back to a time before there was a decreed prohibition on depicting the Prophet in art. And the Index of Censorship, known for its condemnation of pre-censorship, drew flak recently when it declined to reproduce the Danish cartoons in one of its publications, fearing reprisals.
The fact that there had been widespread pre-censorship and a reluctance to reproduce the original cartoons didn’t prevent the attack on Westergaard, however. (A Norwegian paper has carried the original images this week, in a gesture of protest.)
That’s the problem with banning a book, or a set of images, in the hope that this act will ward off violence and reprisals: it doesn’t work. Bhasin is no Rushdie, and Islam — A Concept of Political Invasion has little merit, literary or otherwise.
But there is tremendous harm involved in ruling that the need to refrain from defaming or questioning any faith should be elevated over the need to defend and uphold the average Indian’s right to free speech. The Indian courts have an interesting history, often ruling firmly in favour of free speech over “national interest”, but have tended to bow to the “potential violence” argument.
The debate over RV Bhasin’s book shouldn’t be about the relatively non-existent merits of the book itself, but over the far more crucial principles of free speech that underpin the history of books and book-banning in India. We could start protecting the right to free speech even when that speech is something we might find personally offensive. Or we could invest in a lot of stickers.