In the span of just eight weeks this summer, two first-rate Third World dictators crossed the Styx. Neither had to remain in power to wield influence; they were household names long before digital marketing became omnipresent. The first to go was General HM Ershad. Enthralled by the mastery of Ben Stokes at Lord’s on a July afternoon, the news didn’t register with me for a good few days. The other reviled figure is, of course, Robert Mugabe. If there were a cricket team of 20th century autocrats, Mugabe would insist on batting one down (more popularly, Shakib position for Bangladesh, our answer to Stokes). Not sure if Ershad would make it into the team, not even as a water boy. The list of contenders is long and strong.
The two shared traits well beyond the obvious that come as “sides” with the mains for any egomaniac despot. Take sartorial elegance, as an example; the latter believed he was the best-dressed man in Bangladesh. It’s easy to score in a relatively empty field. It’s also easier to spend the central bank’s money. In any case, Mugabe, always impeccably suited, double-Windsor knotted, and French-cuffed, was more than a match for our cravat-sporting, golfing General. Both had insouciant arrogance in lapping up unsavory individuals, and there was mutual fondness for fellow tin-pots à la Gaddafi and Saddam. Both married at least twice, or at the very least, two wives were acknowledged. And both were into poetry. Hugely.
If the bit about poetry surprised you, it really shouldn’t. Despots imagine their raison d’être is to protect their country. A noble thought but the protection would come at some cost, be it freedom of expression or human lives. That doesn’t mean these men do not have feelings or the need to express themselves. Mugabe was in love with TS Eliot’s oeuvre, a fact that remained little known until his death. For him Eliot was a rebel, not least because he was a Lloyds banker by day, but The Waste Land had challenged every rule in English poetry.
The Bangladeshi trumped the Zimbabwean by taking the passion game a step-further: the roué was a self-published poet. Feeling a part of the fraternity, he enjoyed reciting his own work, cranking up the shaky-baritone voice, and could shed approximately 25ml of tears at every possible opportunity—all essential arrows in the quiver for any pseud; he was also keen to patronize certain local poets (ideology remained only in print for them), and he imported Ted Hughes to Bangladesh. Inspired by a “presidential tour” of the country, Hughes wrote some of the worst poetry of his career, but that’s another matter. What must be remembered is the Sundarbans moved the great poet. The pivotal role poets and writers played in bringing the General down must also be remembered. The irony isn’t lost: ringleader keen to promote literary endeavors was ultimately brought down by the masses, inspired—primarily—by words.
***
One of the boldest voices of our time, Arundhati Roy, has never shied away from calling out injustice; her activism, particularly, in our subcontinent is a real tour de force. She’s one of the few dissident voices against authoritarian regimes, fighting constantly and fearlessly through her writing. You know this, and it touches your heart. You are also well aware that she recently became a victim of fake news, which means no one is safe. A statement from a video dating back to 2011 resurfaced on social media and several newspapers (as well as the high-priests of Twitter) were quick to lambast her. It’d have been the appropriate response, only if they had done their homework. That statement was taken out of context and it became clear quite soon when Roy issued a clarification. Newspaper editors followed suit by issuing regret notes and the Twitterati—hanging judges with no accountability—moved on.
The above is old news. Even older would be the news of Roy at the Hay Festival earlier this year. One wonders, though, what prompted the uncompromising writer to join a very, very corporatized event. "She needs to sell books,” an ardent fan remarked, even if Roy categorically avoids any event organized with corporate sponsorship. The real answer came via The Times of London when it reported Tata’s one million pounds sponsorship had unexpectedly ended for Hay this year; and while that posed a challenge to find a new sponsor, it also meant getting Arundhati Roy as a headliner. You win someone, you lose a sum (a million quid).
A festival, especially if literary, doesn’t become a success overnight. It takes years to build its reputation and that is done mainly through three things—annually, and without fail: A-list speakers, quality programming and seamless event planning. Two of the three listed require, among other things, a sizeable sum of money. At a time when it is increasingly difficult to find sponsors for arts-based events, festival organizers will look for—as Hay head honcho Peter Florence put it—"a broad mix of funding streams”.
Two points. First, it is Roy’s prerogative to turn her back to corporate "dirty” money, but it is then inconsistent with her principles to suddenly participate in a festival that had benefitted from the coffers of the Barclay brothers, Rupert Murdoch, Nestlé, and of course, Tata, who had already given one million pound in 2014; the multinational (unexpectedly) chose not to renew the five-year term. In May 2019, the platform Roy chose to stand on, whether to promote her new book or to speak of injustice, had been built over the years, and largely with the money she is so critical of. Period.
Second, a quick glance at this year’s sponsors for Hay will puzzle you even more. Let me tell you, as a festival organizer, I have no qualms with any of the names, but it is the inconsistency of the sanctimonious few that deserves to be called out. Was Roy unaware that Murdoch’s "evil" enterprise remains a sponsor of the festival? And an investment manager, who looks after the interests of the ultra-rich (read tax avoidance), replaced Tata as the main sponsor of Hay.
Let’s now look at just two other sponsors: HSBC, the global megabank that got fined a record sum of $1.9 billion only last year—for tax evasion and money laundering; and Accenture that earlier this year, paid a fine of $200 million to Swiss authorities for the Lux Leaks tax fraud. Both scandals, incidentally, came to light because of investigative work done by the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists (ICIJ). The Left should be worshipping their work.
One wonders, with a little astonishment, who should be doing some homework—Roy, certain newspaper editors or the pious Left? A George Harrison number is seemingly apt here: If not for you, my sky would fall/Rain would gather, too. If not for Tata, if not for corporate moolah, and if not for Ershad, too …
Ahsan Akbar is Director of Dhaka Lit Fest. [email protected]
