Mohammed Akhlaq’s lynching wasn’t a historical anomaly. As Walter Benjamin put it, “the ‘state of emergency’ in which we live is not the exception but the rule.”
Much ink has been spilled about whether this constitutes the rise of an Indian variant of fascism. (The consensus: probably.) So it may be worthwhile to revisit Europe in 1940, when fascism was in the ascendancy and World War II was gathering steam. It was in this context that the philosopher Walter Benjamin penned his famous essay ‘On the Concept of History’, a text that has many lessons for those trying to make sense of today’s brutalities.
The Gestapo revoked Benjamin’s German citizenship in 1939, after they discovered that he had published an article in a Moscow newspaper—Communism, of course, being one of Nazism’s chief enemies. Ironically, just a few months later, the Nazi-Soviet pact was signed, briefly bringing together the supposedly irreconcilable foes, and, in the process, killing Benjamin’s already wavering faith in the Soviet version of Communism.
Much ink has been spilled about whether this constitutes the rise of an Indian variant of fascism. (The consensus: probably.) So it may be worthwhile to revisit Europe in 1940, when fascism was in the ascendancy and World War II was gathering steam.
In exile, on the run, and—for a time—in a concentration camp in France, Benjamin continued reading voraciously and writing prolifically until the end of his life. In September 1940, he killed himself, after Spanish officials informed him they weren’t accepting refugees and that his only option was to return to Nazi-occupied France. (The same officials started accepting refugees again the very next day, a tragic case of bad timing.)
Benjamin had finished writing ‘On the Concept of History’ only four months earlier, and he had no intention of publishing the essay, telling a friend that its publication would only invite “enthusiastic misunderstanding”. And the essay, which takes the form of 18 (or, in some versions, 20) cryptic theses, is certainly difficult to decode. The theses are incredibly dense, allusive and suggestive—so much so that the philosopher Michael Löwy filled up 150 pages writing an exegesis of Benjamin’s slight nine-page text.
In Löwy’s reading, the theses serve as a distillation of Benjamin’s thoughts, a concentrated version of decades of philosophical and political theorisation. The theses are many things, but they are above all an attack on the facile ideology of progress and the complicity of so-called socialists in the rise of fascism.
The theses are many things, but they are above all an attack on the facile ideology of progress and the complicity of so-called socialists in the rise of fascism.
Many of the theses are relevant to India today, but Thesis VIII is especially apt. It reads, in part:
. . . The tradition of the oppressed teaches us that the “state of emergency” in which we live is not the exception but the rule. We must attain to a conception of history that accords with this insight. Then we will clearly see that it is our task to bring about a real state of emergency, and this will improve our position in the struggle against fascism. One reason fascism has a chance is that, in the name of progress, its opponents treat it as a historical norm. The current amazement that the things we are experiencing are “still” possible in the twentieth century is not philosophical . . .
Here, Benjamin is making a complex point. To start with the end of the quote, Benjamin is taking issue with those who see fascism as a historical relic, as a flashback to some kind of ancient, long-gone barbarism. Replace 20th-century Europe with 21st-century India, and one will see much of the rhetoric that Benjamin is critiquing.
An op-ed by the noted social scientist Ananya Vajpeyi, argues that “what we are witnessing today, under a government of the Hindu Right, is yet another phase of reaction and orthodoxy, a return to medieval Brahminical values.” An editorial in The Hindu makes similar claims when commenting on the harassment of an Australian tourist in Bangalore for having a tattoo of a Hindu goddess: “That this happened in a modern Indian city in this age and time should worry everyone.”
Benjamin is taking issue with those who see fascism as a historical relic, as a flashback to some kind of ancient, long-gone barbarism.
In this view, the Dadri lynching and other acts of brutality and intolerance are things that belong in the past, historical anomalies that have been dredged up by a backwards-looking Hindutva movement. Even those who support Modi—or, at least, once supported him—often paint the Hindu “fringe” in this light, portraying them as medieval relics who must be reined in so that Modi can deliver on his promises of “development.” There are, such voices say, regressive forces pulling the BJP back in history, along with progressive ones pushing it forward to bring development to the country.
Implicit in this view is a faith in progress, a belief that things are getting better over time, and that they are heading, inexorably, towards the betterment of humanity. Against this, Benjamin cultivates what Löwy calls “a revolutionary pessimism.” Benjamin had seen the falsity of the Soviet claims that a worldwide communist revolution would automatically take place, in accordance with the supposedly iron-clad laws of historical materialism. He had also seen the impotence of the German Social Democrats, who had fallen into a complacent reformism, believing that German workers were pushing along technological progress and thus were on the right side of history.
Having witnessed the rise of the Nazis, Benjamin felt that, if anything, historical evolution leads towards catastrophe. Civilisation and barbarism do not represent the present and the past, respectively; rather, they are two sides of the same coin. In Benjamin’s famous formulation: “There is no document of civilisation that is not at the same time a document of barbarism.”
Having witnessed the rise of the Nazis, Benjamin felt that, if anything, historical evolution leads towards catastrophe. Civilisation and barbarism do not represent the present and the past, respectively; rather, they are two sides of the same coin.
With the rise of lynching and the increasing brazenness of Hindutva attacks, it’s easy to think that we’re entering an exceptional period, the “state of emergency” that Benjamin mentions. But Benjamin’s point is that the “state of emergency” is not the exception but the rule in a hierarchical, oppressive society. The ruling classes are, by very definition, those who can impose “emergency measures”. And for the rulers, “progress”—or, in more modern terminology, “development”—is nothing but a series of victories over those whom they oppress.
Benjamin’s essay raises a truly disturbing prospect: what if Dadri, instead of being an impediment to development, is actually the embodiment of development? What if progress, in the Indian context, means more Dadris, more Ayodhyas, more Laxmanpur Bathes? These brutalities, after all, have used the very latest cutting-edge techniques to assert the will of the powerful. The Ayodhya campaign pioneered the use of mass-marketed “religious” commodities, including stickers, tridents, clothes, pictures and bottles of “holy water”. In the days leading up to Dadri, youth in the village got charged up by exchanging WhatsApp videos of cow slaughter, and after the murder, they posted pictures of it on social media networks. And Modi is clearly a master of new media.
Benjamin, one senses, would hardly have been surprised by these developments; he was very sensitive to the ways that conservative forces used modern technology to further their ends. To him, fascism—whatever its atavistic rhetoric—was a product of industrial capitalist society; one could say much the same of Hindutva.
To Benjamin, fascism—whatever its atavistic rhetoric—was a product of industrial capitalist society; one could say much the same of Hindutva.
His essay, including Thesis VIII, offers not just a diagnosis, but a prescription. If the ruling classes keep on exercising their power through official or implicit “states of emergency”, which actually represent business-as-usual, then the answer is to bring about a real state of emergency; that is, to threaten the existing power structures and social orders. And for Benjamin, this can only mean revolution. Having rejected the notion of progress, though, Benjamin’s idea of revolution differs from the standard Marxist version. In a preparatory note to the theses, Benjamin writes: “Marx says that revolutions are the locomotive of world history. But perhaps it is quite otherwise. Perhaps revolutions are an attempt by the passengers on this train—namely, the human race—to activate the emergency break.”
If Dadri is development, if Hindutva is progress, then there really is only one option: to slam on the breaks and to get off this train before it reaches its chilling final destination.
