The Crown Princes of Kashmir, Andrew Whitehead
Kashmir dispensed with princely rule
two generations and more ago - yet there are plenty of crown princes still at
hand. The political order has changed utterly but there's no shortage of
aspirants to power whose status has in large part been inherited.
That was brought home to me while
reading the new and much talked about book by A.S. Dulat, the former head of
the Research & Analysis Wing (RAW). In Kashmir: the Vajpayee years,
Dulat asserts that the 'four likely players for the future in Kashmir are Omar
Abdullah, Mirwaiz Umar Farooq, Mehbooba Mufti , and Sajad Lone.
You can argue with that, of course.
Shouldn't someone from the Geelani-wing of Kashmir's politics be part of the
mix? And you could take the view that a former intelligence chief, whose
professional life has been about advancing Delhi's cause in Kashmir, is not a
disinterested observer.
A.S. Dulat, however, has spent a lot of
time talking to Kashmiris of all political hues. His assessment - which he
defended at the London launch of his book, where I moderated a discussion
between him and Dr Farooq Abdullah - deserves attention. What is particularly
striking is that all four of those he names as key players in Kashmir's future
are dynastic political figures. Indeed, two of them are third generation
political leaders.
Princes and maharajahs are no longer
our masters. Those royal families around the world that continue to rule are,
with a handful of exceptions, simply emblems of national identity. And those
that have airs and graces but no throne - there are a few - seem as if they are
stranded on some Jurassic Park of human governance, living fossils from a bygone
era.
Yet the hereditary principle, that
political power comes down from father to son (and just occasionally to
daughter or son-in-law), or moves within the household from husband to wife,
remains evident in dictatorships and democracies alike.
Sons and daughters of political
families should not of course be discouraged from entering public life or
disqualified from office. They may well have imbibed a sense of civic duty, and
they in any event now require the endorsement of an electorate. But politics is
too often a family business and that limits the space for others to make their
mark. To put it bluntly, the preponderance of political dynasties constrains
the democratic process.
The Indian National Congress, one of
the most successful political parties anywhere in the world - the movement
which achieved India's independence and has dominated post-independence
politics - has cleaved to one family with an allegiance which feels intensely
anti-meritocratic. If Rahul Gandhi makes it to the top job, he will be the
fourth successive generation of that family to lead the country. The world's
biggest democracy is also the most dynastic.
American politics is also more about
family than makes political sense. Going as far back as 1989, the only
incumbent of the White House other than a Bush or a Clinton is the current one,
Barack Obama. And both a Bush and a Clinton are in contention to succeed Obama.
There's a real prospect that the only choice American voters will face in next
year's Presidential election will be between these rival dynasties.
It's not quite the same in Britain. You
have to go back well over 200 years, to the era of the Pitts and the
Grenvilles, to find families in which both father and son became prime
minister. But of late, a different form of dynasty has resurfaced - not about
surname but school tie. David Cameron is the nineteenth British prime minister
to have attended the elite and hugely expensive Eton College - his great rival
within the Conservative party, Boris Johnson, hopes to be the twentieth.
Part of the issue in Kashmir is the sad
and troubling propensity for political violence. Two of Dulat's four
likely brokers of Kashmir's future have taken on the mantle of a murdered
father - and as well as the profound personal tragedies here, the distorting of
the political process through premature and violent death clearly puts enormous
pressure on the next generation to carry forward the father's standard.
That has been evident across South Asia
- in India, Sri Lanka, Pakistan and Bangladesh. When a leader dies violently,
the political legacy is championed most keenly within the family. Often wives
and daughters have taken on that role. Indeed, one seasoned political observer
has suggested that political dynasties have served to give women greater space
in public life: 'being part of a clan has helped women break through glass
ceilings', says the Berlin-based writer Leonid Bershidsky.
Across the region, it's difficult to
think of women leaders who have achieved success without being related to a
male political leader. Mayawati and Mamata Banerjee are the ones that spring to
mind as breaking the dynastic mould and making their own way.
On balance, Bershidsky argues, the
darker side of dynastic politics outweighs what might be seen as the positives
of family rule. 'Wherever there are dynasties, there's less competition for
votes. There's nothing wrong with members of prominent political figures
wanting to serve the country. But there's nothing wrong, either, with voters
rejecting self-perpetuating government.'
India's recent history is full of
examples of voters rejecting dynastic leaders as well as embracing them. But
the occasional assumption that parties and movements are family fiefdoms, and
the confusing of the interests of dynasties and of those they claim to serve,
chips away at confidence in the political system.
Democracy is not simply about
elections. It is about the principle that those who are not born to position
and privilege can aspire to lead and represent their communities as much as
anyone else.
(Andrew Whitehead is a distinguished
journalist. He worked with the BBC as correspondent for 35 years and later as
Editor of BBC World Service).
