Indira Gandhi

by Nayantara Sahgal

  Mrs Gandhi’s position within the Congress and her standing with the old guard were by no means secure or friendly, and she was clearly unable to cope with what she felt was an animus directed personally at her.

  … every time we had a meeting of the Executive of the Parliamentary Party, there would be tension and some people would deliberately try to—I won’t say insult, although it was pretty near—but needle me on any small point and make it as unpleasant as possible.5

  Nehru had dominated the Congress, but his innate civility and courtesy had gone far in keeping diverse teams of colleagues together and had given him the personal regard of those who crossed swords with him over policy. Mrs Gandhi’s determined advocacy of herself did not endear her to men who had given their lives to the struggle for freedom, been repeatedly imprisoned and since Independence occupied important positions, some in her father’s cabinets. When in 1967 she considered taking on the Congress presidentship herself after Kamaraj (as her father had done for a time), the suggestion was not approved by her party, and Nijalingappa became president. At the annual session of the Congress in Hyderabad in January 1968, six of the seven elected seats on the Working Committee went to the old-guard candidates, and only one to Mrs Gandhi’s choice. These circumstances, where she had the symbols but not the actuality of power, frustrating to her pride and authority at home, may have led her from the start to establish wide personal contacts abroad. She went on her first foreign tour as prime minister in March 1966, less than two months after taking office, visiting London, Paris, Moscow and Washington. In September 1968 she toured Latin America and the Caribbean (the first Indian prime minister to visit these areas) and visited the USA, Britain and West Germany.

  In sharp contrast to her father, too, she was ill at ease with the press. Nehru, whose relations with it were confident and cordial, met the capital’s press corps once a month. Mrs Gandhi held her third news conference in three years on January 1, 1969. The national press was generally indulgent towards her. Men who had covered her father’s speeches, activities and policies for decades and had praised or condemned him with equal fervour were apt to tread more softly with her in her inexperience and to be generous in their judgements. Her inhibitions were often puzzling to them. Frank Moraes, a leading editor, recalled, ‘Nehru talked a great deal in an interview. You started him off, and off he went. She is not forthcoming. She’s rather like a convent schoolgirl, tongue-tied. Nehru didn’t care what the newspapers said about him. With her, if there’s an article, editorial or cartoon, she doesn’t like, one of her entourage lets her disapproval be known.’ Her disapproval was generally ignored by the editors and proprietors of leading newspapers, who had a healthy disrespect for authority, but it became noticeable enough after 1969 to be raised in Parliament, when Opposition MPs objected to governmental pressure to silence dissent.

  At Mrs Gandhi’s news conference on January 1, 1969, Trevor Drieberg, Sri Lanka–born member of Delhi’s press corps, noted more poise and confidence than she had shown since becoming prime minister. Her two flashes of temper were ‘whether natural or carefully stage-managed, very effective. There was more than a touch of the old Nehru fire about them. The P.M. still lives very much under the shadow of her illustrious father, as her references to him in the course of her replies showed.’6

  A critic, Rajinder Puri, later put the same view somewhat differently:

  Indira, in fact, does not have a style which she may call her own. And because the style is phony, the words ring false, with a jarring clatter against the manner she perhaps seeks to emulate, that of her father. Her every gesture, every mannerism, seems to be modelled on that of the late Jawaharlal Nehru. The hurried, almost running walk, the rambling informality, the stimulated anger with an uncomprehending public, it is all there, a trifle parodied, a little grotesque, as it evokes nostalgic memories of the original… .7

  The standard people remembered was her father’s, and whether the comparison was made by supporter or critic, in kind or harsh terms, it found her lacking. Yet the comparison persisted, no one yet recognizing her as being differently constituted and inspired. Her belief in her own superior knowledge and judgement dating from her tender years displayed itself once again when, on August 23, 1968, she spoke in the Rajya Sabha on the situation in Czechoslovakia. Members had objected to the government’s mildly stated stand on Soviet interference, and her minister for petroleum and chemicals, Asoka Mehta, had resigned over the issue. Mrs Gandhi said:

  I have said in the other House and I would like to repeat here, that perhaps there is nobody in this House who has had such close contacts with Czechoslovakia for so many years as I have had personally, not as a member of the Government, but ever since I was a small girl. I have known the people of the country very well, and I have known large sections of the people in the universities and in other spheres of activity.

  Yet it took another year until, in the struggle for power that split the Congress and startled the country, her typical assertiveness finally burst through to the public, and people put her in a class by herself, no longer in her father’s shade or mould.

  FOUR

  The Congress Breaks—1969

  On January 1, 1969, Mrs Gandhi ended her news conference1 with the reprimand, ‘I hope it will be a year of better reporting.’ It had not begun to her liking. A journalist had asked, ‘What are your views about the activities of the Young Turks who attack the Ministers and sometimes even the whole government, and who, at the same time, swear their loyalty to you?’ Mrs Gandhi replied, ‘I think this is for you to judge.’ When he persisted, she said, ‘We have always given considerable latitude to our party. This is not something that is happening for the first time.’

  Journalist:‘I would like to know when it happened except when you came to power. It did not happen when Shastriji was here, much less when your father was in office.’

  Prime Minister to the company: ‘I am sorry, he is not well-informed. It happened many times when my father was in office.’

  Journalist: ‘Could you give me one instance?’

  Prime Minister:‘This is not a cross-examination. I resent the tone of the question. I am not going to be spoken to like that.’

  This crisp rejoinder, put down to the Nehru temperament, was, however, different in kind from the brief flares enlivening Nehru’s speeches and conferences. Mrs Gandhi did not feel the need to explain or argue. Questions she did not like could simply be cut short by a reminder of who she was. And here she showed a flash of irritation at the unfavourable contrast drawn, by implication, between her and her father. The above exchange is interesting, too, for its light on the vocal emergent radicals in the party known as the Young Turks, whose broadsides against members of the government were attracting notice as being unusually outspoken criticism for public consumption. Mrs Gandhi’s protection of this growing personal following, hostile to men in her own government, was a noticeable enough departure from the past to be taken up at a news conference.

  In mid-February 1969, midterm elections in five states showed a continuing downhill slide for the Congress. Mrs Gandhi’s own equanimity at this time, a particularly bleak time for her party, may have resulted directly from this political picture. Important members of the old guard had been defeated in the last general election, while her own following was developing into a vigorous and distinct camp. The balance of power in the Congress was changing with the tilt in her favour.

  The newspapers commented on the decline of the Congress with gloom, speculating about the new crop of fortune hunters, the unprincipled defections encouraged by all parties, and the danger to democracy in these circumstances. On March 19, 1969, the Indian Express commented editorially on the uneasy relationships between the Congress party and the government and even within the cabinet:

  … if the Congress breaks up, it will be calamitous for the country… . Mrs. Gandhi is at times prone to ruffle her colleagues by her speech. More often she is apt to startle them by her studied si
lence… . This habit of mind and approach does not make for happy individual relations, or for the smooth conduct of public affairs… . Collective Cabinet responsibility is the cornerstone of our Constitution. Lapses from the principle account for much of the misunderstandings and controversies generated in recent weeks… . A close understanding between the Congress Party President and the Prime Minister is overdue.

  A highly unusual situation had arisen out of Mrs Gandhi’s ‘habit of mind and approach’. Effective consultation and discussion with her cabinet and party were nearly at a standstill. This editorial appeal for‘Collective Cabinet responsibility’ did not, however, take into account the personality of the leader who, now confident of a party following, saw no reason for cooperation with men she needed much less than before.

  That the Congress was not one happy family had been evident for some time. Trevor Drieberg wrote of the Congress session at Faridabad in April, ‘The time has come when Young Turk and Old Gandhian can no longer hang together—even if the alternative is hanging separately.’2 But the division between young and old, radical and Gandhian, left and right was by no means so plain or simple. Between the Young Turks, now grouped behind Mrs Gandhi for radical changes in the country, and the old guard, whom they accused of holding the national scene static, there was a general body of convinced moderates who preferred to proceed with caution and usually carried the day. There was now, in addition, the need for stocktaking. Congress, held in thrall by Nehru’s charisma during his lifetime, now seemed about to re-examine some of the sacred texts of policy in the light of the country’s new priorities and the electorate’s verdict. Shastri had introduced some personal preferences in policy—small-scale projects and the completion of large ones rather than new investments in the public sector and attention to neighbours rather than the global involvement India had pursued in Nehru’s time. This post-Nehru development, cut short with Shastri’s death, was viewed with grave suspicion by Congress radicals, who now projected the issue before the party as socialism or its sabotage. There were obvious fallacies in a line-up so categorical, within a party whose historic position had been centrist by choice. In their bitterest ideological battles, Congressmen had found scope for cooperation. Defeat had been graciously conceded, and the victor had shown magnanimity. Periodically, the party had shed its fringes, both radical and conservative. In 1947 the Congress Socialist Party had left its parent body to become the independent Socialist Party because the Congress programme did not go far enough in radicalism. In 1959 C. Rajagopalachari had broken away to found the conservative Swatantra Party. Reacting strongly against the cooperative farming resolution adopted by the Nagpur Congress (the annual convention of the party held in Nagpur) in January that year, he had flatly rejected the idea of cooperative cultivation, ‘except in countries where private personal property is absent and forced labour is commandeered under Communist regimes’.3

  A determined fighter for greater economic definition against the communal and conservative elements in the Congress, Nehru had been at pains to keep its frictions within bounds and prevent a schism. Both national integration and development demanded a strong unifying focus. His own domination of the party had been accepted because, apart from the shared adventure of the national movement and the enduring human ties it had created, the party saw him as a national inspiration, indispensable to its own success and significance. Nehru’s unique position within it remained tempered by inner-party criticism, by his recognition of state leadership, by his view of Congress strength as basically a local strength and by the reliance others placed on his code of ethics and conduct. In the impasse now developing between Mrs Gandhi and the Congress, no comparable cushioning existed, either of an unassailable personal and political position to her credit or of give and take, to shield the party from the shocks it was about to receive. Distant thunder, heralding a storm, hung in the air at the Faridabad session.

  President Zakir Husain died a few days after the session, and the choice of his successor precipitated a showdown between Mrs Gandhi and the Congress president. Zakir Husain had been Mrs Gandhi’s personal choice for the country’s President. His death removed a reliable political lever from her side. The President could, on the prime minister’s advice, dissolve Parliament and order a new election. Her opponents in her party believed this had been Mrs Gandhi’s main hold on Congress MPs, who did not want to face another election so soon after the recent debacle. The situation could go against her with a new, unsympathetic President if enough Congress MPs expressed a lack of confidence in their leader and asked the President to assure himself of the extent of her support. The choice of the country’s President became crucial for both Congress factions, whose poor opinion of each other had for some time been ill concealed. The nature of the clash that followed lifted it out of political or party confines and gave the country its first glimpse of an intractable character.

  Mrs Gandhi, in consultation with colleagues, considered several names—V.V. Giri, Jagjivan Ram, Swaran Singh and Sanjiva Reddy—and agreed to Reddy. Soon afterwards she became convinced Reddy was not ‘her’ man, that the party bosses would use him to test her strength in Parliament and remove her from the prime ministership. She had every reason to believe this might happen. Her performance as prime minister had not impressed senior leaders, and her aloof imperiousness had been resented. Her removal, in the same orderly way as she had been elevated, was entirely possible. Her opponents would manoeuvre in the manner of professional politicians through the usual politicians’ channels, as they had done in the past, to gain acceptance for a candidate of their choice. This was a fight she could not be sure of winning. Her technique would have to be different. It started with a campaign of rumour to establish Reddy as the bosses’ choice, not hers, though individuals in her camp urged her to declare her open support for V.V. Giri, vice-president.

  Mrs Gandhi then sent a note on economic policy to precede her arrival in Bangalore, where the Congress Parliamentary Board was meeting to elect its candidate for the country’s President. She described it as ‘a few stray thoughts’ on the need to ‘re-state our economic policy and set the direction in which we have to move to achieve our goal’.

  The note was indicative of the lack of cohesion in recent Congress functioning. The ‘stray thoughts’ broadly repeated the Working Committee resolution of May 1967, known as the Ten-Point Programme. Among these were nationalization of general insurance, removal of monopolies, curbs on property, state control over exports and food grains, ‘social control’ of banks and the abolition of princely privileges. The Working Committee meeting had been poorly attended, with no detailed study beforehand of the items on its agenda. The thorough preparation characterizing policy discussions in the past was absent, as was a proper consideration of each item. The programme, superficially discussed, was adopted. During its ratification by the All India Congress Committee, the abolition of princely privileges was extended to purses, and social control of banks was changed to nationalization. Almost immediately controversy over the Ten Points began. Mrs Gandhi’s cabinet did not agree to them all. In October 1967 her cabinet reverted to social control of banks, to be operated by a national credit council run by the Reserve Bank, to give more aid to agriculture, small industry and exports. Lacking the vivid gesture of outright nationalization, Morarji Desai argued it was capable of achieving more solid benefits.

  The ‘stray thoughts’ sent to Bangalore would, therefore, have been better argued exhaustively, even battled for decisively within the policy-making forum of the party, rather than, as followed, taken as theatre to the streets. Mrs Gandhi’s purpose was to make it clear the initiative for party programmes was to be hers, at governmental level, and was not to rest with the organization. Theatre, too, was intended as publicity to illustrate this parting of the ways and establish her undisputed authority over the organization. Bank nationalization, one of the ‘stray thoughts’, was soon to symbolize the new era of radicalism.

  The party, sti
ll unclear about the Ten Points, accepted Mrs Gandhi’s note in the interests of peace, and it was commended to the Union and state governments, a victory to Mrs Gandhi, but the Congress Parliamentary Board elected Sanjiva Reddy as its official candidate with five votes against two (Mrs Gandhi and Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed) for Jagjivan Ram. Mrs Gandhi told the press the next day that the board’s decision was a ‘calculated attempt’ to humiliate her and to challenge her authority as prime minister. She thus gave public notice that she would fight any attempt to undermine her position. Her father, twice overruled by the board when it chose Dr Rajendra Prasad for the presidency in 1952 and again in 1957, had both times accepted its decision.

  Mrs Gandhi’s answer to being ignored was to retaliate with a dose of the same medicine. A week later she made the surprise announcement of the nationalization of fourteen leading banks, bypassing the party to make a direct impact on the public. The manner of the measure, by ordinance—though Parliament was to open in two days—was as sensational as the measure itself. Before taking this step, she relieved Morarji Desai of the finance portfolio, though she offered him another berth. Desai chose to resign, and Mrs Gandhi took over finance herself. This lightning strike at independence from her party sent a tremor of excitement through the country. With its apparent disdain for party forum and due processes of law, the prime minister’s action removed some invisible restraint and decorum from public and political behaviour. Politics flared overnight into the streets. Rallies were arranged daily outside Mrs Gandhi’s residence to congratulate her on bank nationalization and acclaim her leadership. The use of money and transport to bring workers to meetings, along with government’s control of radio, had always given the ruling party an edge over others. But this was the first time street demonstrations had been staged by a prime minister. Their size and regularity and the expertise now in evidence had the gloss of preparation and planning, and of the communist genius for efficient organization. Also recognizable communist technique was Mrs Gandhi’s vocabulary of class war and the cry that all who were not with her were against her.