Understanding the sound and fury of Anna's army

It is stunningly obvious that the government’s finalisation of its version of the Lokpal Bill has enraged a large constituency of people. Some of the responses to well-reasoned articulations ( here , here and here ) that the Bill represents a step forward (even if it’s a small step) in the fight against corruption border on the bilious. The argument in favour of incremental progress in this journey of a thousand miles has been drowned out in the frenzied and somewhat hyperbolic name-calling that it has given rise to. How does one account for this angry outpouring? Why isn’t the finalisation of the Bill seen as a step forward or an acknowledgement of the role played by Anna Hazare and his supporters in introducing a sense of urgency to the need for a strong anti-corruption bill and the heightening of public awareness on the subject? The sense of disappointment has deep roots. [caption id=“attachment_50688” align=“alignleft” width=“380” caption=“The sense of disappointment has deep roots. Adnan Abidi/Reuters”]  [/caption] Think back to the time in April when Anna Hazare launched his fast-unto-death in Delhi to demand a strong anti-corruption bill. It was the high season for corruption scandals, each larger in scale than the other. No area of enterprise was free from monumental corruption: from the allocation of 2G spectrum to the construction of Commonwealth Games stadium (and even the $3,700-a-roll toilet tissue procured for the Vanity Games) to real estate projects… the list just went on and on. Even for a people long inured to seeing corruption in high places go unpunished, this was outrageous. The sense of utter helplessness they fed was compounded by the Niira Radia tapes, which starkly showed up the parallel ethical universe in which politicians, businessmen and lobbyists operated. Anyone who could tap into “the system” peddled influence and dispensed reciprocal favours and gamed the system without the faintest qualms. A wider network of people knew what was going on, but in that private club of which they were members, it was bad form to be squeamish. Ever worse, from a popular perception, was the realisation that even high-profile journalists, who ought to have acted as whistle-blowers, were themselves caught up in influence-peddling and were playing“the insider” game alongside wheeler-dealers who were packing the ministerial benches for their clients’ benefit. Even if the journalists weren’t motivated by personal profit, it was galling when they breezily explained away their associations and active involvement in power-broking as the unfortunate downside of a professional requirement that compelled them to fraternise with kings, kingmakers and crooks in equal measure. To top it all, the shadow of corruption fell on even the last remaining pillars of public rectitude: the higher judiciary and even the anti-corruption agency headed by the Central Vigilance Commissioner. It is hard to overestimate the jolt to the collective consciousness that these scandals and perversions occasioned. When you can’t rely on any single element of the system, when even the defence mechanism built into the system to guard it against viruses had been corrupted, when even the fence starts eating the crop, what option does the ordinary man on the street have? The anger that is finding expression today has its roots in that utter helplessness and the cynicism of those times. The mood of the moment was to exercise the Samson Option: tear down the pillars that hold aloft the monumentally corrupt system, and build a new one. So, when Anna Hazare started his campaign, he was seen as the ultimate incorruptible outsider who was best placed to challenge the system. His campaign for a Jan Lokpal with sweeping powers of investigation and prosecution was seen as the Brahmastra, the ultimate weapon of mass destruction in the battle against corruption. Of course, it’s easy to argue that these were unrealistic expectations. But the heart bowed down with the weight of woe will cling to the weakest hope. The argument was also made that the superagency that the Jan Lokpal movement envisaged would violate the parliamentary system of governance, with well-established pillars of state. That rang hollow to a people who had peeped briefly into the inner workings of that system – and saw it was rotten to the core. Fast forward to today. After pretending to take on board the suggestions of the Anna Hazare-led campaign but effectively deflating the movement and administering death by a thousand cuts  and telling it to “ go to hell ”, the very same political establishment that dragged its feet for decades says it has it all under control – and that it must be trusted to deliver an effective anti-corruption agency. This is the very same political establishment that indulged in an orgy of corruption – and, despite being prodded to take action, pretended it wasn’t happening. This is the same social ecosystem where the insiders were playing cosy parlour games with the powerful. And we’re led to believe that everything will be different now… Which is why even the well-intentioned argument that this Lokpal Bill should be given a fair chance, and can be improved over time, fails to inspire enthusiasm among a jaded constituency. The anger and bilious rage that we’re witnessing isn’t obviously a useful channel. But it isn’t there without a reason. Not to acknowledge it will only compound the element of distrust it symbolises.