Noam Chomsky, The Responsibility of Intellectuals (1966) // Apoorvanand - This false dawn: Modi regime’s obsession with the ‘new’ and ‘historic’
Noam Chomsky, The Responsibility of Intellectuals (1966)
IT IS THE RESPONSIBILITY of intellectuals to speak the truth and to expose lies. This, at least, may seem enough of a truism to pass over without comment. Not so, however. For the modern intellectual, it is not at all obvious.
Apoorvanand - This false dawn: Modi regime’s obsession with the ‘new’ and ‘historic’
IT IS THE RESPONSIBILITY of intellectuals to speak the truth and to expose lies. This, at least, may seem enough of a truism to pass over without comment. Not so, however. For the modern intellectual, it is not at all obvious.
TWENTY-YEARS AGO,
Dwight Macdonald published a series of articles in Politics on
the responsibility of peoples and, specifically, the responsibility of
intellectuals. I read them as an undergraduate, in the years just after the
war, and had occasion to read them again a few months ago. They seem to me to
have lost none of their power or persuasiveness. Macdonald is concerned with
the question of war guilt. He asks the question: To what extent were the German
or Japanese people responsible for the atrocities committed by their
governments? And, quite properly, he turns the question back to us: To what
extent are the British or American people responsible for the vicious terror
bombings of civilians, perfected as a technique of warfare by the Western
democracies and reaching their culmination in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, surely
among the most unspeakable crimes in history. To an undergraduate in 1945-46—to
anyone whose political and moral consciousness had been formed by the horrors
of the 1930s, by the war in Ethiopia, the Russian purge, the “China Incident,”
the Spanish Civil War, the Nazi atrocities, the Western reaction to these
events and, in part, complicity in them—these questions had particular
significance and poignancy.
With respect to the
responsibility of intellectuals, there are still other, equally disturbing
questions. Intellectuals are in a position to expose the lies of governments,
to analyze actions according to their causes and motives and often hidden
intentions. In the Western world, at least, they have the power that comes from
political liberty, from access to information and freedom of expression. For a
privileged minority, Western democracy provides the leisure, the facilities,
and the training to seek the truth lying hidden behind the veil of distortion
and misrepresentation, ideology and class interest, through which the events of
current history are presented to us. The responsibilities of intellectuals,
then, are much deeper than what Macdonald calls the “responsibility of people,”
given the unique privileges that intellectuals enjoy.
The issues that
Macdonald raised are as pertinent today as they were twenty years ago. We can
hardly avoid asking ourselves to what extent the American people bear
responsibility for the savage American assault on a largely helpless rural
population in Vietnam, still another atrocity in what Asians see as the “Vasco
da Gama era” of world history. As for those of us who stood by in silence and
apathy as this catastrophe slowly took shape over the past dozen years—on what
page of history do we find our proper place? Only the most insensible can
escape these questions. I want to return to them, later on, after a few
scattered remarks about the responsibility of intellectuals and how, in
practice, they go about meeting this responsibility in the mid-1960s.
IT IS THE
RESPONSIBILITY of intellectuals to speak the truth and to expose lies. This, at
least, may seem enough of a truism to pass over without comment. Not so,
however. For the modern intellectual, it is not at all obvious. Thus we have
Martin Heidegger writing, in a pro-Hitler declaration of 1933, that “truth is
the revelation of that which makes a people certain, clear, and strong in its
action and knowledge”; it is only this kind of “truth” that one has a
responsibility to speak. Americans tend to be more forthright. When Arthur
Schlesinger was asked by The New York Times in November, 1965,
to explain the contradiction between his published account of the Bay of Pigs
incident and the story he had given the press at the time of the attack, he
simply remarked that he had lied; and a few days later, he went on to
compliment the Times for also having suppressed information on
the planned invasion, in “the national interest,” as this term was defined by
the group of arrogant and deluded men of whom Schlesinger gives such a
flattering portrait in his recent account of the Kennedy Administration. It is
of no particular interest that one man is quite happy to lie in behalf of a
cause which he knows to be unjust; but it is significant that such events
provoke so little response in the intellectual community—for example, no one
has said that there is something strange in the offer of a major chair in the
humanities to a historian who feels it to be his duty to persuade the world
that an American-sponsored invasion of a nearby country is nothing of the sort.
And what of the incredible sequence of lies on the part of our government and
its spokesmen concerning such matters as negotiations in Vietnam? The facts are
known to all who care to know. The press, foreign and domestic, has presented
documentation to refute each falsehood as it appears. But the power of the
government’s propaganda apparatus is such that the citizen who does not
undertake a research project on the subject can hardly hope to confront
government pronouncements with fact.[1]
The deceit and distortion
surrounding the American invasion of Vietnam is by now so familiar that it has
lost its power to shock. It is therefore useful to recall that although new
levels of cynicism are constantly being reached, their clear antecedents were
accepted at home with quiet toleration. It is a useful exercise to compare
Government statements at the time of the invasion of Guatemala in 1954 with
Eisenhower’s admission—to be more accurate, his boast—a decade later that
American planes were sent “to help the invaders” (New York Times,
October 14, 1965). Nor is it only in moments of crisis that duplicity is
considered perfectly in order. “New Frontiersmen,” for example, have scarcely
distinguished themselves by a passionate concern for historical accuracy, even
when they are not being called upon to provide a “propaganda cover” for ongoing
actions. For example, Arthur Schlesinger (New York Times, February 6,
1966) describes the bombing of North Vietnam and the massive escalation of
military commitment in early 1965 as based on a “perfectly rational argument”:
so long as the
Vietcong thought they were going to win the war, they obviously would not be
interested in any kind of negotiated settlement.
The date is important.
Had this statement been made six months earlier, one could attribute it to
ignorance. But this statement appeared after the UN, North Vietnamese, and
Soviet initiatives had been front-page news for months. It was already public
knowledge that these initiatives had preceded the escalation of February 1965 and,
in fact, continued for several weeks after the bombing began. Correspondents in
Washington tried desperately to find some explanation for the startling
deception that had been revealed. Chalmers Roberts, for example, wrote in the
Boston Globe on November 19 with unconscious irony:
[late February, 1965]
hardly seemed to Washington to be a propitious moment for negotiations [since]
Mr. Johnson…had just ordered the first bombing of North Vietnam in an effort to
bring Hanoi to a conference table where the bargaining chips on both sides
would be more closely matched.
Coming at that moment,
Schlesinger’s statement is less an example of deceit than of contempt—contempt
for an audience that can be expected to tolerate such behavior with silence, if
not approval.[2].. read more:
https://chomsky.info/19670223/Apoorvanand - This false dawn: Modi regime’s obsession with the ‘new’ and ‘historic’
“Pradhan mantri ke
vision se suryast suryoday mein badal gaya hai, raat ho rahi hai lekin hum dekh
rahe hain ek nayi subah (The prime minister’s vision has turned sunset into
sunrise, night is falling but we are watching a new dawn)”
This is how
Doordarshan chose to describe the advent of a new era under the leadership of a
prime minister who continues to remain new even after two years in office.
Pradhan mantri chairman and the sentence assumes a familiarity, at least for those
who are steeped in the Stalinist or Maoist political culture. Everything in
Maoist China had to be informed by the vision of the chairman or was worthless.
Similarly, in the Soviet Union, for any idea to be valued it needed to bear the
Stalin stamp.
The sheer obsession
with the adjective “new” or “historic” also takes one back to the days of these
two “greats” of history, who were red and not saffron. Stalin wanted to
engineer the souls of his dear people to carve a “new man” and a new society
out of them.
For a new to be
created, the old has to be destroyed. The appeal for the new thus becomes the
legitimiser of the death of the old. The only problem is that the old lingers
on in many forms and threatens to sabotage the project of building the new. So,
its residuals need to identified through a campaign and destroyed completely.
The old is also made synonymous with the elite.
When Chairman Mao gave
a call to the Chinese people, it was the youth he mainly addressed. The
Cultural Revolution in China started on May 16 fifty years ago which, again in
one of the ironies of history, is the date when a new “revolution” started in
India two years back. Chairman Mao divided his people into two categories: One
belonged the revolutionary masses and the other a part of the old privileged
elite, remnants of the past, who needed to be weeded out. Mao called for a
protracted revolution. It was called cultural as it sought to change the way
people lived, their notion of relationships and transform them from individuals
to soldiers of a great mission.
Such regimes confer
the title of the real or true people on one set of the masses, who are then unleashed
on the other who are termed enemies of the people or non-people. Mao’s cultural
revolution or Stalin’s purge witnessed people voluntarily participating in not
only eliminating the enemies but also creating them. Such non-people ranged
from school teachers to entrepreneurs, doctors to cultural workers, scientists
and researchers, homosexuals and Jews or simply “non-productive” people.
Children reported on their parents and teachers and participated in their
public humiliation and, in most cases, organised their killing.
The list of non-people
officially sanctioned and promoted by the new regime of India is growing:
“Terrorists”, “love jihadis”, “beefeaters”, “religious converters”,
“infiltrators” and, finally, “anti-nationals” or “saboteurs”. A more neat
division was suggested by the prime minister on May 26. “I can say there is
development on one side and obstructionism on the other. The people will choose
which side to choose, that I firmly believe,” he said. The trust in the
intelligence of the people is touching.
The horrifyingly
interesting part of the Cultural Revolution was it gave a sense of agency to
people who were, in fact, conforming to the orders of the leader. Power was
handed over to the ordinary masses who craved for it and which they exercised
on the obstructionists or anti-nationals. People did not have the luxury of not
choosing their side. Else, they became suspects.
The rush to join the
officially sanctioned category of the people does not have anything to do with
a particular ideology. Germans, Russians, Chinese, Americans, Israeli, have
been complicit in the crimes their leaders unleashed on fellow beings. Even the
persecuted offer themselves. They self-denounce and seek purification. The joy
of disempowering your neighbour always pushes human goodness to a dark corner.
It is revived only after the departure of the bully from the scene.
The
narratives of the red guards of the Cultural Revolution, or the veterans of the
Vietnam war or Israeli combatants reveal the scale of moral devastation all of
them have gone through. There are people, however, who are in the job of
intellection, who can see through the game. They alert the people to the danger
of loss of humanity. Maxim Gorky did it in the heyday of the Bolshevik
Revolution when he condemned Lenin for turning the working masses into
murderers and immoral morons. Lenin nudged off Gorky to Italy. Others were not
so lucky. Ironically, Gorky later returned to the Soviet Union to work with
Stalin. Denunciation of intellectualism and disinterested scholarship is thus
one of the main features of such drives. Masses are pitted against
intellectuals, who are portrayed as parasites who must be made to do real work.
The May 16 circular of
Mao, which became the manifesto of the Cultural Revolution, said, “This concept
which makes no class distinction on academic matters is also very wrong. The
truth on academic questions, the truth of Marxism-Leninism, of Mao Zedong’s
thought — which the proletariat has grasped — has already far surpassed and beaten
the bourgeoisie. The formulation in the outline shows that its authors laud the
so-called academic authorities of the bourgeoisie and try to boost their
prestige, and that they hate and repress the militant newborn forces
representative of the proletariat in academic circles.” There is nothing then
that remains as scholarship or professionalism.
China is now the envy
of the developed world. But it is a deeply wounded society. A witness of the
Cultural Revolution says it turned the country into a moral wasteland. The
memory of the sense of powerlessness of their victims gnaws at the hearts of
the former red guards of the Chinese revolution. Will their lost humanity be
ever restored? This question came to me when I read Professor Bandukwala in
this newspaper and felt his sense of helplessness, when he says he forgives to
hope. He knows it well that there is no one seeking forgiveness and, therefore,
his offer has no value. But by doing so, he is desperately trying to claim the
power of humanity for himself. It is a pathetic sight. How much time would
Bandukwala’s tormentors need to realise that by making people like him
powerless they were in fact robbing themselves of their humanity?
Such realisation on
part of the tormentors is not easy, as journalist John Pilger tells us. He
writes: “The breathtaking record of perfidy is so mutated in the public mind,
wrote the late Harold Pinter, that it “never happened. Nothing ever happened.
Even while it was happening it wasn’t happening. It didn’t matter. It was of no
interest. It didn’t matter…”. Pinter expressed a mock admiration for what he
called “a quite clinical manipulation of power worldwide while masquerading as
a force for universal good. It’s a brilliant, even witty, highly successful act
of hypnosis”.
Let us examine
ourselves: Are we in the spell of hypnosis?
http://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/this-false-dawn-2826364/