‘Festival’ of votes and ‘rebirth’ of nation

Chief Adviser Professor Muhammad Yunus has astonished the nation in almost a poet’s tone. He has announced that elections will be held in the first half of February. But it will not be just an ordinary election, rather a festival of elections. And this festival will not be a mere rehearsal of voting, it will be the rebirth of the nation. However, he added a condition—"if we can decide through consensus."

The moment the condition was mentioned, one feels a lump in the throat. Because the word consensus is so rare in our dictionary that it seems like an endangered species. In our parliament, consensus means banging tables and shouting until the voice breaks. On the streets, consensus means tearing each other’s banners until fists start flying. In families, consensus means fighting over the last piece of chicken drumstick in the fridge. And in love affairs, consensus means hours of arguing over who suffered more and who was guiltier. In such a nation, how can consensus appear? Shakespeare himself might have written a play on it.

Then when he announced that the election would be a festival, one could hardly stop laughing! A festival! Our nation is already festival-addicted. If cricket is won—festival, if lost—festival too, because then we proudly say, "we have learnt to die as well." Eid is a festival, Puja is a festival, New Year’s Day is a festival. Even going for tea at a roadside stall feels like a festival. If a bus helper forgets to collect the fare, we can even turn that into a festival. How many more festivals can a nation like this be given? Now if voting itself becomes a festival, then even in the Eid queue for slaughtering cows, slogans will rise—‘Slaughter the cow, make it a festival!’

But the greatest puzzle lies in the phrase ‘rebirth of the nation.’ How many births has our nation had? In 1947 we were born once, in 1971 again. Then with every new government came a declaration of a new birth, a new beginning. Should we then write on our birth certificate—‘Birth: multiple times’? If one is born again and again, can that be called a newborn? Or a ‘perpetual child’? If we really have to be newborn again, then must we wear nappies again, sleep with pillows for support, cry all day? Why must the nation take on such troubles again?

In fact, we are already happy as we are. Our definition of happiness is a little different. If a brick falls on someone’s head, we laugh; if someone blares loudspeakers at dawn, we dance; if someone abuses us, we look for poetry in it. In this way we not only survive but also thrive. Cockroaches may one day vanish from the earth, but we will not. Because in quarrels, clashes, vandalism, and fights—we have found immortality. We cannot be destroyed, like Nazrul we too are immortal, indestructible, inexhaustible.

So the question is—when we cannot be destroyed, what is the need for rebirth? A new birth is needed only when the old life ends. But we have not even learnt how to die. Our ballot boxes are stolen, ballots vanish, chases and counter-chases erupt at booths, people are abducted—and yet we stand again. We laugh, we chat, we make memes on Facebook. Then why this craving for a new birth? Or does rebirth mean that this time everyone will go to the polling station, get their fingers inked together, and then take selfies?

It seems the idea of rebirth is essentially a kind of ‘marketing strategy.’ To attract people to polling centres, one must offer colourful slogans. Who would come if it were simply said—‘there will be an election’? So they say—it will be a festival, it will be rebirth. But in reality, if one finds there is no electricity at the booth, no ballot box, or boxes already stuffed, then instead of a festival the risk of a funeral is far greater.

As a nation we are so averse to consensus that if someone says, ‘the sky is blue today,’ another will retort, ‘no, the sky is actually light grey.’ If someone says, ‘rice with fish tastes good,’ another will shout, ‘no, fish with rice tastes good.’ In other words, we are a nation for whom consensus means starting a fresh quarrel.

So where is consensus in elections? If all parties really do reach consensus, then there will be no election at all. Because everyone will win together. Perhaps in parliament one will see everyone dancing hand in hand. On television cameras, MPs and ministers with drums and flutes—everyone singing, ‘we are united, we are victorious.’ Then who will run the country? In the joy of unity who will take responsibility? We are drowning in such complexities, while the Chief Adviser keeps assuring—‘there will be a festival.’

In this context the story of a tourist in Mexico fits perfectly. He went to the seaside and saw some fishermen happily catching fish, singing songs. Surprised, he asked, ‘how many hours a day do you fish?’ The fishermen replied, ‘not long.’ The tourist then solemnly said, ‘I have an MBA from Harvard. I will give you a brilliant idea. Catch more fish, sell more, save money, buy a big boat. Then catch even more fish, earn more money, start your own factory. One day enter the stock market, make millions and millions of dollars.’ The fishermen, astonished, asked, ‘then what?’ The tourist proudly said, ‘then you will retire. Return to your village, sleep by the sea, play with your children, eat with your wife, chat with friends.’ The fishermen laughed and said, ‘Brother, this is exactly what we are doing now! Then why should we struggle for twenty or twenty-five years?’

After hearing this story, one feels our elections are almost the same. We are surviving as we are. Quarrelling, fighting, creating chaos on polling day—yet living, chatting. Now if someone comes and says—struggle more, make it a festival, take rebirth—then naturally one must ask, ‘why go through so much hassle? We are already in supreme joy now.’

So hearing the Chief Adviser’s talk of ‘festival’ and ‘rebirth,’ it seems he thinks our lives are dull. But the truth is—we are a nation that is reborn every day. Sometimes stuck in traffic jams, sometimes sweating in power cuts, sometimes inking fingers at polling stations. Festival? That is our everyday meal. Consensus? That is the funniest word in our dictionary. And rebirth? We are being born every day, so there is no thrill left in a new birth.

In the end it must be said—the festival of elections sounds poetic, but in reality it is deeply satirical. For us, festival means noise, shouting, quarrels, and finally washing everything away with the word ‘though.’ And rebirth of the nation means—once again starting quarrels.

So the real truth is very simple: we are a nation that is immortal like cockroaches. So we need neither rebirth nor festival. We only need to hold on to our old habits—quarrelling, fighting, factionalism. That is our consensus. And that is our eternal festival.

Chirarsnjan Sarkar: Columnist