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Passive voices
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What happens when an anti-war party is held at a particularly upmarket pub that restricts entry and levies a cover charge? C.K. MEENA finds out.
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SOMEBODY SHOULD invent the word "passivist". He's the opposite of the activist and he thinks protests are a criminal waste of man-hours. Demonstrators, according to the passivist, are a nuisance because they hold up traffic. Anything that impedes his all-important objective of getting home by six to a hot cuppa from the wife must be considered a hindrance to progress. Children may be dying, but the passivist must have his tea on time.
The activist, on the other hand, has fixed ideas about how and where protests should be carried out: placards, banners, and slogans, on the streets, at squares and circles, and beside the statues of famous people. When the idea of an anti-war demonstration in a pub was mooted, it drew howls of protests from veteran protestors. "A Night Against War" at 180 Proof, organised by some upstarts calling themselves Culture Move? That, too, on hallowed May Day? How reactionary could you get?
There was deep suspicion of motive, especially since the man behind the plan was not a part of what is loosely termed "the activist crowd". He wanted to start a movement that spread awareness among youth through culture, and change venues with each new issue (war today, communalism tomorrow) — hence, "Culture Move". The debate raged in NGO circles: Should we support this initiative or not? Should we enter an exclusive space that restricts entry and levies a cover charge? To the old guard, the word "pub" signified western-elitist-capitalist. Beer was not the same as rum or toddy, politically speaking. The younger generation of urban middle-class activists, however, was used to visiting pubs with friends, and was not apologetic about it, either. "Why not take the anti-US anti-war message to a new audience?" they asked. "Why keep preaching to the converted?"
Arguments flew, and the discussion seesawed. Will the pub decide the programme? No, no, we will set the agenda since we'll be on the organising committee. How can you perform if you feel unwelcome in those surroundings? Let's take it as a challenge. Let's see how geeks and yuppies react to something anti-American. That is, if they react at all. What do they mean by alternative music? What is alternative in the Indian context? "Asian Underground means nothing to me," said a young woman. "I know this sounds funny, but to me alternative music is Indian music." Touché. Many like her would indeed be more familiar with mainstream Western pop than with songs in the mother tongue.
The evening of May 1 witnessed a bunch of stragglers staring uncertainly at an impregnable door that looked as though it could stand up to a battering ram. Nobody was quite sure what was going to happen and when. The flyers had talked of jazz poetry and Afro-Caribbean music. No Coke or Pepsi would be served. It was supposed to start at six-thirty, wasn't it? Fresh announcements said seven-thirty, then eight. There'll be a film screening, said someone. A man in a maroon T-shirt who'd just heard that there would be protest songs, said, "I wish I'd known. I would have brought along my Pete Seeger tapes." Hello uncle, wrong generation...
It is 8 p.m.. Time to enter, paying Rs. 25 if you're a student and twice that if you're not. The name of the pub is stamped in purple on your forearm, like a "Paid" seal on a shopping bill. The all-black interior is relieved by patches of strategic lighting. Newspaper sheets are wrapped around pillars and more sheets pasted in rectangles on which slogans have been spray-painted in red. The wall along the stairway displays laminated posters visible only to those who stick their faces two inches close. Some show malnourished or wounded Iraqi children.
Loud, taped music begins. Computer-generated images are projected, some matching the lyrics. "Murder, blood on your hands" in tune with photos of George Bush and Narendra Modi. A caricature of Bush with the blurb: "The biggest weapon of mass destruction". World music. A melodious Algerian song. Bob Marley sings of love and there's an invitation to the dance floor. Among the four or five who respond is a Greenpeace activist from Jharkhand who's learning steps from a Afro-American woman doing the jive. Young firebrands from National Law School and the Narmada Bachao Andolan, gay rights activists — is this just old wine in a new bottle? There are students here, though, who haven't yet been "converted".
A film-maker carries a mug of beer to his table. The prices appeal to the socialist in him; he approvingly lists out rates to a journalist friend. Four beers appear on a table at which sits a trade union leader, analysing the political implications of the moves adopted by the European nations against U.K. and U.S. hegemony. A rare word, for this pub: "hegemony". A man who has landed from a small town in Kerala walks in, and immediately wants to run back out. "I've only seen this sort of thing in Western films," he says, bug-eyed. "What kind of anti-war protest is this?" A women's rights activist tells him, "You won't get back your Rs. 50. Stay on for a while. Paisa vasool."
Pink lights come on and the first live performer renders "What's Up?" by Four Non-Blondes, trying to imitate Linda Perry's gritty voice. Question: if Perry was featured on MTV, doesn't that make her mainstream? More pop, followed at last by original compositions. "The world is my city," sings the woman who was jiving earlier. She announces that she's an American national. "I'm ashamed to be the citizen of a fascist country," she says to applause. Her next number is a Kannada anti-war song that is often heard at peace rallies. The guitarist who has accompanied her sings his own song, questioning the narrow desires of young people with his provocative "I Want My Rock 'n' Roll".
Two members of Thermal & A Quarter entertain professionally for half an hour. It's a hard act to follow for the woman who sings Sufi music. The crowd livens up for the finale at 11 p.m. when the Jharkhandi activist belts out a Rajasthani folk song. As recorded Asian Underground plays, people begin to disperse, clutching pamphlets titled "Boycott US and UK Campaign" that list goods to be shunned.
Not much of an anti-war night. No passivists were converted.
But there were some new young faces that just might appear at the next street corner demonstration.
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