New Delhi:
For the last few days, I have sat in my faculty office at The Newhouse School at Syracuse University (USA), where I teach courses in filmmaking and Indian cinema, and watched in bewilderment at the increasingly contentious political controversy erupting around the August 12 release of Prakash Jha's new film, Aarakshan. Coincidentally, the outer wall of my college building is emblazoned proudly with the First Amendment of the United State's Constitution, which guarantees the right of free speech, among other things, to every citizen of this country.
In Article 19 of its Constitution, India also guarantees its citizens the freedom of speech and expression. But that freedom is tempered for the film industry by the establishment of the Central Board of Film Certification, which must approve anything to be screened in a public theatre. What puzzles me most is that even though Aarakshan was screened for an unprecedented special panel of the Censor Board, because of the film's sensitive theme of caste-based reservation in education, and it was approved to be screened all over India with no cuts or changes, how can this now be questioned by individual politicians? Governments in different states are now banning the film, as they see fit. This seems nothing but a cynical gesture to please vote banks. Obviously, anyone now more intrigued by the film in these states will watch a pirated VCD or DVD immediately, and the producers will lose that box-office revenue.
All stories need conflict - real or created. As any artist knows, it is virtually impossible to make a "politically correct" piece of art that tackles tough issues and provokes thought, and also pleases each and every person. I know this firsthand because I have watched the esteemed African-American filmmaker, Spike Lee, continually struggle to make politically relevant films like Do The Right Thing or Malcom X, both based on the racial divide in the US. As one of the editors, I vividly recall how in the summer of 1989 when Do The Right Thing was being released, all the media attention was focused on how it would incite race riots when it was finally screened. Talking about its larger story would not have garnered as many ratings or sold as many magazines and newspapers. The frenzy over Aarakshan is similar, but it is further fueled by the constant presence of the 24-hour news cycle and the immediacy of the Internet. I teach my students, all publicity is good publicity, but as the Aarakshan controversy spins out of control, I now question that philosophy. How has all the media coverage enlightened or informed anyone? When a stalwart filmmaker such as Prakash Jha bows under pressure and agrees to make "minor" changes in his film a few hours before its release, it is a sad day for Indian freedom of speech and expression.
Over the last few years, I have spoken extensively to Prakash Jha, and 23 other notable Indian directors, for my book, Not Just Bollywood: Conversations with Indian Filmmakers, to be shortly published by Om Books International. What I have found to be so compelling about Mr. Jha is that although he inherits a feudal and patriarchal culture because of his birth in a high-caste, upper-class family in Bihar, he fearlessly exploits his proximity with this world by turning around the lens of the camera to expose and critique effectively the social injustices perpetrated by those in power. The usual norms and pretenses of society unravel through his lens, and its rough edges are laid bare for us to contemplate. Although I have not yet seen Aarakshan, given his track record over the years, it is very difficult for me to understand how any film of his could be considered objectionable by anyone who is disenfranchised in society. It is therefore very troublesome that he has given in to political reality. But he is not the first Hindi language filmmaker to do so.
India's varied self-appointed cultural police have now become increasingly aggressive and oppressive. In just the last couple of years, Shah Rukh Khan faced the wrath of the Shiv Sena for a remark about cricket right when My Name is Khan was being released. He also dropped Barber from the title of his company's release of Billu Barber because Indian nais objected. Karan Johar added a disclaimer for his company's release of Wake Up, Sid because politicians objected to Mumbai being referred to as Bombay. The list goes on. Please note that I only mention feature films here not documentaries, many of which are not even approved by the Censor Board in the first place.
Those in political power in India, and in the United States, naturally gravitate toward the intersection of politics, media, and the glitz and glamour of the film industry. Protesting a movie release seems like an easy win-win situation. Yet, the final losers are the very people who are now rigorously monitored by the thought controllers. This cultural policing must stop, or the popular cinema of India will stay trapped in its fantasy of irrelevant romantic song and dance melodrama. Cinema is a powerful art form for social change, and one or two scenes or dialogues do not a movie make. Although they may seem disturbing as part of the rising action, the cinema-savvy Indian audience knows that everything will get resolved for the greater good in the final denouement. We need to trust each other as human beings to tell stories that can help us look at the world in a new way, and we need to trust institutions such as the Censor Board to safeguard our humanity.
Or we can start calling the popular Hindi cinema or Bollywood by what now shamefully is a more appropriate name - Bullywood.
Tula Goenka is a filmmaker, social activist and professor. Her resume includes work as a film editor with several top filmmakers such as Mira Nair, Spike Lee and James Ivory during her 25 years of experience in the film and television industry.
(The views expressed by the author are personal)
In Article 19 of its Constitution, India also guarantees its citizens the freedom of speech and expression. But that freedom is tempered for the film industry by the establishment of the Central Board of Film Certification, which must approve anything to be screened in a public theatre. What puzzles me most is that even though Aarakshan was screened for an unprecedented special panel of the Censor Board, because of the film's sensitive theme of caste-based reservation in education, and it was approved to be screened all over India with no cuts or changes, how can this now be questioned by individual politicians? Governments in different states are now banning the film, as they see fit. This seems nothing but a cynical gesture to please vote banks. Obviously, anyone now more intrigued by the film in these states will watch a pirated VCD or DVD immediately, and the producers will lose that box-office revenue.
All stories need conflict - real or created. As any artist knows, it is virtually impossible to make a "politically correct" piece of art that tackles tough issues and provokes thought, and also pleases each and every person. I know this firsthand because I have watched the esteemed African-American filmmaker, Spike Lee, continually struggle to make politically relevant films like Do The Right Thing or Malcom X, both based on the racial divide in the US. As one of the editors, I vividly recall how in the summer of 1989 when Do The Right Thing was being released, all the media attention was focused on how it would incite race riots when it was finally screened. Talking about its larger story would not have garnered as many ratings or sold as many magazines and newspapers. The frenzy over Aarakshan is similar, but it is further fueled by the constant presence of the 24-hour news cycle and the immediacy of the Internet. I teach my students, all publicity is good publicity, but as the Aarakshan controversy spins out of control, I now question that philosophy. How has all the media coverage enlightened or informed anyone? When a stalwart filmmaker such as Prakash Jha bows under pressure and agrees to make "minor" changes in his film a few hours before its release, it is a sad day for Indian freedom of speech and expression.
Over the last few years, I have spoken extensively to Prakash Jha, and 23 other notable Indian directors, for my book, Not Just Bollywood: Conversations with Indian Filmmakers, to be shortly published by Om Books International. What I have found to be so compelling about Mr. Jha is that although he inherits a feudal and patriarchal culture because of his birth in a high-caste, upper-class family in Bihar, he fearlessly exploits his proximity with this world by turning around the lens of the camera to expose and critique effectively the social injustices perpetrated by those in power. The usual norms and pretenses of society unravel through his lens, and its rough edges are laid bare for us to contemplate. Although I have not yet seen Aarakshan, given his track record over the years, it is very difficult for me to understand how any film of his could be considered objectionable by anyone who is disenfranchised in society. It is therefore very troublesome that he has given in to political reality. But he is not the first Hindi language filmmaker to do so.
India's varied self-appointed cultural police have now become increasingly aggressive and oppressive. In just the last couple of years, Shah Rukh Khan faced the wrath of the Shiv Sena for a remark about cricket right when My Name is Khan was being released. He also dropped Barber from the title of his company's release of Billu Barber because Indian nais objected. Karan Johar added a disclaimer for his company's release of Wake Up, Sid because politicians objected to Mumbai being referred to as Bombay. The list goes on. Please note that I only mention feature films here not documentaries, many of which are not even approved by the Censor Board in the first place.
Those in political power in India, and in the United States, naturally gravitate toward the intersection of politics, media, and the glitz and glamour of the film industry. Protesting a movie release seems like an easy win-win situation. Yet, the final losers are the very people who are now rigorously monitored by the thought controllers. This cultural policing must stop, or the popular cinema of India will stay trapped in its fantasy of irrelevant romantic song and dance melodrama. Cinema is a powerful art form for social change, and one or two scenes or dialogues do not a movie make. Although they may seem disturbing as part of the rising action, the cinema-savvy Indian audience knows that everything will get resolved for the greater good in the final denouement. We need to trust each other as human beings to tell stories that can help us look at the world in a new way, and we need to trust institutions such as the Censor Board to safeguard our humanity.
Or we can start calling the popular Hindi cinema or Bollywood by what now shamefully is a more appropriate name - Bullywood.
Tula Goenka is a filmmaker, social activist and professor. Her resume includes work as a film editor with several top filmmakers such as Mira Nair, Spike Lee and James Ivory during her 25 years of experience in the film and television industry.
(The views expressed by the author are personal)
