Why Indian Politicians Never Retire

Some of these images are vivid in our memory: wheelchair-bound Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam leader M Karunanidhi continuing as chief minister despite poor health and ailing with age-related issues; Deve Gowda of the Janata Dal (Secular) turns 90 this month but is busy campaigning in the ongoing Assembly elections in Karnataka; the Communist Party of India (Marxist) mostly has septuagenarians in its politburo; the Bharatiya Janata Party has managed to sideline its ageing leaders who were reluctant to retire. The list is too long to memorise, but what is crystal clear is none of the political leaders retires; they slip into oblivion because of changing political dynamics.

Contrast this to politicians across the globe. With a two-term bar in the United States, we often see retired presidents painting in their privacy or doing philanthropic life in public. Many opt to work for the United Nations or other international NGOs raising funds for issues related to the environment or public health. Some of the most charismatic leaders who became global icons, such as Nelson Mandela, chose to voluntarily give up power after his first term as the president of South Africa. He decided to spend time with family, pursue reading and catch up with his writing. None of this applies to Indian politicians. In India, once you are a politician, you die as one. It is “life as politics”, and there cannot be any transgression.

In fact, it has of late been clearly articulated that some leaders like Rahul Gandhi are ‘9-to-5’ politicians, while Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Union Home Minister Amit Shah are 24x7x365 politicians, just like our news channels. Politics cannot be a job or profession but a lifelong commitment.

The idea of commitment here seems to flow from how we understand power as something that needs to be relentlessly chased. It involves everyday planning and machinations. There is no equilibrium; Why? Perhaps it is because our institutions and ideologies do not guarantee anything; everything needs to be constructed and incessantly renovated. It is an everyday referendum, as there is way too much fragmentation to coalesce easily into a comfortable majority.

In our context, we are either lifelong politicians or “cultural” or social activists. The Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh claims to be exclusively cultural and keeps off “politics”, as in electoral or party politics. They are a cultural organisation involved in “nation building” and “character building”. Similarly, Gandhi was into politics but not power games. He eschewed formal positions. He was a “Mahatma” or conscience-keeper. It is also part of our “civilisational” ethos and varna order to separate political from the knowledge-oriented functions, which operate as the caste imagination. If you are cultural, you keep off power games, and if you are into politics, you need to deliver whatever it takes and cannot afford to act like a sage. It is for this reason that most social activists fail to become effective politicians. Not that people don’t trust but just that they don’t think they are powerful enough to deliver. Here, people prefer local bahubalis, who they align with since they can work the wheels-within-wheels system. They can be ruthless and cunning and also violent if need be. Bahubalis of Uttar Pradesh won hands down, but Irom Sharmila of Manipur, who was on a lifelong fast, got merely 200 votes in the one Assembly election she contested. Similarly, Medha Patkar is a respected social activist, but people did not easily trust her with votes. Her critique of development begins to sound politically ominous. Owing to these divisions in our subconscious, politicians in India cannot retire to become social activists or philanthropists. They have to necessarily remain politicians. The choice is to either eclipse into anonymity or continue to gain respect and call shots as a politician.

Further, most politicians, in any case, do not pursue any other talent. Very few of them write, read, paint, or follow global cultural fashion trends. There is genuinely nothing to occupy them if they choose to retire. With the current crop and discourse of anti-intellectualism, not knowing has become an additional qualification.

Having multiple interests and commitments is a suspect case of no commitment at all. In a communitarian context, it is seen as ad hoc commitment and does not represent faith or obedience. We do not easily celebrate the Renaissance man but prefer to observe it as a Bengali exceptionalism. Functional specialisation, speed and scale have also made it difficult to keep hobbies, let alone excel in multiple fields. Most of the middle class is reduced to the mundane pursuit of lifeless professionalism, and it is the same ethic that has become a yardstick in gauging the politician.

Interestingly, we are intrigued and curious about the person behind the public persona, but seem to approve of them only if they match up to the existing standards of predictability. Anything outside of this is seen to be suspect. Even the unexpected is seen as unwarranted and having crypto motives. Unlike in Europe or the United States, most industrialists and entrepreneurs are not particularly known to be great philanthropists. Most Ivy League universities in the United States began as family ventures, and it is now an acceptable norm that children would inherit only a part of the wealth of their parents. Inheritance itself has become a contested issue. The same ethic works in the context of politicians who necessarily see their power as a resource to be passed down through generations. Dynasty was not seen to be such a contested issue until the BJP made it out to be, without necessarily following suit, with many offspring of their leaders inheriting the constituencies and political legacy of their parents.

In the context of modern democracies, we need public reasoning as to why retired politicians are actually healthy for a functioning democracy. But how do we get there in a communitarian context where families are seen as fountainheads of trust and accountability? Apart from the idea that a “good life” necessarily involves diverse interests, including non-instrumental pursuits that do not give returns in socio-material terms but more intangibles like satisfaction and happiness. Bertrand Russell argued happiness lies in the pursuit of impersonal interests like hobbies. Such ethics might rub off on our collective understanding of community and power. Politics itself is an expression of collective interests, and an impersonal approach to pursuing larger interests itself needs to be the source of generating trust.

The author is an associate professor at the Centre for Political Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University. The views are personal.