dna edit: Don't offend, don't express

The unofficial ban-of-sorts preventing the release of the Bollywood film, Madras Cafe, in Tamil Nadu is yet another distressing attack on artistic freedom. Pro-LTTE groups in the state had alleged that the movie portrayed the banned outfit in bad light. Despite the censor board clearing the film for release and the Madurai bench of the Madras High Court declining to stay the release of the film, the threats have cowed down exhibitors. This development comes close on the heels of a Tamil film, Thalaiva, being held up from release for nearly two weeks after a legal challenge and threats from an obscure student outfit prompted theatres to pull the film out. Unfortunately, the government to which one would look for succour is no less of an offender when it comes to playing havoc with the freedom of expression.

This was most evident in the controversies surrounding Kamal Hassan’s Vishwaroopam earlier this year after some Muslim groups objected to a few scenes. District collectors in Tamil Nadu passed orders forbidding theatre owners from screening the film citing unfounded law-and-order problems. The ease with which artistic freedom can be threatened has taken on menacing proportions for a long time now. A long list of films have fallen foul of the moral police, if not the censor board, since the Nineties. Bandit Queen, Fire, Black Friday, Jodhaa Akbar and Parzania faced bans in various places over offending communal sentiments and fears of law and order breakdown. While progressive sections of civil society and the media have stoutly defended the freedom of expression, the same cannot be said of the film industry and politicians. They have never been able to present a united front against official censorship or the lumpenism of non-state actors.

The use of censorship, with its roots in the freedom struggle, was continued post-Independence and wantonly wielded as a weapon to silence dissent. Remember Kissa Kursi Ka during the Emergency? It can be argued that the irrational exercise of censorship by the state emboldened right-wing, caste, religious and regional outfits from the late Eighties onwards to demand the banning of art and literature that suited or hurt their interests. The protests against The Satanic Verses by Muslim groups and against MF Husain’s paintings by Hindutva groups began a trend that has spilled into fatwas against music and all-girl rock bands, vandalism of nude paintings and disruptions of performances by visiting Pakistani artistes.

But cinema has been the worst hit. Those attempting to maintain their hegemony over society like the government, politicians and community leaders, fear cinema’s potential as a vehicle for propaganda and dissemination of ideas. In the 1973 award-winning Malayalam film, Nirmalyam, an oracle spits on the goddess’ idol before killing himself. Forty years later, no filmmaker can dare to shoot such a scene. As is evident, we have become a less tolerant and mindlessly angry society, that is quick to take offence. When artists and writers fear politics, their craft loses contemporary relevance. Today it is their freedom; tomorrow it could be ours that the state and non-state actors come after.