Skip to main content

Historical Distortions




18th century French naturalist the Comte de Buffon wrote that the people of America had small and feeble sex organs so much so the men living there had “no ardour for the female.”  He wrote that and much more in his much-esteemed book Histoire Naturelle.  America was a land where the water was stagnant, the soil unproductive, and the animals without size or vigour, their constitutions weakened by the noxious vapours that rose from its rotting swamps and sunless forests.  The environment sapped the vitality of even the native Indians who had “no beard or body hair.”

Many writers embraced Buffon’s views and took them to more readers.  One popular Dutch writer added that the American males lacked vitality so much that “they had milk in their breasts.”  The views found their way to many European books until almost the end of the 19th century.

People are eager to believe the written word.  It’s even more so when the text is something that belittles others.  There are many people and organisations in today’s India who make use of this strategy very effectively especially through the social media and networks.  A lot of misinformation and disinformation are being spread.  There are even government agencies which are engaged in such activities. 

Fake news and morphed pictures are made use of for creating religious tension in many places.  Inane ideas (e.g. the cow exhales oxygen) are propagated as sacrosanct.  History textbooks in schools are being rewritten.  Heroes of the freedom struggle become villains and vice versa.  Roads and buildings are renamed, some of them rather viciously.  Hatred is being generated wherever possible by distorting history and news. 

The process is not going to take the nation very far.  But it seems the perpetrators have a clear vision.  They want to roil the waters so that they can rule the roost.  However, history teaches us the lesson that all those who made use of this strategy in the past ended up learning bitter lessons and paying heavy prices. 

It is up to the BJP and its leaders to decide how far they want to take this game.



Comments

  1. They cannot destroy us. Only fools, fools with hatred, can think of destroying the strength in diversity, the beauty in amalgation of different faiths, the ease of space present amidst the billions.

    It is a phase, a very dangerous phase. We might have to face it, but with unity! Is it possible?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It is that possibility that I'm exploring. Life goes on because there's goodness too. Maybe this is how the process is: the evil keeps mounting and reaches a climax before the need for goodness becomes clear to people.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Sanjay and other loyalists

AI-generated illustration Some people, especially those in politics, behave as if they are too great to have any contact with the ordinary folk. And they can get on with whoever comes to power on top irrespective of their ideologies and principles. Sanjay was one such person. He occupied some high places in Sawan school [see previous posts, especially P and Q ] merely because he knew how to play his cards more dexterously than ordinary politicians. Whoever came as principal, Sanjay would be there in the elite circle. He seemed to hold most people in contempt. His respect was reserved for the gentry. I belonged to the margins of Sawan society, in Sanjay’s assessment. So we hardly talked to each other. Looking back, I find it quite ludicrous to realise that Sanjay and I lived on the same campus 24x7 for a decade and a half without ever talking to each other except for official purposes.      Towards the end of our coexistence, Sawan had become a veritable hell. Power supply to the

Thomas the Saint

AI-generated image His full name was Thomas Augustine. He was a Catholic priest. I knew him for a rather short period of my life. When I lived one whole year in the same institution with him, I was just 15 years old. I was a trainee for priesthood and he was many years my senior. We both lived in Don Bosco school and seminary at a place called Tirupattur in Tamil Nadu. He was in charge of a group of boys like me. Thomas had little to do with me directly as I was under the care of another in-charge. But his self-effacing ways and angelic smile drew me to him. He was a living saint all the years I knew him later. When he became a priest and was in charge of a section of a Don Bosco institution in Kochi, I met him again and his ways hadn’t changed an iota. You’d think he was a reincarnation of Jesus if you met him personally. You won’t be able to meet him anymore. He passed away a few years ago. One of the persons whom I won’t ever forget, can’t forget as long as the neurons continu

William and the autumn of life

William and I were together only for one year, but our friendship has grown stronger year after year. The duration of that friendship is going to hit half a century. In the meanwhile both he and I changed many places. William was in Kerala when I was in Shillong. He was in Ireland when I was in Delhi. Now I am in Kerala where William is planning to migrate back. We were both novices of a religious congregation for one year at Kotagiri in Tamil Nadu. He was older than me by a few years and far more mature too. But we shared a cordial rapport which kept us in touch though we went in unexpected directions later. William’s conversations had the same pattern back then and now too. I’d call it Socratic. He questions a lot of things that you say with the intention of getting to the depth of the matter. The last conversation I had with him was when I decided to stop teaching. I mention this as an example of my conversations with William. “You are a good teacher. Why do you want to stop

Uriel the gargoyle-maker

Uriel was a multifaceted personality. He could stab with words, sting like Mike Tyson, and distort reality charmingly with the precision of a gifted cartoonist. He was sedate now and passionate the next moment. He could don the mantle of a carpenter, a plumber, or a mechanic, as situation demanded. He ran a school in Shillong in those days when I was there. That’s how I landed in the magic circle of his friendship. He made me a gargoyle. Gradually. When the refined side of human civilisation shaped magnificent castles and cathedrals, the darker side of the same homo sapiens gave birth to gargoyles. These grotesque shapes were erected on those beautiful works of architecture as if to prove that there is no human genius without a dash of perversion. In many parts of India, some such repulsive shape is placed in a prominent place of great edifices with the intention of warding off evil or, more commonly, the evil eye. I was Uriel’s gargoyle for warding off the evil eye from his sc