I accuse Siddharth Varadarajan of sentimentality. I accuse the very fine academic-journalist of non-reason.

The Founding Editor of The Wire published ‘J’Accuse … No. I Confess’ on October 21. The title includes a clever reference to a historic letter written in 1898. The open letter addressed to the then French President was merciless at the anti-Semitism of the government at that time. Emile Zola, the author, had to flee for the enterprise, but let’s leave commentary on the invocation of that letter for later and examine the facts of the rhetorical confession first.

Varadarajan acknowledges that he is “angry” and “upset”, like many others, at the belligerence of the current government and the supplication of the nationalist media. Yet it was an interview of the Information and Broadcasting Minister, M Venkaiah Naidu, that prompted him to “confess”. Unfortunately, feeling has got the better of Varadarajan this time. The Senior Fellow at the private Shiv Nadar University is one of the few academic-journalists in India. His recent writings have been nothing short of brilliant. Be it initial doubts about surgical strikes or be it the vital coup against NDTV, Varadarajan has demonstrated mastery of astuteness and courage.

However his latest piece is frustrating because he has abandoned objectivity as the mainstay of his craft. Instead, Varadarajan has succumbed to ‘distress’ – a defence which has regrettably come to justify dereliction of journalistic ethics on either side of the apparent binary in politics.

So, here is what catalysed the sentimental response from the former editor of The Hindu. Naidu said in an interview, “Public opinion in India is strongly against Pakistan aiding and funding terror. Everyone should keep that in mind and act accordingly, whether he is an artiste, director or producer, businessman or even a politician … It is very simple to say art has no boundaries, but countries [do] have boundaries … When a war is taking place, you have someone doing a drama with that country, that is not expected.” The comment was made amidst uncertainty over the release of Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, which has a “special appearance” by Pakistani actor, Fawad Khan.

The first sentence in Naidu’s statement applies not only to India, but also to other parts of the world. Thanks are due to the aggressive diplomacy following a series of terror attacks in India. The second sentence is callous because “act accordingly” can neither be guided by public opinion nor by the words of a union minister. It must be in adherence only to the Constitution. If public opinion instigates public action that is at variance with the Constitution, then it is the duty of the State to react in accordance to law. The record of the current government with regard to such reaction is not exactly laudatory. And that is the basis of escalating hostilities among various factions in India.

The third sentence is pragmatic and in line with the diplomatic efforts to isolate Pakistan. The union minister has left the door wide open for artistic collaboration in 196 countries. The only exception is Pakistan. And that too, as the minister has said, “… When a [covert] war is taking place”, ie not forever. The fourth sentence is again an irresponsible statement. The choice of the word “drama” to describe a disagreement does not befit a union minister. Further, Naidu does not specify the course in which the government will drive the State in case individuals adopt ways “that is not expected” but are in confirmation with the Constitution nevertheless. Will it protect the right to disagree? Or, will it allow the mob to practise lynch law? In other words, will it act as the unscarred Harvey Dent? Or, will it continue to give ground to The Jokers?

Analysed critically, Naidu’s stand is assertive on the one hand but questionable on the other. The proposal to boycott business with Pakistan has done rounds for some time. It is a non-violent method that may stir civil society against the powers-that-be in the neighbourhood. A boycott of anyone doing business with Pakistan is also a step towards fulfilling this non-violent strategic objective. And those who think Bollywood is art but not business should note what film producer Mukesh Bhat said after his meeting with the Home Ministry: “People who are being judgemental about his recent statement don’t have their money at stake. If his film doesn’t release, he will be on the streets …”.

However, does it make sense to suggest such a thaw without preparation? Would summary cancellation of business deals not adversely impact the image of India as an economic destination? Moreover, can such advice be enforced without legal enactments? Or, has the government decided to surrender procedures of the State to emotions that run high among the mob? These are complicated questions that arise in the context of the statement made by the union minister.

The rare stock of academic-journalist must engage with these laborious issues. Inexplicably however, the erudite Varadarajan has resorted to purple prose in response to Naidu.

Of the 24 paragraphs that comprise ‘J’Accuse … No. I Confess’, the first five are introductory and are not part of the confession. The next 19 paragraphs make up the confession and each starts with “I confess …” But of these 19 paragraphs, 12 paragraphs (6-13, 15-16, 18 and 22) outline personal interactions with Pakistanis in London and New York during years of relative stillness – 1982-3, 1986 and 1990. They include the rituals of comradeship such as joke, alcohol, poetry and romance. Sample these:

“I confess that as an undergraduate in London in 1983, I dined at the house of a Pakistani friend, where I met Benazir Bhutto, who was then in exile. I confess that I got drunk and asked her what her name was. She was not pleased.”

“I confess that I got together with Pakistani students to set up the South Asia Forum at the LSE. I confess that in 1985, we held a cultural function for Indians and Pakistanis where we celebrated the life of Shaheed Bhagat Singh.”

None of the above interactions is in remote contradiction to what the union minister has recommended. Naidu’s suggestion that there be restrictions upon civil society interactions between India and Pakistan contains important caveats:

(a) “Public opinion in India is strongly against Pakistan …”

(b) “… whether he is an artiste, director or producer, businessman or even a politician …”

(c) “When a war is taking place …”.

Thus, personal interaction between civilians of the two countries at global stages and during relative stillness have not been remarked upon at all. Yet these caveats have gone unheeded in the response from Varadarajan.

How do they qualify as good rhetoric then?

The remaining paragraphs (14, 17, 19-21 and 24) also allude to nothing that is inconsistent with what Naidu has suggested. Though some of them involve interactions on the other side of the border and during recent cross-border violence, most involve personal experiences. Sample these endearing reminiscences:

“I confess to attending a condolence gathering in Karachi for one of my friends who died well before his time. I confess to attending the wedding there of another friend in April 2016, after terrorists from Pakistan had attacked Pathankot.”

“I confess to laughing when a friend of mine in Karachi messaged me that his first thought when someone mentioned the recent ‘surgical strike’ was to ask why the surgeons at Liaquat Medical College had struck work.”

The union minister has certainly not advocated any restriction on personal interactions of the kind above. How do such ‘confessions’ portray the union minister as Big Brother then?

Abandonment of intellectual rigour leads to serious oversights. For instance, in the same interview, the Minister of Information and Broadcasting has said, “The media should understand what is in national interest … A journalist or a TV anchor, according to me, is basically a citizen of India. Every citizen has a responsibility to the country. Keep that in mind and do whatever you want to do, there is no restriction … no guidelines have been issued …”.

Surely, this is a far more significant statement to respond to than the one Varadarajan has picked.

Emile Zola, in ‘J’Accuse …!’, had followed the obvious method of levelling allegations. In that long letter, Zola began with facts. Those facts formed the basis on which he and much of Europe believed that Captain Alfred Dreyfus had been framed of treason because of Jewish descent. Zola accused the French government – but not before he had constructed a formidable scaffold to hold the serious accusations.

If Varadarajan has attempted to repeat history, then he has made a mockery of the logical rigour that Zola followed. In doing so, he has set a precedent for solace in maudlin prose – not only for himself, but worryingly, also for those who admire his style of thought and expression.