In a development that has sent tremors through the chai stalls of Delhi and the gin palaces of Westminster, the United Kingdom has gallantly offered to ‘support democratic transitions’ in India. This, mere hours after whispers emerged that India’s most powerful female politician, a woman who has made a career of being the only functioning bulldozer in a field of ornamental fountains, is losing control of her own party. The timing, as they say in the more cynical corners of Fleet Street, is either a magnificent coincidence or a spectacularly clumsy bit of foreign policy.
Let us parse this with the surgical precision of a man who has had three gins before breakfast. The UK, a country that is currently trying to remember which way is up after a decade of self-inflicted political chaos, has decided that India’s internal democratic mechanisms need a gentle nudge from the former colonial masters. It is like an arsonist offering fire extinguisher lessons while his own house burns down. The irony is so thick you could spread it on a crumpet.
The politician in question, a figure of such formidable presence that even her own party members reportedly check their shoelaces before entering a room, is now staring at a mutiny. Her party, once a disciplined phalanx of loyalists, is now a fractious collection of ambitious men who have suddenly discovered principles. The murmurs of a leadership challenge have become a roar, and the UK has chosen this very moment to announce its commitment to ‘democratic values’ in India. One might almost think they have a preferred outcome in mind.
But let us not be churlish. The British government, in its infinite wisdom, believes that democracy is something that can be exported like a fine single malt. They have forgotten that democracy, like gin, requires careful distillation and a respect for local ingredients. You cannot simply pour it over a country’s constitution and expect it to taste the same. India’s democracy is a chaotic, vibrant, sometimes violent festival of opinions. It is not a tea party in Tunbridge Wells.
The timing of this intervention is so exquisitely awful that it borders on performance art. It suggests that the UK is either breathtakingly naive or cynically opportunistic. Perhaps both. The Foreign Office, a department staffed by people who believe that sending a strongly worded memo can solve anything, has issued a statement that reads like a parody of diplomatic language. It talks about ‘supporting democratic institutions’ and ‘upholding the rule of law’, while presumably ignoring that the UK’s own rule of law has been bent, twisted, and occasionally set on fire in recent years.
The real question is: what does the UK hope to achieve? Do they genuinely believe that a few carefully worded telegrams will cause the Indian political landscape to reshape itself according to British preferences? Or is this a desperate attempt to remain relevant in a world where Britain’s place is increasingly that of a well-dressed man wandering through a party he wasn’t invited to?
Meanwhile, the formidable politician in question is not taking this lying down. Sources close to her (and they are always close, because she demands proximity) say she views this as a personal betrayal. She is reportedly preparing a response that will involve a combination of sheer willpower and the strategic deployment of state machinery. If history is any guide, she will emerge from this crisis with her core support intact, while her challengers will find themselves shuffled off to obscure ministries or, in extreme cases, to the back benches of the opposition.
The UK’s intervention, if it can be called that, will likely be ignored by everyone except the chattering classes on Twitter. But it does set a precedent. It says that Britain is willing to meddle in the internal affairs of a sovereign nation when it sees a political opportunity. This is not diplomatic finesse. This is a man with a shotgun standing in a glass house, complaining about the noise.
In the end, India will sort out its own mess, as it always has. The UK will go back to worrying about Brexit or the next cheese shortage or whatever existential crisis is currently gripping the nation. And the rest of us will be left to marvel at the sheer audacity of a country that, having lost an empire, spends its time trying to run the affairs of those who won it back. Cheers.
