The paranoia of tyranny: A mashup fable
(Previously unpublished, 2016)
It all began innocuously enough. Daughter of a Prime Minister, she was sure of her promised inheritance at an early age. She never understood the criticisms against political dynasties. After all, if tycoons bequeath financial empires to their progeny why can’t leaders bequeath nations to their offspring? Who better qualified than those who have watched and learned from the masters themselves?
She was unhurried, content to rise through the ranks, albeit at a miraculously fast pace, till the day of her ascension to the throne of Prime Ministership herself. At first, everything went on as it always has, since her party had always been in power. Unused to taking advice, she failed to see that the world was changing around her. Her two weaknesses-her husband and her children, carried on with their privileged lives which had denied them nothing.
Funded by a culture of corruption and sycophancy born out of uninterrupted power, she failed to see the anger of her subjects (what else to call them?) at their ostentatious flaunting of their wealth. All around her though, the popular support she and her party had taken for granted was crumbling. The more properties in New York her children bought, the more Monaco yacht parties her husband attended, the worse off people felt their lives were getting.
The press, supine for so long, sensing the people’s anger starting exposing tales of massive corruption engulfing herself and her family. The police and judiciary grew a backbone. Investigations were launched. The opposition found its voice. Her fall from power seemed imminent.
Enter tyranny. A tight inner coterie was formed and everybody else who had dared oppose her was purged. Midnight calls from the police and summary arrests of all dissenters were the order of the day. Media was slapped into submission under threats of arrest and worse, detention without trial was introduced, and she had absolute power in her hands. Enough of democracy.
For a while things went as planned. Her family returned to its boastful jet set lifestyle, and the sycophants proliferated like never before. At every turn, there were people calling her the saviour of the country and crowds thronged her every appearance. Enter paranoia. Were her loyalists really loyal or were they planning a coup against her? Why were people still talking about her deputy rather than her? Were the people who came to express their love for her genuine or merely paid by those wanting favours?
She consulted more and more with the family witch doctor, instead of professionals for advice. Another purge ensued and more members of her inner circle were sacked. More activists and opposition figures were thrown into jail. Press conferences were banned and only official handouts could be published or broadcasted. The message was clear. Only unquestioned obedience to her every diktat would do.
Schools, colleges, government and private sector institutions alike had to acclaim her to the skies regularly and express marvel at the wonders she was working for the benefit of the people. The nation fell into silence. Since she was now the supreme deity, even places of worship had to sing her praises.
The only noise was that of her sycophants cheering the latest excesses of her family, whether skimming a percentage of every government contract or regular purchases of the world’s most expensive shoes, bags or aircraft. In the face of her genius in leading the country and the sweat and toil she put into the task, a few baubles and a billion here and there were only fair.
Despite her utter and complete victory though, she felt ill at ease. She just could not shake the paranoia. As if a dark shadow was looming over her and a terrible end was near. As if the whole world was plotting her downfall. She was right. It might take a week or a decade, but she was right.
What she, and so many other despots and tyrants before and after her failed to see was that the Paranoia of Tyranny had united the whole nation against her. She had given everybody the same person to focus all their anger and grievances over. Ruling party and opposition, left leaning and rightist intellectuals, rich and poor, old and young were equally appalled at where she had led the country to.
Of course they were still silent, but waiting for their opportunity. Her complete victory also carried the seeds of her utter defeat. The future was bleak. Somebody driven to desperation could assassinate her or her family. A new figure could emerge around whom popular anger could coalesce and people power could drive her and her family into prison or exile.
She could be lulled into a sense of complacency and believe all that her sycophants told her about how loved she really was and how there was no opposition left to challenge her and call for an election. Of course she would lose massively, as the quality of the opposition would not matter given the revulsion the country held her in. And then again, jail or exile was the future.
There was one other, revolutionary choice, almost never taken, but always available. She could confess and take her punishment. But like almost all others in her position, that was impossible. A life filled with what the Mahatma called the seven social sins could not be turned around at this late stage. Let the chips fall where they may.
“Seven social sins: politics without principles, wealth without work, pleasure without conscience, knowledge without character, commerce without morality, science without humanity, and worship without sacrifice.” - Mahatma Gandhi
It all began innocuously enough. Daughter of a Prime Minister, she was sure of her promised inheritance at an early age. She never understood the criticisms against political dynasties. After all, if tycoons bequeath financial empires to their progeny why can’t leaders bequeath nations to their offspring? Who better qualified than those who have watched and learned from the masters themselves?
She was unhurried, content to rise through the ranks, albeit at a miraculously fast pace, till the day of her ascension to the throne of Prime Ministership herself. At first, everything went on as it always has, since her party had always been in power. Unused to taking advice, she failed to see that the world was changing around her. Her two weaknesses-her husband and her children, carried on with their privileged lives which had denied them nothing.
Funded by a culture of corruption and sycophancy born out of uninterrupted power, she failed to see the anger of her subjects (what else to call them?) at their ostentatious flaunting of their wealth. All around her though, the popular support she and her party had taken for granted was crumbling. The more properties in New York her children bought, the more Monaco yacht parties her husband attended, the worse off people felt their lives were getting.
The press, supine for so long, sensing the people’s anger starting exposing tales of massive corruption engulfing herself and her family. The police and judiciary grew a backbone. Investigations were launched. The opposition found its voice. Her fall from power seemed imminent.
Enter tyranny. A tight inner coterie was formed and everybody else who had dared oppose her was purged. Midnight calls from the police and summary arrests of all dissenters were the order of the day. Media was slapped into submission under threats of arrest and worse, detention without trial was introduced, and she had absolute power in her hands. Enough of democracy.
For a while things went as planned. Her family returned to its boastful jet set lifestyle, and the sycophants proliferated like never before. At every turn, there were people calling her the saviour of the country and crowds thronged her every appearance. Enter paranoia. Were her loyalists really loyal or were they planning a coup against her? Why were people still talking about her deputy rather than her? Were the people who came to express their love for her genuine or merely paid by those wanting favours?
She consulted more and more with the family witch doctor, instead of professionals for advice. Another purge ensued and more members of her inner circle were sacked. More activists and opposition figures were thrown into jail. Press conferences were banned and only official handouts could be published or broadcasted. The message was clear. Only unquestioned obedience to her every diktat would do.
Schools, colleges, government and private sector institutions alike had to acclaim her to the skies regularly and express marvel at the wonders she was working for the benefit of the people. The nation fell into silence. Since she was now the supreme deity, even places of worship had to sing her praises.
The only noise was that of her sycophants cheering the latest excesses of her family, whether skimming a percentage of every government contract or regular purchases of the world’s most expensive shoes, bags or aircraft. In the face of her genius in leading the country and the sweat and toil she put into the task, a few baubles and a billion here and there were only fair.
Despite her utter and complete victory though, she felt ill at ease. She just could not shake the paranoia. As if a dark shadow was looming over her and a terrible end was near. As if the whole world was plotting her downfall. She was right. It might take a week or a decade, but she was right.
What she, and so many other despots and tyrants before and after her failed to see was that the Paranoia of Tyranny had united the whole nation against her. She had given everybody the same person to focus all their anger and grievances over. Ruling party and opposition, left leaning and rightist intellectuals, rich and poor, old and young were equally appalled at where she had led the country to.
Of course they were still silent, but waiting for their opportunity. Her complete victory also carried the seeds of her utter defeat. The future was bleak. Somebody driven to desperation could assassinate her or her family. A new figure could emerge around whom popular anger could coalesce and people power could drive her and her family into prison or exile.
She could be lulled into a sense of complacency and believe all that her sycophants told her about how loved she really was and how there was no opposition left to challenge her and call for an election. Of course she would lose massively, as the quality of the opposition would not matter given the revulsion the country held her in. And then again, jail or exile was the future.
There was one other, revolutionary choice, almost never taken, but always available. She could confess and take her punishment. But like almost all others in her position, that was impossible. A life filled with what the Mahatma called the seven social sins could not be turned around at this late stage. Let the chips fall where they may.
“Seven social sins: politics without principles, wealth without work, pleasure without conscience, knowledge without character, commerce without morality, science without humanity, and worship without sacrifice.” - Mahatma Gandhi
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