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March 28, 1998
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Joshi refuses to be Thackeray's scapegoatThere is nothing strange about the running feud between Maharashtra Chief Minister Manohar Joshi and his "father-like" figure and Shiv Sena chief Bal Thackeray. If there is anything strange about the unsavoury but common sight of two adults fighting in public, it is that it has taken so long for the differences to come to the fore. Ever since the Lok Sabha results came in, and the Shiv Sena realised that its leader's vote-catching ability did not match his rhetoric at least this time, the feud was always on the cards. Its underlying rationale is very simple: Bal Thackeray does not buy the theory that the party put in a terrible performance because of his waning magic. Likewise, Chief Minister Joshi is unable to believe that it was an anti-incumbency vote in the state. The truth, as always, must be somewhere in between these two extreme views, but no one has the time to look for it, at least not yet. In fact, Joshi stole a march over his party chief by promptly putting in his resignation the minute it was clear that the Sena had been done in by Sharad Pawar's heady mix of the Congress, Dalit and Muslim votebanks. Perhaps not realising what lay behind the move -- or despite it -- Thackeray dismissed his offer, and reposed faith in a man who he had chosen over Chhagan Bhujbal years ago to head his party in the state assembly at a time when it was just beginning its march towards Mantralaya, the state headquarters. This was nothing but a pre-emptive strike on Joshi's part. In retrospect, the chief minister realised that it would be only a question of time before Thackeray bayed for his blood, and by not waiting till he was shown the door, neutralised Thackeray's potential attack on him. Thus, when Thackeray woke up to the fact that his rank and file was deeply disturbed over his party's showing in the Lok Sabha, he chose to address them directly through his newspaper and indicated where he thought the buck should stop. But thanks to Joshi's earlier initiative, the question that sprang in the cadre's mind was not that the chief minister had to go, but why didn't Thackeray accept Joshi's resignation if he really thought the state administration was inept when the chief minister had offered it to him. Joshi, of course, knows that he has only bought time, and that in any clash with the man who not only elevated him to the chief ministership but also who is the only vote-catcher in his party, it is his head that will roll. There is no earthly chance of him ever challenging Thackeray for the party mantle and getting it. But what he has done, is to carry out certain manouevres that will possibly make him exit with his dignity intact. Interestingly, Thackeray's predicament highlights the fact that things are very different when you are in the Opposition from what they are when you are in power. To a certain extent, it is easier to handle a crisis when you are out of power, for the stakes are far far lower. Power, thus, may not only corrupt absolutely, but it also alters perspectives and perceptions. Five years, for instance, if the Sena had put in the same performance as it did in the 1998 election, at a time when it was not in power in the state, at a time when it had not swept the previous parliamentary elections, at a time when it had not won a large number of the local bodies elections, the handful of Lok Sabha seats it won would have actually been termed a decent performance by an out-of-power party. Now, what with the party having been on a roll for the last few years, Thackeray has forgotten one of the most elementary lessons in politics: that the honeymoon between the electorate and the winning party lasts even less than it does in actual matrimony. The seven-year itch here begins years before it happens in real life. Since this is the first time that Thackeray's party has been in power, he has not learnt to handle setbacks properly. I daresay it will come with time, but that is one element that is not available in plenty. Thackeray clearly believes in his own winnability, or to coin a word just for him, he believes in his own unlosability. He is not entirely at fault, since if you look at his party's career graph it has been on an upswing for the last few years. Like in gambling, in politics too winning becomes a habit, so that when the law of averages catches up you tend to blame everything else for your debacle. This not to detract from his mass appeal, which is still substantial. In fact, if at all anyone match Sharad Pawar's larger-than-life image in Maharashtra, it is Bal Thackeray. But despite this charisma, what has caused Thackeray heartburn is that he has not read his party's victory well. If he had, he would have realised that its good run owed as much to his appeal, as to the fact that the votes against his party were divided between various parties. Having spent more years in the hurly-burly of politics, Sharad Pawar realised that the Sena's victory was hollow, and its Achilles heel lay in a combined opposition. To achieve this, he had to swallow one great deal of pride, which he set out to do and tied up with the Dalit- and Muslim-specific parties. What Pawar has shown is that the combination of those ranged against Thackeray and his government was larger in number than those who supported the latter, thus giving the lie to the Sena chief's popularity. Of course, to a certain extent, the voter was also swayed by the inane administration provided by the Sena and its ally in the state, and it is the extent of this factor that Thackeray and Joshi are currently squabbling over. Again, having indicated that he held the 'remote control' to the state government, Thackeray cannot abdicate his responsibility for its messy performance. At least Joshi has indicated clearly that since the praise was not his in the first place, neither can the blame be his.
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