There have been mistakes, there have been delays, but by and large I’m very satisfied that everything is being done and will be done.
   Agha Muhammad Yahya Khan, president, Pakistan on cyclone Bhola of 1970
   
   IN MYANMAR, the worst is yet to come. Reporters in Yangon say waves of survivors are gradually flooding in from the countryside wearing scraps of clothes or clothes taken from the dead, trembling in fear, yet too scared of their government to tell their tale. Thousands of dead stinking bodies dot the wake of destruction that cyclone Nargis left, and hundreds of thousands injured are waiting for the rescue boats that haven’t yet arrived. ‘A man lay moaning in a makeshift bed, his leg crushed and foot torn off when he got caught between two boats. “There is no help and there is nothing we can do except waiting here for him to die,” said his friend,’ reads an Associated Press report from a Thursday morning dispatch.
   As the international aid effort grinds into action, preliminary reports suggest that the Nargis death toll could well exceed 100,000. On Thursday, a top military official in Yangon was quoted in the press as saying that over 80,000 people might have perished in one isolated district alone. Doubtless many more lives will have been lost in the intervening week since Nargis made landfall, with the junta refraining from making the death toll public for the first three days, and refusing aid movement into the country until five crucial days had passed. Meanwhile, the Indian Meteorological Department has revealed that it had sent a cyclone warning to its counterparts in Yangon about the rising intensity of Nargis at least 36 hours before it made landfall. Predictably, there was no reply. It is also emerging that Senior General Than Shwe’s regime failed to issue warnings until the day before Nargis hit the Myanmar coast on May 2. Even if warnings were issued through state television and radio, how effective they were in reaching isolated coastal communities is obviously in question in a country with a press so heavily censored that the ordinary Burmese have long since stopped relying on it for information.
   The misery and loss that natural disasters bring have a universal nature — be they in prosperous countries such as the US as was the case with Hurricane Katrina, or in Bangladesh last year as was the case with cyclone Sidr. But for many Bangladeshis, the tragedy unfolding in Myanmar and the response it has drawn from its military rulers bears a chilling resemblance to the tragedy we experienced with the Bhola cyclone of 1970.
   On November 12, 1970 the Bhola cyclone made landfall in the erstwhile East Pakistan, killing an estimated half a million people, making it the most deadly tropical cyclone in recorded history. In the thana Tazmuddin alone, over 45 per cent of an estimated 350,000 people were killed. A report published on December 1, 1970, in the New York Times reveals that millions of people in the Bangladeshi coast had been completely unaware of the cyclone, even as it had developed for four days in the Bay of Bengal, gradually heading north, with the government mysteriously failing to use its early warning system to predict the storm or to issue public warnings.
   In the wake of the Bhola cyclone, General Yahya Khan, the president and chief martial law administrator of Pakistan at the time, ordered a period of national mourning. But that was the bulk of what he and his cabinet did for the survivors. For the first ten days from November 12 only one military aircraft and three crop-dusting aircrafts were assigned to handle relief operations along the devastated coast of Bangladesh. New York Times reports from that period suggest that fleets of aircraft lay idle in West Pakistan, with Karachi claiming that the Indians had refused them passage through their territory; a charge that the Indian government denied. Over a week later, Yahya Khan is reported to have commented that the use of choppers in aid distribution would be pointless as they could not carry supplies.
   Journalist Sydney Schanberg for the NYT reported that when the Indian government offered aircraft and boats from its West Bengal state to aid relief operations, Karachi rebuffed them, and ordered Indian aid to be routed through the land borders, significantly slowing the process. A week after the disaster, the Pakistani military rulers’ unwillingness to allow a smooth flow of aid reached the point that the international NGO CARE is reported to have suspended its relief efforts until the rulers in Karachi allowed it to handle its own relief operations. By the time it dawned on General Yahya Khan that aid efforts were faltering, ten days after the cyclone had made landfall, hundreds of thousands who had survived the 20-foot-high waves had perished. ‘There have been mistakes, there have been delays, but by and large I’m very satisfied that everything is being done and will be done,’ Yahya Khan told the NYT on November 22. Four months on, about $7.5 million earmarked by the US Congress for cyclone rehabilitation had still not been handed over because of the Pakistani government’s failure to come up with a plan on how it would be distributed.
   Thirty-eight years on, Bangladesh – as an independent country – has come a long way in its cyclone preparedness efforts. But this comparison between the 1970s Bangladesh and the present-day Myanmar is loaded with a political significance that is difficult to ignore. This significance is better explained by another comparison.
   Cyclone Nargis was a category 4 tropical cyclone, implying it was of the similar intensity to cyclone Sidr which hit Bangladesh last year. But while Sidr killed just under 3,500 people, Nargis has claimed over 100,000 lives, with fears that this figure could rise still higher. It certainly is possible that Bangladesh’s vulnerability to cyclones over the decades has meant that the coast has far more cyclone shelters than Myanmar does. But it would be a fantastic claim to suggest that Bangladesh has enough cyclone shelters to even accommodate 10 per cent of its total coastal population. In fact, the resource-rich Myanmar with a per capita GDP of $1,691 (over triple of that in Bangladesh) would be much more likely to have better-equipped cyclone shelters. Reports from the Bangladeshi coast have revealed, since Sidr, that many families returned to their homes after failing to find space in cyclone shelters on the night that Sidr made landfall. Also, given that Bangladesh is almost a quarter the size of Myanmar but houses triple its population, the numbers of people who would be vulnerable to a cyclone threat would be astronomically higher here. By this rationale, the Sidr death toll in Bangladesh should have been significantly higher than Myanmar’s from Nargis. And yet it is starkly the opposite. At the heart of this difference in the death toll is not cyclone preparedness or infrastructure, but governance. In fact, even better put (since Bangladesh is currently being ruled by an unelected regime) that difference in the death toll is a fruit of fifteen years of an albeit faltering democracy in Bangladesh.
   Even as millions of coastal communities in Myanmar remained unaware of the approaching Nargis, it had already been on the front pages of Bangladesh’s daily newspapers and on the electronic media for a week before it made landfall. For a while there was a strong possibility that it would hit Bangladesh’s coast in and around Teknaf and local communities were aware of this threat and had started preparing for it. As easy as it is to dismiss the importance of a free press, this is one of the principal aspects of even a badly functioning democracy that autocratic regimes (no matter how well-intentioned) have rarely been able to effectively replace. Myanmar’s people have suffered this terrible tragedy in a large part because of the lack of a free national media, reined in and destroyed decades ago by the Myanmar junta.
   As economist Amartya Sen has noted using the example of famines, in his book Development as Freedom, ‘Famines have occurred in ancient kingdoms and contemporary authoritarian societies, in primitive tribal communities, and in modern technocratic dictatorships… But they have never materialised in any country that is independent, that goes to elections regularly, that has opposition parties to voice criticism and that permits newspapers to report freely and question the wisdom of government policies without extensive censorship. It is certainly true that there has never been a famine in a functioning multiparty democracy’.
   For Bangladesh, for Myanmar, and for most other countries, Sen’s empirical conclusion could very well be extrapolated to explain disaster response by governments of the day. Could Nargis have claimed so many lives on May 2, had Myanmar had a multiparty democracy with a government that would have to suffer the consequences in the next elections? Would the government have dragged its feet on cyclone warnings to vulnerable communities, risking opposition protests and criticism from a free press? Could the worst elected government, even nominally accountable to its people, if only through five-yearly elections, have waited three days before it announced an unfolding humanitarian disaster, and five days before it allowed aid and rescue operations to start?
   Politician- and democracy-bashing as a sport is now at an all-time high in popularity in Bangladesh, especially among a class that has most enjoyed the fruits of the abuses of power and corruption of the elected regimes of the past. As Sen put it, ‘Famines kill millions of people in different countries of the world, but they don’t kill the rulers. The kings and the presidents, the bureaucrats and the bosses, the military leaders and the commanders never are famine victims. And if there are no elections, no opposition parties, no scope for uncensored public criticism, then those in authority don’t have to suffer the political consequences of their failure to prevent famines. Democracy, on the other hand, would spread the penalty of famines to the ruling groups and political leaders as well.’
   The Chinese famines of 1958-61 killed, it is estimated, close to thirty million people. Chairman Mao’s regime which had initiated its ‘Great Leap Forward’ had banned opposition parties and free press in the interest of economic development. Even as the famine raged through the countryside, bureaucrats eager to please their bosses in Beijing and party officials ‘competing for credit’ depicted rosy pictures of their localities in their reports to the government. So much so that as the famine peaked, Beijing was under the impression that China had 100 million more metric tons of grain than it actually did. In 1962, when the famine was over, Chairman Mao made the following observations to his cadre:
   ‘Without democracy you have no understanding of what is happening down below; the situation will be unclear; you will be unable to collect sufficient opinions from all sides; there can be no communication from top and bottom; top level organs of leadership will rely on one-sided and incorrect material to decide issues, thus you will find it difficult to avoid being subjectivist.’
   In Bangladesh, we are currently witnessing what appears to be a project to discredit democracy, depoliticise society, and censor the free press. While there have been plenty of instances where the acrimonious power politics of the two major political parties seemed to mire the country in inertia, this cannot be a rationale for discrediting democratic politics. In fact, institutions like a vibrant oppositional politics and a free press are the fruits of the democratic system which have accrued tremendous gains in terms of government accountability in disaster response, for example. The warning signs are there, though, in the poor way the incumbents handled the floods of 2007, as well as their unwillingness to declare a national disaster in the aftermath of cyclone Sidr. We should be extremely wary of allowing any government to destroy these powerful institutions and spaces for public criticism that we have earned since the mass uprising that restored democracy in 1990.
   mahtabhaider@gmail.com

PRESIDENT Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s stopover in New Delhi was important in its symbolism. In this instance, symbolism was as important as substance because India sought to make the point that it was not guided solely by the United States’ interests and preferences in dealing with its extended neighbourhood.
   It was an essential exercise. Given the run-up to US Congress passing the Hyde Act linking the Indo-US nuclear deal with how New Delhi should comport itself towards Iran, the Manmohan Singh government had to set out a marker. Twice India had voted against Iran at the International Atomic Energy Agency to propitiate America, calling into question its foreign policy orientation.
   Thus India was keen to send a signal that it had not quite capitulated to the US policies and interests, first by slapping America on the wrist for advising it on how to deal with Iran and then by reviving its interest in the Iran-Pakistan-India gas pipeline in the days leading to President Ahmadinejad’s visit.
   At the same time, New Delhi also signed on the alternative Turkmenistan-India pipeline project blessed by the United States.
   India’s revived interest in the Iran pipeline arises out of the country’s dire need for energy.
   Even as New Delhi has set about belatedly scouring the African and Latin American continents for energy sources, a link with Iran promises more immediate supplies, despite American frowns. But the old agreement for the supply of bottled gas over a 25-year period lies moribund because Iran wants a radical renegotiation of the prices agreed upon in view of the escalation of gas and oil prices.
   Thanks to the still problematic Indo-US nuclear deal and the language of the Hyde Act, relations with Iran have become a touchstone of Indian foreign policy. Clearly, the votes against Iran were a mistake because India allowed itself to be influenced by Washington. America’s current ‘bad boy’ is Iran and the US establishment’s paranoiac obsession with one country, egged on by Israel’s own interests, compels it to commandeer as many countries in its cause as it can.
   India bent twice – in September 2005 and February 2006 – and Prime Minister Manmohan Singh declared that New Delhi was against the emergence of another nuclear weapons power in the region. Tehran’s contention, of course, is that it is interested only in peaceful uses of nuclear energy and was well within its right to enrich uranium under the Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty. The West’s riposte is that it does not trust Tehran, given its past conduct, and wants a suspension of enrichment activities while talks sort out the problem, a demand backed by a Security Council resolution.
   Even as India seeks to tiptoe its way through an arena full of landmines, it is well to seek greater clarity in the Indian-Iranian relationship. In times of crisis, New Delhi falls back on the civilisational links between the two countries. Beyond such links are the questions of present-day geopolitics. India has cooperated with Iran on Afghanistan in the past and is involved in building new road and rail links between Iran and Central Asia, also with a view to securing a new route for Indian commerce with the region.
   India’s interests diverge from America’s in many respects. New Delhi accepts Iran’s right to enrich uranium while advising it to satisfy the IAEA on its nuclear programmes.
   It is not in this country’s interest to isolate Iran, as is Washington’s intention, nor to secure a compact with neighbouring Sunni states to gang up against a Shia Iran.
   Admittedly, Iran is passing through a transition phase, which requires more understanding than invective.
   India is obviously wary of any attempt by radical elements in Iran to spread their ideology among Indian Shias. Nor does Tehran’s approach to Israel, symbolised by the overblown rhetoric of President Ahmadinejad, find favour in New Delhi. But New Delhi remains conscious of the fact that while America and others might not like Iran’s ideology, it is one of the few states in the region practising democracy, however hemmed in it might be.
   Obviously, India has learned a few lessons from its over-eagerness to please the United States. No one can quarrel with the thesis that with the end of the Cold War and the demise of the Soviet Union, India has to chart a new course by broadening its relations and viewing the US as a potential friend, if not an ally.
   Indeed, the new levels and depth of relations between the two countries are striking. It is also a given that there is an element of “give and take” in dealing with key countries. On Iran, India has faltered on how much it was willing to give.
   If President Ahmadinejad’s fleeting visit represents a course correction in Indian foreign policy, it is to be welcomed.
   This is quite apart from what the Left parties’ attitude might be; it is a question of credibility in India’s approach to the emerging world order.
   It is not in India’s interest to be known around the world as an American camp follower and Indian policymakers must make a distinction between striking a compromise and giving the impression of dancing to the American tune.
   The outcome of the gas pipeline deal remains very much in question. The final price and the price escalation clause Tehran wants to insert as well as the question of financing need to be sorted out. And New Delhi’s experience with the 25-year deal has been far from happy. Besides, New Delhi will need an assurance of continued supply, despite possible political differences that might arise.
   Iran is, in a sense, in the centre of a region that could explode at any time. The next US President will have to decide how to wind down the Iraq war and how long to keep American troops there. Israel is loath to give up its work in progress: the building of a Greater Israel.
   The Gulf Arab monarchies are allies of the United States to guard against unwelcome attention. Iran is pivotal because the foolish American invasion of Iraq made it so and America’s umbilical link with Israel distorts its view of its own interests while peace remains elusive.