At this point, we must consider the suspicion that must inevitably fall on the internal proletariat of the Empire -- the blacks, or Afro-Americans as they are politely called. For no empire is ever complete without both the internal and the external proletariat -- the coolies and the cyber-coolies. During the Second World War, blacks were regarded as a fifth column, waiting to greet Hitler. (In this they closely resembled the internal proletariat of the British Empire, the Irish.) After the war, they were suspected of having communist sympathies, which largely explains why they were given civil rights and incorporated into the Empire. The demise of communism has largely deprived them of the benefits of affirmative action.
Now, we, the whole of South Asia, were formerly the internal proletariat of the British Empire. Is it so surprising that we behave like the external proletariat of the American Empire, which has inherited the Anglo-Saxon sceptre and diadem? No more frank avowal of the proletarian mentality has ever been penned than these lines by Nirad C. Chaudhury : "...all that was good and living within us was made, shaped and quickened by the same British rule." Every country in South Asia has a sizable complement of citizens and non-citizens in the American Empire, ever ready to promote 'nationalism' in the country they have abandoned.
Today, prizes dished out in the Empire -- the Oscar and the Pulitzer -- carry greater prestige than any indigenous award. Consider the fact that Satyajit Ray posthumously received the Bharat Ratna only after he had received the Oscar! And spare a thought for Martin Kampchen, who wrote from Santiniketan: "Several daily newspapers of Calcutta flashed the news of Jhumpa Lahiri's wedding in Calcutta as their first-page leader, complete with a colourful photo of the happy couple. First I thought: O happy Bengal! You still honour your poets as the ancient civilisations used to do. And for a moment I remained in this innocent bliss of satisfaction. Then it dawned on me that not any writer's marriage is accorded such flattering coverage. Only expatriates who have 'made it good' abroad, who have 'done the country proud', are subjected to such exaggerated honours." Jhumpa Lahiri had just won the Pulitzer for her collection of short stories, The Interpreter of Maladies.
Today, we are proud when one of our children becomes a cyber-coolie in the Empire; we are even prouder when one of our children gets a degree from an Imperial school. However, it is dangerous to stake one's entire career on the future prospects of an empire; for it is of the essence of such ephemeral entities that they should appear eternal at the present moment. Those who had staked all on the permanence of the Soviet Empire well know how painful and humiliating an ideological pirouette can be.
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