As a young journalist in Calcutta newsrooms, I have seen my peers fight over a photograph of Muammar Gaddafi. These debates weren’t about spiking the monster’s pictures but over how big and over how many columns they ought to be carried.
Gaddafi wasn’t the only one we agonized over. There were others. Nicaraguan leader Daniel Ortega was a newsroom favourite. Xanana Gusmao of East Timor was another. Saddam Hussein was irresistible. A foreign news agency had creeded photographs of the erstwhile Iraqi leader standing on a podium in an Arab headgear holding a gun and intermittently firing in the air. He was addressing a rally.
A cut above them all was Fidel Castro. Calcutta still loves him and it is as if he were one of their own. A great Fidel picture was a page maker’s delight. In those bromide days, the pick of newsroom subs cropped Fidel photographs. Art-room pasters took extra care to ensure proper display.
True, many among these much admired men were demagogues, as is being proved now. But for us, Gaddafi was one hell of a gutsy guy who had the power to hold the world in thrall and to cock a snook at the preachy West. He had the supreme confidence and style to travel to New York and pitch his Bedouin tent in front of the UN headquarters. His defiance was admirable. Among us were colleagues who had copies of his Green Book.
Bengal has had a tradition of falling in love with tall Arab leaders. Kazi Nazrul was an unabashed admirer of Kemal Pasha and wrote a full length poem on the great Turk’s exploits. Gaddafi was never a patch on Ataturk but he had a huge fan following. Kemal Pasha had done the right things. Gaddafi clearly hasn’t.
Calcutta loves characters with a quirk and a couldn’t-give-a-damn streak. The city connects with boldness and defiance. Bengal has also had a fling with non-violent, anti-apartheid guru Nelson Mandela. The city received him first at Eden Gardens after he was freed from prison. A full house turned up to applaud him. Calcuttans found his journey different and his story engrossing. He remains a revered figure.
Nevertheless, it is more than clear now that the affection the city showered on some world leaders was misdirected, at least that’s definitely so in Gaddafi’s case. In a city where many strove to spell his name correctly and many more struggled to pronounce it the proper Arab way, there is disappointment.
The man they thought stood for his people had turned the gun on them. Their hero is in a Nero act. Gaddafi no longer looks smart and charming. Now, newsroom-wallahs in Calcutta eagerly front-page his photograph. But for a different reason. He’s the Butcher of Benghazi.
