Devil's Advocate

by Karan Thapar

  The other question I was determined to retain was about what Indians consider America’s equivocation, or even two-facedness, over the terror India faces from certain groups in Pakistan. This is a concern that practically every Indian I know has. With a former American president as my interlocutor, I would have been foolish not to bring it up. Here’s the question:

  Now you once said: ‘America can be India’s best partner.’ On another occasion you called India-US relations ‘one of the defining partnerships of the twenty-first century’. And to be honest, both your predecessor and your successor have spoken in very similar terms. Yet many Indians feel that America differentiates between the terror groups based in Pakistan that target Afghanistan and, perhaps, the US, and those like LeT and Jaish that target India. How do you address this concern?

  Alas, Obama didn’t really answer either. Though he spoke at length, he deftly evaded answering. However, having decided to retain these two—and one other which I will come to later—I felt I had created an opportunity to weave in an interesting supplementary. It was to do with the American Navy SEALs operation that had eliminated Osama bin Laden in Pakistan’s Abbottabad in 2011. Since Obama was the president at the time and this was an event that had captured the world’s imagination—and left Pakistan squirming with embarrassment or smouldering with anger, depending upon your political viewpoint—it was hard not to bring it up. In fact, it was downright irresistible.

  So, after questioning President Obama about America’s two-tone attitude to terror, I asked: ‘In 2011, American Navy SEALs flew undetected into Pakistan and eliminated Osama bin Laden. Was Pakistan hiding him and, therefore, complicit? Or unaware of his presence and, therefore, incompetent?’

  If I recall his answer correctly, Barack Obama firmly said that his administration had no evidence that Pakistan was aware of Osama bin Laden’s presence in Abbottabad. He then tantalizingly added, ‘I’ll leave it to you to characterize beyond what I just said.’

  This was an opportunity I couldn’t let slip. Given the way he phrased it, he was almost tempting me to draw my own conclusion and put it to him.

  ‘So it was incompetence?’ I asked. The former American president wouldn’t say. He was determined not to be drawn further. All he did was smile.

  By coincidence, I had posed the same question to former president Musharraf at a Hindustan Times Leadership Summit a couple of years earlier. When I asked him if Pakistan was either complicit or incompetent he’d said—with surprising candour but also not inconsiderable humour—that the truth was the ISI had fallen asleep!

  ‘That’s neglect, isn’t it?’ I had persisted.

  But Musharraf wasn’t going to agree. ‘No, let’s say the ISI fell asleep,’ he said and smiled knowingly. ‘But the ISI has the right to go to sleep occasionally.’

  I repeated this story to Obama in front of the Hindustan Times audience and though he laughed, I still couldn’t get him to say anything more.

  However, the former president was particularly deft and also forthcoming while handling questions about Indian politicians he had known as prime ministers when he was president.

  ‘A lot has been written about your relationship or friendship with Narendra Modi,’ I said. ‘At his invitation, you became the first American president to be chief guest on Republic Day, you did a joint radio broadcast and Prime Minister Modi frequently refers to you as my friend Barack. What’s your opinion of Narendra Modi?’

  Like any sound politician, Barack Obama had his antenna up. He instinctively sensed that he had to praise Narendra Modi but he also knew that in India’s divided political environment, he needed to balance what he said by an equally fulsome reference to Manmohan Singh. And that’s precisely what he did.

  However, many in the audience and, at least, one or two of the newspapers the next morning, interpreted his balancing act as reluctance to praise only Modi. This, consequently, made for a few headlines.

  The nice part was that I had more time to question Barack Obama than the twenty minutes in the original schedule. His prepared speech had barely lasted fifteen minutes. That was at least twenty, if not twenty-five minutes shorter than expected. My Q&A was the beneficiary. It now stretched for forty-five minutes.

  This worked to both our advantage. It gave me time to bring in the questions I knew Obama did not want asked without dropping any that I sensed he was keen to speak about. In turn it gave him a chance to speak as he likes to, at considerable length. His answers were by no means short and were often not to the point. He likes to weave a lot of substance into his replies and he enjoys sounding cerebral or academic. Since he’s an engaging if not riveting speaker, the length of his answers adds considerably to the spell he creates.

  So by the time we came to the end of the hour, I felt I could get away with one more ‘resurrected’ question. This time it wasn’t a serious one. It was an attempt at humour so that our conversation would end on a light-hearted note. My intention was to leave the audience laughing.

  ‘Finally, President Obama,’ I began, ‘America is famous for two Donalds—Donald Duck and Donald Trump. Which one represents the real America?’

  The audience got the joke at once and burst into laughter. We all expected a witty comeback from the former president. But that was not to be. Instead, he chose to sidestep the question and deliver a long homily on equality and the importance of treating people fairly.

  Perhaps he didn’t get the joke or, perhaps, he thought it wasn’t appropriate for him to reply jocularly. But the answer he gave—though fabulously delivered—was inapt. It even felt strange. It seemed like a non sequitur.

  Later I was told that the former president had found the question offensive. But for the life of me I’m not sure what offended him unless, of course, it’s improper and inappropriate to joke with him or ask him to respond to one.

  All of this means that my memories of meeting Barack Obama are a confusing, if not polarizing, mix of awe and delight alongside disappointment and disillusionment. There’s no doubt that at one level he comes across as an inspiring, charming, informal and friendly celebrity. He’s bewitching, though he keeps you at a distance, but that reserve, paradoxically, only enhances the attraction you feel. But on another level, it was deeply disillusioning to discover how he wanted to vet questions, strike out those he did not like and complain because a few had still been asked. It’s not what I’d expected of him and it made me question whether the captivating image we all have is also carefully manufactured or as cosmetically created as his approach to the Q&A.

  It didn’t take me long to sense that the Hindustan Times was a little shaken, perhaps even somewhat upset, by the fact that Obama hadn’t left covered in smiles. Though the paper is used to handling difficult politicians, this was a special summit and Obama a special guest. The fact that he had told Shobhana Bhartia, as she bid him farewell, that you can never be sure how a session with a journalist will go, made me feel that I needed to make amends. Not an apology; far from it. But I thought I should write about the Obama session for my ‘Sunday Sentiments’ column in the Hindustan Times in a way that, if he read it, might make him smile this time. My intention was to whip up a sweet taste at the end.

  Nothing that I wrote was untruthful or even exaggerated, but I deliberately picked up on moments that might otherwise have got squeezed out and forgotten. I also wrote about them a bit like a silly schoolgirl with my head in the clouds! And I’m glad to say it worked. At least one senior member of the Obama team telephoned to thank me.

  This is the piece that appeared forty-eight hours after the Obama session, on 1 December 2017:

  In Mummy’s heyday in the ’20s and ’30s, the opening line of one of the hit numbers of that period was: ‘I’ve danced with a man, who’s danced with a girl, who’s danced with the Prince of Wales.’ This weekend I feel a bit like that!

  On Friday I moderated the Hindustan Times Leadership Summit session with Barack Obama and discovered that beyond being a brilliant speaker
and a very intelligent man, he’s also truly special because of the little things he remembers and makes a point of speaking about. Grand politicians usually have no time for such niceties. Obama, who’s amongst the greatest of them all, is different.

  I was introduced to him before the formal session. A few people were invited for what was quaintly called ‘a handshake reception’. Luckily, I was one of them.

  Each of us got a chance to be photographed with Barack Obama. This is one of the chores celebrities are required to perform and usually do so with their impatience and irritation discernable. But not Barack Obama. He had a sentence or two for every one of the ninety people. He had never met any of us but he made every single person feel special.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said, as we shook hands and he noticed I was wearing a tie. ‘You’re moderating the session and I’ve just realized I should have worn a tie as well. Is that okay? Or have I made a foolish mistake?’

  Once the session got underway I discovered another side of this rather special man. There were a few questions he would have preferred not to be asked, but his response was to joke about that and then proceed to give a seemingly full answer until you discovered he had deflected the subject and spoken about something quite different.

  I’ve interviewed several heads of government and you can see the lines on their face twitching or the steely look glazing their eyes as you probe a subject they don’t feel comfortable with. That wasn’t the case with Barack Obama. If anything, he would smile each time I trod on awkward territory. Once, perhaps, his eyebrows rose, but it was a gesture of comic exasperation which appealed to the audience.

  The coup de grâce was when the mikes failed and Obama was caught halfway through a joke about cooking dal. To be stopped just before your punchline can be exasperating. But not for Barack Obama.

  He took it with a smile and said: ‘This sort of thing has happened so often I’ve got quite used to it. I’ve had the lights fail, members of the audience faint and even the stage collapse. What sort of experience have you had?’

  Not as quick-witted as the former American president, I couldn’t even make up an amusing story. So we chatted about Theresa May’s misfortunes at the Conservative Party conference in September when a coughing fit overcame her and she barely finished her speech.

  ‘Wasn’t that awful?’ Obama said. ‘My heart went out. There’s nothing worse than a politician all prepped to speak suddenly finding they can’t get their voice out.’ And he laughed silently.

  It’s unlikely any of us will meet Barack Obama again. Yet few will forget the enormous impact he made and I’m delighted I can tell stories about our conversation. The song from the ’20s ends with the words ‘Glory, glory, Hallelujah! I’m the luckiest of females!’ Change the sex and that could be me!

  15

  THE WRATH OF RAM JETHMALANI

  I

  guess I have a strange relationship with Ram Jethmalani. To begin with, he has always been very kind to me. He’s never declined an interview. On one occasion when he was part of a discussion for a SAB TV programme which he had accepted without realizing he would be in Patiala at the time, he chartered a plane and flew back to Delhi at his own expense because he didn’t want to ditch me. But at the same time, many of the interviews I have done with him have ended in ‘quarrels’. He has walked out at least once and, I suspect, hasn’t forgiven me for it. Yet, the paradox is that each time we’ve quarrelled, the interview has gone on to win an award. Two consecutive interviews done for Devil’s Advocate won Singapore’s Asian Television Award for Best Current Affairs Anchor of the Year. I’m certain it was the drama or spectacle of his wrath which convinced the jury that I had bearded the lion in his den!

  The first Devil’s Advocate interview happened in November 2006 and, to be honest, I was on very weak ground. Ram Jethmalani was defending Manu Sharma against the charge of killing Jessica Lal. After Sharma’s initial acquittal, the case had been reopened under media pressure and many of my colleagues were infuriated by Ram’s decision to defend him.

  In my ‘Sunday Sentiments’ column, I berated my colleagues who were visibly and, often, loudly angry that Mr Jethmalani had taken up Manu’s case. I decided to defend his right to do so. This is what I wrote, and it went on to haunt me just days later:

  My concern is simple. How can any credible journalist argue that Ram Jethmalani—or any other lawyer for that matter—should not defend Manu Sharma? No matter how you present this argument—and last week we saw many attempts to do so—I cannot understand the rationale for this position.

  First, who a lawyer defends is a matter to be determined by his conscience. Friends and advisers may choose to influence him and, if they do, it’s because he’s granted them that right. But it’s not a matter for journalists to opine on. Flip the situation and you’ll see why. Would the same journalists accept Ram Jethmalani criticizing them for choosing to interview alleged terrorists or apparent criminals?

  When Margaret Thatcher barred the British press from interviewing members of the IRA (Irish Republican Army) on the grounds that it gave them ‘the oxygen of publicity’, our entire fraternity rightly protested and condemned her decision. Surely that sword cuts both ways?

  Second, in the eyes of the law—as opposed to the press—Manu Sharma is an innocent man. In fact, he stands acquitted by the lower court, although possibly wrongly so. Therefore, if that acquittal is to be appealed, it follows he has a right to defend himself. In turn that means he has a right to a lawyer and, ipso facto, the best he can get. Does it make sense for journalists to argue otherwise?

  It’s an irrefutable sine qua non of justice that every accused has the right to a defence and a lawyer to present it for him. Anything less would undermine the system of justice we believe in. In those circumstances the High Court might become a kangaroo court, the prosecution could degenerate into vendetta and the accused would transform into a victim. Is that what these journalists are seeking?

  However, it’s the third consequence of their argument that is possibly most embarrassing. It contradicts the very cause they’ve set out to champion. ‘Justice for Jessica’ is the campaign that has secured the retrial of Manu Sharma. Without this pressure from the press, it may never have been achieved. But if justice for Jessica is to be more than a semi-alliterative slogan, it cannot metamorphose into malice for Manu. Yet if journalists are to stop lawyers defending him, that, undoubtedly, is what it will become.

  Last weekend, as I heard interviews and read articles on this subject, the subtext that underlay both was hard to ignore: ‘We want justice for Jessica but without giving Manu Sharma the right to defend himself.’ Once you strip the interviews of their passion and the articles are shorn off their clever phrases, this is the indefensible message left behind.

  Perhaps the real concern is that a lawyer of Jethmalani’s skill might succeed in saving Manu Sharma. Given that we’re all ‘convinced’ of his guilt that would seem like a travesty of justice. Hence the opposition to Jethmalani taking up his case. But this is to place emotion ahead of justice.

  The law permits Jethmalani to try every legitimate tactic to defend his client and if he succeeds so be it. That is the law and you can’t complain just because the verdict doesn’t suit you. It may prove there are infirmities that need to be plugged, that the system has holes, that justice is less than perfect, but you can’t make it an excuse for short-circuiting procedure. Without due process the trial would be a lynching.

  Remember, justice has to be seen to be done—and beyond all reasonable doubt. We all know what we want but the judges have to deliver it in a fair and transparent manner. Last week some of my colleagues forgot that.

  However, for the Devil’s Advocate interview I found myself switching positions in order to play ‘devil’s advocate’ to Ram’s stance. No longer was I criticizing his critics, I was criticizing him instead. The thrust of my questioning was to quarrel with his decision to defend Manu Sharma. ‘How can you?’ I asked. ‘You’re
letting down all principle and morality,’ I said. ‘This is opportunism and you’re only doing it for publicity,’ I insisted. ‘Finally, do you really believe the man is innocent?’ I questioned, in a futile attempt to trip him up.

  Ram would have been aware of what I had written. It had appeared just ten days before the interview was recorded. Yet, not once did he point out that I was arguing against my own published position. In retrospect, I’m grateful for that. Had he done so, I would have been stumped!

  Not surprisingly the interview, almost from the start, became a quarrel. We initially talked over each other but it wasn’t long before we were shouting. Not because he was genuinely angry or because I was being aggressive, but simply because that was the only way of being heard! In fact, for most of the crew the interview wasn’t so much a discussion as one long interruption, where both sides were continuously interrupting each other.

  At the end of the recording I suggested we do the interview all over again in the hope that the second version would be less quarrelsome and, therefore, easier for the audience to follow. Ram agreed. But the second attempt was no different to the first. If anything, because we knew each other’s arguments, we were even faster at interrupting and each time that happened, it was done more loudly and more forcefully.

  I could only laugh when it ended. Ram Jethmalani’s response was even more good-natured.

  ‘Let’s have a whisky,’ he said. ‘We’ve both earned it and I need one badly!’

  Nothing could have illustrated his good nature better than this generous gesture. There wasn’t a hint of rancour. In fact, I would say he had enjoyed the whole process. Now that it was over, he wanted a drink with someone he still considered a friend. I readily accepted.