War and peace at Wagah borde

It was quite frightening the way people could show so much hatred and animosity towards one another and how the ridiculously choreographed ceremony orchestrated a sense of jingoistic nationalism

It has been 64 years since the Radcliffe Line cut through the village of Wagah in Punjab, the east going to India and the west to Pakistan. Events at the Wagah border reflect the tensions and hostility since partition as well as the aspirations of ordinary people for peace and friendship. On August 14 and 15, 2010, I was at the Wagah border where I witnessed two ceremonies: the official ‘beating of the retreat’ (lowering of the flags) by the Indian BSF (Border Security Force) and the Pakistani Rangers, which has been held every day since 1959, and the midnight candlelit vigil held every August 14 and 15 by peace activists from both sides of the border.

At dusk, I sat down in the front row of the stands facing two gates — the side I was on said ‘India’ and the gate on the other side said ‘Pakistan’. On the Pakistani side, loudspeakers were blaring out patriotic songs and people were waving huge flags and dancing to mark their independence day. On the Indian side, a group of students was performing a play (it was basically a man shouting at the top of his voice) interspersed with patriotic songs as well. Finally, the bugle rang out and the parade began on both sides, synchronised with each other. Two women (for the first time this year) marched across at a fast pace and saluted the commander, positioning themselves at the corner of the gate. They were followed by six feet tall border guards speed-marching with extended arms, stamping on the ground and then giving a high kick. It was quite incredible. Each time they raised their legs, they almost hit their heads! Then followed a peculiar ritual — almost like a dance — and then a series of head and shoulder jerky movements that were full of aggression. At regular intervals slogans were raised. As one side shouted “zindabad” (long live), the other side would shout “murdabad” (death to) in reaction. The gates were opened, the flags of both countries were lowered for the day and after a brief handshake the gates were closed. The whole ceremony was quite absurd and the soldiers looked like roosters dressed, on one side in brown and red, and on the other side in black and white stripes, with plumbed turbans, strutting and preening, which made me want to laugh.

However, it was not really funny since the ritual was also the assertion of territorial control and power, and the body movements conveyed aggressive threats. Though the aggression has been toned down (earlier the soldiers showed clenched fists and made contemptuous gestures with their thumbs), we could see that thousands of people on both sides of the border (it is estimated that 15,000 come every day to witness this ceremony) were being instigated into hatred and competition. It is ironic that this ceremony is actually planned by both sides and they practice together, yet the message that is sent is of war and enmity.

In contrast to the cacophony of the evening, the border was quiet as 50 peace activists walk