1984

Postcards From The Edge, Part III
... Continued
Summons

T. SHER SINGH

DAILY FIX

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Continued from yesterday …

It was a senior member of the Minister’s Office who had been leaving the messages.

I called him back.

“We would like you to meet with you and discuss a few things,” he said.

“What things?” I asked.

“A variety of things. I can’t explain over the telephone. We should meet …”

“You do know, don’t you, that Mr. Clark has good reason to be very unhappy with me. Why would you want to meet with me?” I said.

“Yes, I know,” he said, “I was there. I was at the event at the University with the Minister. And I was with him as we drove to the airport, and flew back to Ottawa that night. It is he who wants us to meet with you.”

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“A few of us. The Deputy Minister, the Minister’s Chief of Staff, a couple of others …”

“And the Minister?”

“He won’t be there … he’s off on a foreign trip … but we have his instructions. You should come alone, however. It‘ll be better.”

“What’s on the agenda?”

“Let’s not talk on the phone … it’ll be easier if we did it face to face.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be glad to meet with you anytime, if you think it’s of some use.  Are you coming into town? When?”

“If your schedule allows it, how about tomorrow morning? Here in Ottawa,“ he said. 

I hesitated. I knew I was clear; I had cleared my week, knowing that Sikh scholars from around the world were in town, and I had been looking forward to spending time with the few who would have stayed behind after the conference. Not knowing that I would be persona non grata by the time the conference did end.

I had lots of time, but what did they want with me? I wasn’t too worried … I was a lawyer and knew I had done no wrong. I had spoken the truth. And this was Canada, not India. I lived in a free country, with real democracy. There was nothing to be afraid of.

But, what did they want?

I marshalled my thoughts as I flipped through my diary pages, pretending to be struggling with my busy schedule.

“It’s important, Mr. Singh. It’ll be good if you’ll move things around somehow, and come. You can take the first flight in, and head back to Toronto the same afternoon.”

I loudly swished a few more pages back and forth.

“Our office will make all the necessary arrangements, flight and all. Someone will pick you up at the airport, and drop you back. Just a few hours …”

I felt I was jumping into the void. It wasn’t the first time. But I had a clear conscience … so, why not? What was the worst they could do? Scold me? Argue with me? No matter, I told myself, I can make hay rain or shine!

“Sure, I’ll come. It’ll be my pleasure!“

*   *   *   *   *
Once in Ottawa, I was whisked deep into the innards of the Ministry’s offices. About five of them were there waiting for me. I won’t name names … there’s no need to.

They were all polite and courteous, yet stone-faced … and tense.

Things relaxed slowly but steadily as we manoeuvred our way through some small talk.

It doesn’t take long to find things in common with anyone. One of them was the son of a top judge who I admired and had met. Another, we shared close mutual friends. Two of them had spent considerable time in India, including Punjab. One of them was even familiar with Patna and Bihar. Another one had been to my law school; we’d had the same professors …

And a couple of them had been in New Delhi in 1984!

We got down to brass tacks.

I tried to break the ice.

“Let’s talk about what happened on Tuesday night … “ I began.

“We don’t need to,” interrupted their senior. “We were all there … “

All nodded, some broke into uncomfortable smiles.

“We heard you,” he continued. “Now, we are here to get beyond that …”

“How?“ I asked.

“Is everything confidential, all that we say here?”

I nodded.

“Good. Then, I think we’d be in agreement, “ he said, “in that we here in Ottawa have not dealt well with Sikh-Canadian issues. We could use some help.“

As he continued, I realized I wasn’t dealing with politicians. This was the civil service. They were being honest. They were sincere.

When he finished with the preliminaries, I laid out my cards.

“You do know, don’t you, that I’m a Liberal. I’ve worked on election campaigns … against Mr Clark’s party. I remain a Liberal. I’m a critic of his party, of their policies, of the government. A loud one. Sometimes very loud!”

They laughed.

The senior said: “We are aware of that, and that’s not an impediment for us, if it isn’t for you.“

“I’ll work with my heart and soul with anyone who’ll do the right thing with my community … they’ve been wronged grievously. I know you can’t solve all the problems. I am aware of your limitations. I know the ground realities. And I have my own limitations. But I’ll help as best I can. However … I won’t sell my soul. As long as you’ll work with me fairly, I’ll go all the way. But where our paths diverge … and there can me many reasons, some good ones … I won’t go along.”

“We know,” he said. “We’re comfortable with that.”

It didn’t take us long to get down to business.

When they finally asked “How can we help?” I threw caution to the winds. I got up and stood at the end of the room, gawking at them, sizing my thoughts and words, as I’m wont to do when I’m in court, arguing my case. 

“First,” I said, “the government needs to show good faith. By taking real steps. Mere words will go nowhere.“

“Such as …?” he asked.

“First things first! The issue of the Sikh Chair. The government had promised to match funds if the community raised $300,000 on its own, to set up a Sikh Studies program at the University of British Columbia. I know people there who shed blood, sweat and tears to meet their side of the bargain. They raised $300,000; it’s been sitting in the bank for years, and we simply can’t understand why Ottawa won’t keep its promise …It’s become an emotional issue now. A lightning rod … nothing can move forward unless …”

He looked at his colleagues, and stopped me by raising his hand.

“Done.”

“What do you mean, done? When will it be done. More promises will not help anymore.”

“Consider it done. It’ll be done today.”

I looked at each of them. They meant it.

“Next,” he said.

“We need representation … a Sikh-Canadian presence on boards and committees and tribunals. It’s a century old community, several hundred thousand strong … the government could use its input in so many areas. We need the visibility … we hunger for recognition that we are equal citizens in this wonderful country …”

He nodded. He looked at one of his colleagues, and they nodded at each other.

“We’ll work with you on this … please help us by putting together a list of names, and we’ll do what we can. It’ll take time, but we’ll make it happen. Next item.”

“A simple matter. The government spends hundreds of millions on advertising and publications. The images should have a fair share of Sikh faces. It’ll cost the government nothing. Yet, it’ll go a long way …”

“Not a problem. We’ll have someone call you and start working on that … Next item.”

“We need to bring together prominent Sikhs from across the country to meet and discuss our issues. To learn and teach how to be better Canadians. To learn to form institutions, to create an infrastructure to meets its needs … we need seed funding to start the process … we need the presence of government figures, political and bureaucratic, to give it legitimacy, to be part of the action plan …“

“Will do. Let’s talk about it over lunch, and we’ll get the ball rolling today. We’ll ask a couple of people to join us, and will thrash out the details … today!”

And we went on … I listing smaller things and bigger things, and they jumped in on each suggestion, saying each was indeed do-able, giving me a firm time-line of action, giving me names of those who would contact me before the week was out …

We broke for lunch. On the way down in the elevator, the senior quipped: “We know we can work together … you’re the first one we’ve dealt with from India who hasn’t asked for an appointment for himself or his wife!“

Half a dozen projects were launched by them by the time I was dropped off at the airport.

*   *   *   *   * 

I haven’t related to you all of the above to tell you off all the things I’ve done or to impress you with my involvement - this is the first time I’ve gone public on anything I’ve written in the last few days!

It’s to demonstrate to you that, particularly in public life, as long as you do the right thing, do and say what your conscience tells you to, even in the face of possible harm, even when the world disagrees with you … as long as you do it honestly, sincerely, and without aim for personal gain, it’ll happen.

And it’ll happen beyond your wildest of imagination, beyond your dreams, beyond your personal abilities and capabilities …

If you meet the criteria, it won’t matter if all of those around you abandon you, if no one supports you or everyone distances himself from you because the risk is too high, the cost too steep, the heat too uncomfortable …

We are mere instruments or vehicles for things that happen … they happen despite us, not because of us.

So, we need to be careful. There‘s no justification for taking credit when things do happen.

And there’s no reason to despair when things look like they have gone wrong.

There are forces which are larger than us … if we flow with them, all falls into place.

*   *   *   *   *

It felt like a mere day or two later - I can’t remember exactly - when I heard on the radio one morning that the Government of Canada had announced a grant of $300,000 to assist in the formation of a Chair in Sikh Studies at The University of British Columbia.

Not long thereafter, a three-day conference was held in Toronto under the title “Sikh-Canadians: The Promise & The Challenge”.

I was ably assisted by my brilliant co-chair, Manjit Singh of Montreal, and the incredible leadership of two more individuals: Arvinder Singh Bindra and Jeeti Kaur Sahota.

It became the template for annual events thereafter around the world.

It also led to the formation of a group which, before long, came to be known as The Centennial Foundation, which even today, flourishes through an annual Vaisakhi event in Toronto.

The seed money came from Ottawa, duly approved by the then Tory - not Liberal - government.

The energy thus unleashed spawned a series of projects through the years, one by one, including The Spinning Wheel Film Festival and … yes, sikhchic.com.

I don’t mean to suggest that what happened in Ottawa that day solved any of our problems. But I do want to say that just because everyone around me, ‘friend’ and ‘foe’, had decided at the Toronto event that all was lost, didn’t mean that they were right.

Only ‘right’ is right. People’s opinions don’t make things right or wrong.

*   *   *   *  *

And the brave-hearts in Toronto, my fair-weather friends?

Oh, they still consider themselves my friends, and I let them.

Every time I am on a high, they tell the world how close they are to me and how much they have helped in building our many projects.

When things get heated - which they do from time to time, once every few years, given my propensity to get into ’trouble’ - they never fail to impress me with the speed with which they run away.

When I fare well in the public eye, I’m their friend.

When things appear to be wrong, they tell each other and others that I’m a trouble-maker, a loose cannon, an ego maniac, a selfish bastard, a difficult person, a Khalistani, an extremist, a terrorist, an India-hater, a wolf in sheep’s clothing … and ah yes, my favourite label: an enemy of Sikhism.

My ‘friends’?

Each of them opposed each and every project we began.

And then, once each achieved acclaim, they fought and clawed and crawled to be declared ’directors’ and ’trustees’ of the very same ventures. When it was safe to do so.

It’s the way of the world.

So now, I enjoy my few ’real’ friends - I do have my fair share. And I let my other ’friends’ enjoy me whenever they want to and whenever it is convenient for them to do so. It bothers me none.

*   *   *   *   *

Finally, I should explain:

All of this outpouring has been triggered by the recent trials and tribulations of Harbinder Singh in England.

It is merely to tell him to not worry over those who cheered and swelled their breasts and beat their chests when they saw him on the Queen’s Barge, to see them run for cover when his detractors brought out filth and threw it at him with gleeful “I-told-you-so”s.  

It’s the way of the world.

Remember Kabir’s words …
nindo nindo moko log nindo     

read other articles in 1984