In Leila: A Vision of Authoritarian India

Imagine an India autocratically ruled by a party akin to the Communist Party of China, albeit with some sort of Hindu fundamentalism playing the role of state ideology. Imagine this state being forcefully put under a scary social experiment, similar to the one which we are witnessing in Xinjiang now. Imagine an institutionalized caste system, with children of mixed castes being taken away from their families. Imagine the ghettoization and the rise of gated communities, based on religious notions of purity, becoming an accepted norm. 

This is the world of Leila, the debut English-language novel by young Indian author Prayaag Akbar. It’s also the world of a Netflix show by the same title, based on the book. The dystopian vision is a combination of the worst authoritarian methods that the Chinese government is now putting to the test in Xinjiang with the worst traditions of the caste system, supported by religious radicalism. Both the novel and the show are gloomy and not for the faint of heart; but both offer warnings about how future totalitarianism may be born.

Fortunately, India is a democracy, and it does not seem to be going down the Chinese path. While Leila’s world remains far from reality, the strength of the novel lies in showing that the seeds of such a hypothetical autocracy are already buried in the soil all around us (and not only in India). These seeds may grow fast if properly watered. Let me focus on this thread: What are the ways in which this vision connects to our insecure present by showing how we could end up in such a future? 

First, the book demonstrates how a growing income gap and, more importantly, a growing imbalance in access to basic resources may be used by various radicals to mobilize the poor. In Leila, this conflict is about access to water and air, things which we often take for granted but which are increasingly becoming precious commodities. Both in the novel and the show the family of the heroine is attacked by radical vigilantes (who have gradually taken over the state) for having their own swimming pool while people of the nearby slums lack regular access to tap water. Such an event does not appear surrealistic at all, actually.

In both the novel and the show, the future cities of the rich have their own gigantic AC domes, while poor areas suffer from increasingly unbearable heat. These islands of abundance are also areas of strict government control, while the state’s hand does not seem to be as strong in the slums (especially in the Netflix show). This makes Akbar’s dystopia even more scary: It is not that the future totalitarian state must be based on somewhat even social balance – it may as well just capitalize on the discontent of the poor to build an even more unequal state, in which the control of vital resources, the control over the ideological narrative, and the support of the elites living in their enclaves is enough to run the country.

Second, there is a warning that social exclusion and segregation may be used as building blocks of a totalitarian state. In Leila – especially in the novel – various upper caste groups establish their own gated communities with separate norms. The orthodox Hindus have a strictly vegetarian policy when it comes to cuisine, while the Westernized folks freely partake of meat and alcohol in their zone. The others, those from outside the community, are not let in unless they work as servants of the superrich. What unites these elite groups, however, is their urge to separate themselves from the poor, to follow their own rules, to make access to development an exclusive privilege, rather than a fundamental right. With this, these social groups have become the mainstay of the new radical government, even if some, like the Westernized upper layer of society, have done so unwittingly. The heroine of the story is also to blame for her past complete ignorance of the surrounding poverty, including her own servants, and for her prior contempt for them. All other groups work as servants for these enclaves, thus providing an essential system of social control which had been, in turn, institutionalized by the totalitarian government. 

While altogether such a vision is still futuristic, and hopefully will always remain so, we see some red flags already. The rise of gated communities is a visible phenomenon, not only in countries like India and Pakistan, but in places like the United States. As for the Indian context, Akbar was most possibly alluding to the process called “housing apartheid,” where various upper caste groups create their own enclaves (such as single blocks of flats or larger areas) in which they refuse to rent or sell to those social groups they do not want to be in touch with (such as Muslims or low castes). While the need to be secure is understandable, what is really worrying is that there is a certain “gated community mentality,” as we could term it. It is not just about building walls to be safe, but a real need to separate oneself from other communities: Not just because they are poor, but because they are Others.

As Suketu Mehta argues in his new book, This Land is Our Land, an example of this mentality is U.S. President Donald Trump, who grew up in the Jackson Estates, an enclave of the rich within Queens. And as for layers around the elite bubbles, one can point to, among others, the resort zones in places like Egypt, which are harder to access for ordinary Egyptians than for rich foreign tourists.

Third, Leila shows us that future totalitarianism does not have to be wearing the mask of uniform equality. It may abjectly refer to social hierarchy and weaponize orthodox forms of religion as political tools. The country in the book has been taken over by a vaguely described group of extremists that use a radical form of Hinduism as an ideology (one easily finds comparisons to real organizations like the Hindu nationalist Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh group or the Shiv Sena party). Purity – indeed a crucial aspect of Hindu customs – has become the official state policy and the bedrock of social control. People retain purity by remaining in their own community and following its rules, by not mixing with others, and by strictly adhering to religious norms. Instead of equality, liberty, or democracy, this fictitious state offers “purity” as the most important value. 

At the same time, however, it also uses the process of religious “purification” of an individual as a repressive measure and a brainwashing technique. The social renegades are put in special camps where religious penance is used as a legal punishment for their transgressions, and where they are made to believe that only through strict adherence to orthodox religious norms may they be given a chance to return to society. Once again, one thinks of China’s “vocational centers”in Xinjiang or Orwell’s 1984 as reference points.

The warning is clear: We cannot let regressive, radical ideologies (including religion-based ones) to impose their norms. But Akbar does not suggest that only the Hindu religion may be used for such means (and the show seconds him in that). Leila rightly shows that there is also Muslim radicalism, Muslim exclusivism, and the Muslim notion of purity that, while seemingly politically insignificant in this dystopian state, actually play the role of the mirror to the Hindu radicalism and which are important for the overall plot.

Finally, the Netflix show not only expands and alters the plot , but also introduces the subject of new technologies as additional ways of building an authoritarian state (once again, a very timely observation). Body scanning techniques allow authorities to establish which community people come from. There are also machines that recognize whether a child is of mixed blood. China’s test runs of technology-based instruments of controlling its own citizens are perhaps the best reminder that all technologies are double-edged swords, and may easily be used by totalitarian regimes as well.

The dark and depressing story of Leila is not for everyone, but it is certainly better to read or watch it as fiction than to watch it become our reality one distant day.