Is self-censorship behind the publisher’s decision not to publish Sonia Gandhi’s memoir in India?

By Arpita Das, Columnist

On 28 August, the publishing community in India was stunned to read the news that Penguin Random House India (PRHI) had pulled back from publishing the most eagerly-awaited Indian memoir this year, Sonia Gandhi’s forthcoming memoir Belonging: A Journey of Love. Why is this such huge news? Sonia Gandhi is arguably one of the most important Opposition leaders in India today. She is the longest serving President of the Indian National Congress, which is the most important opposition party in the country at the national level. And yes, she is also the widow of Rajiv Gandhi and daughter-in-law of Indira Gandhi, both of whom have served as Prime Ministers of the country, and she is the mother of the Leader of the Opposition currently, Rahul Gandhi.

In explaining its decision not to publish the book, PRHI has tied itself in knots. In a statement, PRHI officials said they were “willing and keen” to publish the book, and insisted that any suggestion that it decided not to move forward because the author declined to cut passages critical of the current Prime Minister (as several outlets have reported) did not “accurately reflect the circumstances.” At the same time, however, the PRHI statement stressed that it was the publisher’s “prerogative” and “responsibility” to “fact-check and provide authors with recommendations that are in the best interests of their books.”

Certainly, PRHI’s explanation feels odd. After all, U.S. publisher Alfred A. Knopf, which bagged world rights for the title, are owned by the same German media conglomerate, Bertelsmann. It’s more than a little confounding, then, that Knopf, which is already collecting pre-orders ahead of the book’s November publication, should not care about edits over which PRHI appears to have turned away one of the publishing deals of the year in India.

Meanwhile, those following the publishing industry in India will note that this is not the first time that PRHI has dropped a potentially controversial forthcoming book. A couple of months ago, PRHI dropped Joe Sacco’s new graphic book, The Once and Future Riot, based on interviews with the inhabitants of Muzaffarnagar district in North India, and survivors of one of the worst anti-Muslim riots in the country in recent times. And last year, PRHI declared that they would not publish former Indian army chief General Mukund Naravane’s Four Stars of Destiny, another big forthcoming title, until the Ministry of Defense cleared the manuscript.

A discerning reader will note a pattern here: a memoir from one of the most important Opposition leaders in India, dropped; a graphic book relating the story of anti-Muslim riots in an Indian state ruled by the party in power, dropped; a memoir of a high-ranking army general making claims disputed by the government, dropped.

What seems to be at work here is the insidious phenomenon of large publishing houses self-censoring in anticipation of a crackdown from those in power. Of course, PRHI is not going to own up to this. But the writing appears to be on the wall.

What is also interesting is that one of these three titles, Sacco’s The Once and Future Riot, is now being brought to Indian readers by a small, leftist indie press called Leftword Books. Which gives rise to a question many of us who run indie presses and work for them have asked over the years: how is it that small, independent presses manage to take risks that large houses would rather not bother with?

When I have posed this question in the company of higher-ups in large houses, their rather dubious response has been: we have more skin in the game, more employees, more assets to protect. Really? Objectively speaking, small indies have fewer resources, almost no brand value, and existence itself can be precarious for them. By any measure, it seems to me that independent publishers have just as much to lose, if not more—and without the resources to arrange for lawyers and better security.

The deeper question here, however, is this: why choose to self-censor? I can understand not being able to bring a book out if a government department or an individual gets a court to deliver a stay order against publication. Why are large publishing houses like PRHI apparently choosing to self-censor in anticipation of a backlash?

The growing reliance on lawyers and legal teams reading nonfiction titles before they are made ready for release would seem to fly in the face of the very premise of nonfiction publishing. The raison d’être of narrative nonfiction is truth-telling, and the truth can be inconvenient. But how can you call yourself a nonfiction publisher if genuinely acting like one does not agree with your fragile sensibilities? Do you want to be that large house where nonfiction only refers to self-help and wellness?

Perhaps, that is where PRHI is headed, considering they are the publisher of the Indian Prime Minister’s book Exam Warriors, a manual for school students in the country. One is left to wonder: if someone were to write a book about the devastatingly bad state of education in India at present, would PRHI decline to publish that too? Or would they agree to only after the author agreed to their “fact-checks?”