The Modi Ripple: Fascism, Hindutva, and a Student’s Space for Dissent
SEPTEMBER 13, 2013 — Narendra Modi is declared the Bharatiya Janata Party’s Prime Ministerial candidate. In their pursuit for a “Congress-free India,” the BJP machinery markets holograms, comic books and social media broadcasts to young, middle-class Indians that comprise a staggering 150 million first-time votes. Soon enough, Modi’s grand promises overshadow the fact that his party’s ‘Hindutva’ (Hinduness) ideals endanger religious minorities. The BJP’s affiliation with extremist Hindu nationalist groups such as the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) and Bajrang Dal is overlooked in favour of their leader’s progressive economic goals. On his nationwide tour, Modi inflames crowds with allegations of a Pink Revolution.
₹50 billion and six months later, the nation is on the precipice of change. A universal message reigns: India shall no longer cower at the whims of a corrupt administration. Modi is the future.
2017 — India still cowers beneath the heel of tyranny.
When Prime Minister Modi was sworn in, he tipped the scales and gave voice to a dormant beast that has plagued the nation since before its independence: religious tension. Three years later, it is apparent that the seeds of his Pink Revolution conspiracy have borne sinister results, for India is eclipsed by a state of radical majoritarianism that is quickly infecting the nation like a virus. What is especially alarming is that this time, it is India’s own children and not foreign conquerors that seek to divide and destroy her.
From rural districts to progressive metropolitans, religious attacks have become disturbingly commonplace. Muslims are routinely caught and thrashed under broad daylight. “Shout ‘Jai Shri Ram’ (‘Praise Lord Ram’) or I will cut you down!” are some of the threats made. In the nation’s capital, a Muslim man is forced to eat cow dung during the holy month of Ramadan. In another incident, a Muslim tempo driver is stopped and informed: “This is Hindustan (a country of Hindus). You cannot be a Muslim here.”
Perhaps the catalyst to India’s current predicament can be traced back to February 2002, when passengers onboard the Sabarmati Express were killed in a fire. Given that the offenders were Muslim and their victims were not, the incident was instantly branded as Islamic terrorism. Modi himself — then Chief Minister of Gujarat — blamed Pakistan for the Sabarmati massacre and endorsed a nationwide bandh (strike) to protest the deaths of fifty-eight Hindus. On the day of the strike, a mob numbering in the thousands raped, mutilated, looted and burned Muslims in their homes. CM Modi then defended the resulting two thousand Muslim deaths of that night as “natural and justified.”
Wave after wave, Modi’s ripple forms a troubling paradigm that will haunt the nation for decades to come. Today, saffron activists assault Christian nuns and priests; the VHP performs violent forced conversions; Bajrang Dal goons seek out couples on Valentine’s Day and flog them for participating in ‘Western traditions’; Muslim boys are stripped and beaten for accompanying Hindu girls at the mall; extremists barge into homes and drag young couples to police stations under suspicion of ‘Love Jihad’ (amorous conversions).
A terrifying brand of oppression redolent of fictional horrors such as the Thought Police and Faith Militant now governs the world’s largest democracy, yet the Prime Minister appears to be either decidedly ambivalent or utterly powerless to stop it. It is safe to assume that this silence stems from his party’s connection to its right-wing partners, for the BJP is but another political limb in the multi-armed entity that is the RSS. With Modi’s rise, these paramilitary subsidiaries have now surfaced in full force to distort any likelihood of peace. Worse still, the BJP’s Hindutva virus has not only inflicted conservative generations, but has also taken hold of generally freethinking millennials.
Three years ago, civil discourse was encouraged in Indian colleges. One could walk to class without fearing a barrage of moral policing and abuse, and students would — could — engage in healthy debates in a safe environment.
Now, the walls of these academic institutions run red. The ABVP (Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad, Indian Student Council) — another thread in the RSS’ intricate web — has been in the news frequently for inciting violence and assaulting students who refuse to say “Jai Narendra Modi.”
When Gurmehar Kaur of Delhi University introduced a peaceful campaign to oppose this rising fascism, a tempest was unleashed — one whose winds still rage across colleges today. Politicians, celebrities and students alike condemned her as “anti-national”, while the ABVP issued death and rape threats as instruments of intimidation.
Today, words like ‘intolerant’ and ‘anti-national’ are wielded like deadly weapons until all that is left is the empty shell of an inquiring mind. This is how one half of India’s youth are bullied into submission by the other half.
Priyanka Banerjee (name changed to protect identity), a third-year student at the esteemed Indian Law Society’s Law College (ILS), Pune, recalls an incident that has left an indelible impression on her life.
Last month, she and her friends were eating lunch at a popular restaurant near ILS. The eatery entertains a mixed clientele of law students, adults and families. At the time of the incident, it was nearly full.
‘Even our thoughts are being policed now,’ a girl sitting at a table near Banerjee said. ‘If I don’t feel obligated to hate Pakistan, I’m considered unpatriotic.’
Her friend nodded. ‘Nationalism today is not what I studied in school.’
Another group at a different table — well-built older men in their mid-thirties — had been eavesdropping on the conversation. Without warning, they strode over to the girls and began shouting: ‘How dare you support Pakistan? If you love it so much, why don’t you go there? Get out of here!”
One of the girls — let’s call her Reena — explained that she wasn’t supporting Pakistan; she simply didn’t see the rationality in spreading more hate. To this, the harassers spat derogatory Hindi abuses at her. Nobody intervened. Fearing the worst, Reena’s friends nudged her towards the exit.
‘No, we shouldn’t leave,’ Reena insisted. ‘We all have the right to an opinion, so let’s have a civilised discussion — ’
A slap rang out. Jaws dropped. Forks hung midair.
“All of us were in total shock,” recalls Banerjee. “She was literally slapped by a stranger mid-sentence! But the restaurant staff acted as if nothing had happened. When I tried to say something, my friends hushed me and told me it was none of my business. They said that if I got involved I would be labeled as anti-national.”
Nevertheless, Banerjee intervened. To this writer’s relief, she left the scene unscathed.
“I couldn’t understand it,” Banerjee said. “A strange man hit a defenseless girl over a private conversation, and I [was expected] to ignore it. There’s no way to win — either I’m not politically involved enough, or my views are anti-national because they differ from the majority’s beliefs.”
In Modi’s India, students — a body whose core function lies in the questioning of things — are forced to stifle their voices. A dark side to the BJP administration has reared its ugly head more than once since their ascent to power, and yet, it lurks unchecked among the shadows of a Hindutva-induced silence.
When asked if Reena had reported the assault, Banerjee smiled ruefully. “Going to the cops will only get you laughed at or threatened. These thugs have the backing of corrupt politicians and policemen, so [asking for help] will only result in a worse situation.”
Priyanka Banerjee now walks to class each morning with a target on her back.
“Every day at ILS feels like I’m on trial, but I stand by my decision. Being neutral is what gives more power to radicals like the ABVP. It’s fine to have a stance and believe in something, but to attack anyone who doesn’t share your opinion is not how a democracy works.”
In the company of Western visitors, young Indians laud their homeland for its inclusive, multicultural environment. Behind closed doors, however, this nation is burning. Fresh-faced graduates escape Trump’s America only to realise, to their dismay, that India is no longer the land of the free; the voice of the youth. It is now, for better or worse, Modi’s India.
Wave after wave, his ripple forms a troubling paradigm that will haunt the nation for decades to come. In spite of the hopelessness induced by hardline RSS-generated violence, however, Banerjee’s parting words strike a chord: “Maybe it sounds ‘privileged’ to you, but the way I see it, I was born free. If you’re going to try and take that away from me, you’d best be sure I’ll fight for it.”
This article was originally published in May 2017. What’s chilling is that it is still relevant today.
