IF 2014 ended with a short debate on ghar wapsi, 2015 was more preoccupied with puraskar wapsi. In both instances, the debate was not particularly well formulated; it was also inconclusive and far too dependent on the impatient electronic media. As a result, it seemed to be short-lived and hieroglyphic in nature. As such, it is necessary to not only join that debate but also decode it. On the face of it, the ‘controversy’ appeared to be about Modi, BJP and the question of ‘secularism’, but to make better sense of what appears troubling it is necessary to locate the debate in the larger context of India’s democratic enterprise.

While many of those affected directly by the excesses of the current ideological regime – like the minorities – are as yet muted, the controversy has morphed into a battle between sections of the intelligentsia and the sympathizers of the ruling party. It is easy to accuse the protesting intellectuals (and media) for being hostile to the BJP and Modi in particular. But we must also remember that the BJP was in power for six years between 1998 and 2004 and barring the issue of Gujarat violence, such bitter resentment over the party did not become a predominant feature of its tenure.

Are the protestors then only Modi baiters? Remember that only a year or so back, Modi’s emphasis on development, and development alone, had mesmerized many. As a result, many ‘secular’ intellectuals and academics had become far less strident, the economists in particular went completely gaga, journalists routinely went overboard in their praise and the corporate bosses were afflicted with a bout of amnesia regarding Gujarat 2002. Many more were now ready to believe that the Modi of Gujarat was behind us and a changed Modi was set to script a new future. The point is that the present criticism and concern cannot be explained merely by asserting that the critics are Modi baiters. In fact, even during the recent protests, it has been common to demarcate Modi – the developmentalist – from the extremist ‘fringe’ that is obsessed with issues of culture and identity.

 

Thus, the concerns of the present juncture are not merely a product of an anti-BJP and anti-Modi stand. While responding to the immediate triggers, these concerns need to be located in the larger context of an illiberal atmosphere to which the BJP’s coming to power in 2014 has contributed. Put differently, the ambivalence that often marks India’s democracy has become more pronounced at the present juncture chiefly because of and through the politics of Hindutva that the BJP engages in.

Initially in 2014, there was a campaign to ‘reconvert’ Muslims and Christians to the Hindu religion ostensibly because their ancestors were converted under duress or inducement. That campaign first, put the two religious minorities on the defensive. Second, it challenged the constitutional right to freedom of propagating religion. And finally, the ‘ghar wapsi’ campaign vitiated the social-cultural atmosphere.

The ‘death of the writer’ Perumal Murugan, and the assassinations of Govind Pansare and Kalburgi should be seen in the context of this prevailing atmosphere. In between, Wendy Doniger’s book, The Hindus: An Alternative History, was withdrawn. Then came the cow and the beef ban. While it led to some rather comic episodes, such as an over-enthusiastic search at the Kerala state guest house kitchen in Delhi, this issue led to severe and tragic repercussions elsewhere, including a few lynchings on mere suspicion of eating beef. In fact, the incident at Dadri in UP, in addition to the assassination of Kalburgi, has been central to building up an atmosphere of unease and apprehension that has marked 2015.

Even as these developments were unfolding, the Bihar electoral campaign saw the BJP president equating opposition to his party with being pro-Pakistan – a replay of the campaign by Karnataka’s Hindutva outfits who had wanted to send the writer U.R. Ananthamurthy to Pakistan since he had publicly opposed Modi. And, at the time of writing, the playwright and film director Girish Karnad has received death threats over his remarks on Tipu Sultan, the 18th century ruler of Mysore. It is not often that attacks on intellectual freedom and attacks on minorities coincide and make a pattern. So, how does one approach these and similar developments?

 

The set of defensive responses are predictable: First, these developments are reduced to merely a ‘law and order’ problem, rather than seen as impinging on the overall social and political culture. This argument enables a deflatation of the criticism of the ideological overdrive by the present establishment and instead lays the blame on unruly elements. It can then be claimed that many of these incidents were the handiwork of irresponsible elements – the hotheads – who do not represent either the Hindutva mainstream or the ruling party. Third, a favourite tactic of Modi supporters, is to argue that similar incidents had occurred earlier too, and nobody had protested then. Instances from the anti-Sikh violence in and around Delhi or the anti-Pandit campaigns in the Kashmir valley are promptly presented as evidence. And fourth, of course, is the common refrain that the media exaggerates such matters out of proportion. But if we were to leave out these responses, we are back to the much-traversed terrain of debate over Hindutva and communalism.

Indeed, the present moment does signify the onward march of the politics of Hindutva. Unshackled by coalitional constraints, the BJP and proponents of Hindutva feel that the time has finally arrived when they have to build on the electoral victory and ensure that ideas and personnel close to their ideological orientation are placed at all strategic locations in the public sphere so that irrespective of any electoral ups and downs, Hindutva would remain central. Thus, from appointments to symbolism and from textbooks to the scientific establishment, there is a concerted effort to create and strengthen the milieu of Hindutva.

 

This urgency is also reflected in the way debate and criticism is handled in the public domain. The present assertion of Hindutva is something new, more unabashed, more unapologetic, simultaneously targeting both diversity (as a practiced empirical reality) and the domain of pro-diversity ideas. Hence, the repeated incidents of violence, the creation of an atmosphere of fear, and direct interventions in the field of ideas and arts. Contrary to prognostications that having come to power Hindutva would now enter a moderate phase, at least in order to retain electoral power, it has gone into overdrive.

At such moments it is necessary and useful to advance a critique of Hindutva. The many voices against the present atmosphere need to be seen in this context. The protests by artists and intellectuals and the spate of ‘award wapsi’ is in part a response to this overall direction of Hinduization of the public sphere and the growing impatience of Hindutva forces with any protest.

 

Of course, it can be said that there is a sense of déjà vu in the arguments and counter-arguments – particularly the counter-arguments. This is for three reasons: One, most counter-arguments are trapped in the tired binary of ‘communalism versus secularism’. Even after over a century of communal politics, we have yet to evolve a vocabulary that can both capture the phenomenon and sharply distinguish its opposite such that it becomes intelligible to the lay citizen. The common use of secularism does not convey a meaning that it is countering the exclusionary agenda of narrow religion-based nationalism. Rather, the impression is that it is opposed to religion or nationalism or both. The debate then gets trapped into a ‘majority versus minority’ framework and, therefore, easily ends up alienating the majority because, somehow, communalism is identified with the majority and secularism with the minority. No attempt is made to problematize the categories of majority and minority, even though there is enough space to do so.

Finally, most anti-Hindutva arguments also vigorously critique Hindu religion. And while there is indeed much in Hindu religion (and for that matter every religion) to be critiqued, a broad-sweep anti-Hindutva argument only enables the proponents of Hindutva to claim that its critics are actually against the Hindu religion, traditions and practices.

There is thus a need to rework the debate over communalism. But what is needed even more is an appreciation of the larger problem. Contesting Hindutva is necessary, but it is far more urgent to identify the tendencies which indirectly strengthen Hindutva politics. The politics of Hindutva does not grow in isolation. India’s democratic practice and the inconsistencies that mark our democracy, is closely connected to the growth of Hindutva politics. Let us look at three issues that have emerged through the recent controversies and explore whether they have linkages beyond and outside of Hindutva.

 

One recurrent theme is about freedom of expression – from Perumal Murugan to Wendy Doniger, critics complain that the freedom of artistic or academic expression has been compromised in the garb of religious sentiment. Even when bans are not sought, de facto bans are imposed on paintings and films and books by armies of Hindutva persuasion. So much so that twenty-five years ago, even the publication of Ambedkar’s essay, ‘Riddles of Ram and Krishna’ by the Government of Maharashtra was vehemently opposed. While Hindutva does invoke state power against expressions that allegedly hurt majority sentiments, it is equally true that we have always found it difficult to strike a balance between freedom of expression and the sanctity of community sentiments. If at all, as a society we have always found it useful to sideline freedom of expression for fear of hurting the sentiments of one group or the other. This has been done repeatedly – for various groups and by various governments – irrespective of the party in power. As a result of this tendency, bans and curbing of freedom of expression for purposes of Hindutva cannot be effectively countered.

In fact, it might help to remember a characteristic case – a Marathi play, Mi Nathuram Boltoy (This is Nathuram Speaking). Explicitly sympathetic to Nathuram Godse, this play continued to draw volubly sympathetic crowds, mainly in the urban centres of Maharashtra. Long back, when Congress was in the wilderness, both at the Centre and in Maharashtra (1998), it joined hands with other ‘progressive’ forces in demanding a ban on the performance of the play. At that time the issue even occupied the attention of the Rajya Sabha where, among others, Pranab Mukherjee (then in the opposition) is reported to have said that ‘there should be a limitation on freedom of expression’ and the then Home Minister, L.K. Advani told the House that ‘...the Centre has advised the state government to prohibit its (the play’s) performance…’¹

 

The point is that freedom of expression is rarely accorded priority; public order, and the fear that something might hurt sentiments and lead to a ‘law and order situation’, is invariably foregrounded. This preference has nothing to do with Hindutva; it reflects a national and cross-party, cross-ideology position of our establishment. The state never thinks that those creating a law and order problem need to be dealt with; rather, the thinking is that something that purportedly provokes some sections and causes a law and order issue must ipso facto be problematic and thus deserving of restriction. The Indian state has an ambivalent approach to the issue because political parties (and the public) are not in favour of a broad interpretation of the freedom of expression. It is not comfortable with criticism or artistic expression that is at variance with some established opinion or group and seeks to employ legal measures to curb the freedom of expression rather than to protect it. Should the politics of Hindutva be employing the same logic, it only implies that it has skilfully appropriated the pre-existing ambivalence.

 

Another feature associated with the politics of Hindutva is the overenthusiastic and often militant response by sections of the Hinduist organizations – the Bajrang Dal, Sri Ram Sene, Sanatan Samstha –known for unleashing violence against those they perceive as offenders of Hindu ethic, Hindu interest or Hindu sensibilities. Interestingly, the term most often used to describe their actions is ‘taking law into their own hand’ – implying thereby that certain actions need to be lawfully restricted, and that the protest is only against private actors acting without waiting for the formal legal agencies to handle the matter. Most often these organizations advance two common justifications for engaging in violence. The first is related to religion, asserting that religion ordains and permits violence in certain circumstances. Second, the claim that violence which serves the national cause is justified. This argument even finds favour with the Savarkarites. So, whether it be orthodox Hinduists or Savarkarite Hinduists, using violence for religious purpose is not merely justified but is in fact posited as a duty of the follower.² Those who engage in violence can thus claim a moral basis to their understanding of ‘evil’ and the ways to tackle it.

Even though other political actors do not have as easy a recourse to such a religion based or nationalist justification, we nevertheless find that most political organizations, parties and movements tend to indulge in either violence or vigilante activism. Even if they do not take recourse to ideas of ‘evil’, they still exude a sense of righteousness. Vigilantism invariably draws on an element of moral justification, the proposition being that a cause is so just and urgent that it is the duty of all followers to advance it, even if it involves taking recourse to street violence. Many organizations see this as not only morally defensible but a necessary and inevitable element of democratic mobilization. That is where we come up against yet another ambivalence of democracy.

Democracy mobilizes sections of citizens who earlier were not granted a voice or agency. Unfortunately, while correcting this our democratic politics has repeatedly endorsed vigilante actions by the crowd, by groups of self-proclaimed defenders of a cause, or by selectively mobilized activists. The distinction between activism and street action is blurred. Some groups and parties like the Shiv Sena and Maharashtra Navnirman Sena in Maharashtra may have become notorious for this selective unleashing of their followers, but can it be honestly claimed that other parties or organizations entirely shun that strategy? From the protests of DMK activists in the 1960s and ‘Youth Congress’ enthusiasts of Kerala of yesteryears, to the more contemporary outbursts by Trinamool activists, every party discovers merit in the calculated spontaneity of street action. This is often seen as normal in our democracy. Democracy does require active and aware citizens; but to use the argument that vigilante activity unleashed by parties or groups is a legitimate democratic expression, reflects a precarious ambivalence.

 

A third feature of the current politics of Hindutva is its propagation of a majoritarian public ethic. Proponents of plurality are understandably worried over the dwindling public support to the idea of a plural, diverse social universe because increasingly people tend to identify themselves mainly with their religious identity. Moreover, the idea that our nation, its state apparatus and culture, is predominantly shaped by the identity of the ‘majority’ Hindu community has steadily gained ground.³ The politics of Hindutva is based on and seeks to sharpen the majority-minority divide, thereby enhancing the self-consciousness of the majority.

 

But at a deeper societal level, we rarely privilege the individual as a person exercising rights, if not show an inclination towards non-recognition of the individual person. An individual is recognized as such only to the extent other communities and the community of the individual allow that recognition. This reflects a double ambivalence. One is about the status of men and women. The Constitution recognizes them as individual persons, but in practice they are recognized mainly in the context of their respective communities. The other ambivalence is about the relationship of individuals with their respective community – often an inherited and ascription based attribute. The community may fight on behalf of its members for their rights, but individuals find it hard to claim individual identity outside of and in opposition to their community. This dual ambivalence produces a less than enthusiastic social support for, and thus inadequate state protection to, various ‘freedoms’ of the individual. As sociologist Dhirubhai Sheth often points out, ‘India is a democracy of communities’ and individuals are subsumed under their respective communities.

As a consequence, a cognitive division of society into majority and minority groupings receives endorsement across communities. The issues of identity, community rights, claims of communities over the state, are all predicated on such a division. While minorities are defined under law and receive limited protection in terms of an assurance of non-discrimination, this division has equally facilitated the construction of a ‘majority’ in popular imagination and political practice. For over a century now, the politics of Hindutva has appropriated the majoritarian imagination. But let us not forget that besides the mega and overarching majority that Hindutva appropriates, local majorities too keep shaping and claiming democratic ground. Described as nativist claims, such local majoritarian tendencies assert in the name of democracy. Ironically, ‘minorities’ too, when they are numerous in a given spatial context, behave and make demands in exactly the same way as the majority does.

 

This understanding of democracy is in direct contrast to the constitutional scheme; nevertheless, it has become predominant in every part of the country. Linguistic or ethnic claims of local majorities thus constitute another ambivalence of democracy. This ambivalence makes valuing diversity a tough proposition. In localities where diverse communities cohabit, there is always a tussle over whose social practices should get precedence and whose shall be relegated to mere symbolism or memories. In other words, actually practiced and living instances of diversity become rare or limited in their scope.

Take the case of language. On one hand, there are subtle attempts to hoist the hegemony of Hindi language; on the other, there is a complete absence of a multilingual cultural milieu. As I had earlier argued in the pages of Seminar,⁴ our education policy – either in high school or in higher education – not just ignores but disincentivizes bilingualism. Thus, the issue goes beyond politics of Hindutva. Just as we are worried over the homogenizing claims of Hindutva (through the Dharm Sansad) that Sai Baba of Shirdi was not a deity,⁵ in the same way we also need to be worried over the eclipse of multi or bilingualism and curtailing various other forms of diversity resulting in a rather uniform and homogenized society.

 

Does the foregoing discussion mean that Hindutva is not a problem? Hardly. Political Hindutva constitutes a critical challenge before contemporary Indian democracy. However, the criticality of this phenomenon cannot be fully comprehended unless we situate it in context. Hindutva has a long historical trajectory and thus is an outcome of many complex socio-historic factors. However, the expression of Hindutva is increasingly beginning to appear normal, as if it is merely just another way of doing politics rather than a threat to democratic politics. It is necessary to investigate what factors contribute to the normalization of some aspects of the politics of Hindutva. This might lead us to a critique of various practices that India’s public life has accepted as part of democracy.

We might call such practices sub-democratic. While not necessarily undemocratic or anti-democratic, they do contain a mix of democratic and non-democratic elements. Even though the existence of such partly democratic and partly non-democratic practices is not entirely avoidable in a democracy, their endorsement as democratic is certainly so. Therefore, as we mull over a new phase of countering the communal politics of Hindutva, it might help to rid our public life and contemporary public reasoning of a misreading of sub-democratic practices as being acceptable. In other words, there are multiple intellectual fronts on which a contestation of Hindutva needs to take place.

 

One is, of course, what the protests and the act of returning awards has been attempting: registering the unacceptability of a certain atmosphere of majoritarian intolerance. The other is a deeper engagement with the arguments of Hindutva by evolving sharper frames of analyses that might allow us to critique Hindutva in forms more relevant to contemporary public discourse. However, a more complex exercise still remains – one beginning with comprehending the politics of Hindutva as operating within but at the same time complicating the democratic enterprise. Such an understanding would make it possible to examine the culture of India’s democracy and detect the sub-democratic recesses that often claim space as democracy. Unless democracy is more systematically strengthened in its various aspects, accompanied by a purging of sub-democratic practices and ideas, it would not be easy to confront communalism. Anti-communalism, in the last instance, is a project about democracy.

 

Footnotes:

1. ‘Congress Disrupts Godse Play in Bombay’, Rediff On The NeT, 17 July 1998, accessed on 14 November 2015: http://www.rediff. com/news/1998/jul/17godse.htm

2. I have elsewhere discussed this point in the context of the Sanatan Samstha; see Suhas Palshikar, ‘Sanatan Samstha, a Less Known but Potent Member of the Hindutva Family’, The Wire, posted on 28 September 2015, http://thewire.in/2015/09/28/sanathan-sanstha-a-less-known-but-potent-member-of-the-hindutva-family-11789/; accessed on 15 November 2015.

3. I have discussed this issue at greater length in my, ‘The BJP and Hindu Nationalism: Centrist Politics and Majoritarian Impulses’, South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies 38(4), December 2015, pp. 719-35.

4. Suhas Palshikar, ‘Of Democracy and Diversity’, Seminar, January 2008, pp. 83-87.

5. ‘Sai Baba Should not be Worshipped as Deity’, The Hindu, 26 August 2014; http://www.thehindu.com/features/friday-review/religion/shirdi-sai-baba-should-not-be-worshipped-as-deity-says-dharma-sansad-convened-by-the-shankaracharya-swami-swaroop anand-saraswati-of-dwarka-peeth/article 6351000.ece, accessed on 15 November 2015.

6. Ramachandra Guha, ‘The Rise and Fall of the Bilingual Intellectual’, Economic and Political Weekly 44(33), 15 August 2009, pp. 36-40, laments the absence of bilingualism among intellectuals, which is only a reflection of overall cynicism about linguistic diversity, but the point here is about bilingualism in common practice as well.