ByPamela
Constable
Once upon a
time, I lived in the world’s largest democracy. India at the dawn of the millennium
was a sprawling, kaleidoscopic society of nearly 1 billion people, beginning to
emerge from Cold War insularity, open its long-sheltered economy and grab onto
the nascent high-tech boom.
It was also
a foreign correspondent’s dream, with a panoply of topics, some exotic and
others troubling, to cover — Bollywood premieres and village dowry burnings,
deadly religious riots and mass festivals where millions of barefoot pilgrims
crammed sacred riverbanks, lost in spiritual rapture.
Poverty and
desperation were in full view. At traffic circles near my office, children with
deformed limbs begged until long after dark. At construction sites, migrant
laborers carried pans of dirt on their heads and slept on pieces of cardboard.
In villages, people used the fields as their toilets, and some were so indebted
to landlords that they had to rent out their children as servants.
When I
think back on the contentious but secular mosaic of India I experienced between 1998
and 2005, I am stunned to see the ominous turn it has recently taken into
religious intolerance.
At that time, Hinduism was dominant but not
overbearing. With colorful rituals and beloved gods including an elephant and a
monkey, it offered entertainment and escape, solace and hope for the masses.
One of my most moving experiences was accompanying a modest Hindu family on a
long train journey to the Ganges , where they
waded in at dawn and baptized their shrieking baby boy in the frigid waters,
certain that he was now blessed for life.
Promotion
of the “Hindutva” ideology, an all-encompassing guide for life, often took the
form of public services, carried out by disciplined youth cadres. I once
watched a squad of these young, uniformed activists collect bloated corpses
after a cyclone in Orissa state, while residents watched, grateful but
horrified.
But
religious tensions remained close to the surface, especially between Hindus and
Muslims, whose differences had festered since the chaotic partition of India in 1947.
Despite a population of 200 million and a few high-profile celebrities, such as
film star Shah Rukh Khan, Muslims remained largely second-class citizens with
little political clout.
My first
encounter with such “communal” hostility occurred in my kitchen, where the
Hindu manager angrily upbraided the Muslim watchman for drinking from his
teacup. In public, far uglier clashes erupted periodically: In 1992, militant
Hindu groups invaded and demolished the historic Babri Mosque; a decade later,
Hindu-Muslim riots in Gujarat state left more
than 1,000 dead.
In a dozen
reporting trips over a decade to the Kashmir Valley, a bucolic alpine region on
the Indian-controlled side of the Himalayan territory claimed by both India and
Pakistan, I saw how the historic dispute had created a permanently open wound
and a vicious cycle of protest and repression, often sparked by insurgent
attacks.
The valley
looked like Switzerland
but felt like the Gaza Strip. I drove past apple orchards and meadows and
visited quaint house boats that bobbed on Dal Lake ,
waiting for tourists who never came. But the news that brought me there was
depressing and often deadly. The local Muslim populace was always waiting for
the next funeral.
Yet
somehow, something held India
together — an intangible common cause among a billion people of many faiths,
castes and languages.
I caught
glimpses of this spirit during independence day celebrations and at peaceful
demonstrations by striking teachers or railroad workers in a site in the
capital reserved for protests. I saw it at election campaigns in crowded slums,
and at village meetings where people spoke their minds and the statue of a man
holding a book — the social reformer B.R. Ambedkar — stood nearby.
But I
didn’t really understand it until I had also spent considerable time in Pakistan . Like India , it had a
parliament, a judiciary, a vibrant press and frequent public rallies for
various causes. But gradually, I realized that there were certain limits on all
of this activity, mostly invisible and unspoken, but understood by everyone.
In
practice, Pakistan ’s
governing system was rigged in favor of the rich, and the military wielded more
power than civilian institutions. Millions of ordinary people had few rights or
opportunities, making them vulnerable to the appeal of radical Islam. Rallies
for Kashmiri independence were officially sanctioned, but anyone who truly
challenged power was threatened or stopped.
What made
Hindu-majority India more
successful than Muslim-majority Pakistan
was not religious dogma, it was political freedom. It was the glue of
tolerance, the secular system that promised — if not always ensuring — that all
Indians had a chance to air grievances and practice their faith. Corruption and
caste discrimination persisted, but people felt that their voices and votes
counted.
Today,
though, India ’s
vaunted South Asian democracy is under unprecedented attack — not by foreign
rivals, but by its own leaders.
The
governing Bharatiya Janata Party is the same Hindu nationalist group that
dominated power during the years I lived there. But its once-inclusive message
— then tempered by the opposition Congress party — has been replaced by an
aggressive agenda of Hindu hegemony. And the prime minister is now Narendra
Modi, a religious hard-liner who was once accused of abetting the anti-Muslim
rioters in Gujarat as the state’s chief
minister.
Modi’s
election in 2014 was largely based on his record as a champion of economic
growth. But his reelection in May was stoked by a wave of patriotic and
religious emotion after an especially deadly suicide bombing in Kashmir — which
triggered an aerial skirmish between Indian and Pakistani warplanes — brought
the nuclear-armed rivals dangerously close to war.
In August,
Modi’s government abruptly revoked the semiautonomous rights for Kashmir that India ’s
constitution had granted in 1950, then flooded the region with troops, cut off
the Internet and banned news coverage for months. Last month, after a
semi-clandestine visit, the New Yorker journalist Dexter Filkins described the
mood among Kashmiri Muslims as isolated, frightened and smoldering with anger.
Across the
country, authorities have also used force, legal measures and harsh rhetoric to
intimidate Muslims, branding them as potential terrorists. Police have stood by
as mobs lynched Muslims for selling cows, which are venerated in Hinduism. Last
month, a law was enacted that eases the path for illegal immigrants of six
faiths to become Indian citizens — but specifically excludes Muslims.
Modi’s
supporters praise such measures as necessary to quash the lingering menace of
Islamic terrorism and restore India ’s
image as a haven for foreign tourists and investment. The country has never
fully recovered from the 2008 four-day siege of Mumbai, the financial capital,
by a Pakistan-based terrorist squad that left 165 people dead.
But there
still may be reason to hope that India , long a political role model
for the developing world, has not lost its democratic backbone.
In recent
weeks, the new citizenship rules have provoked spontaneous and widening
protests by a cross-section of Indians, including students at the country’s
leading university, in defense of both Muslim minority rights and India ’s
tolerant democracy.
Last week,
news reports showed a young woman, her arm in a cast and her head bandaged
after a beating by Hindu nationalists, defiantly addressing a crowd in New Delhi . “Even if you
beat us, we won’t step back,” she cried. “Long live the revolution.”
Maybe the India
I once knew is alive and kicking after all.
(Courtesy:
The Washington Post)