Radhika Barman

In the era of the Second World War, a period marked by global conflicts and colonial oppression, Bengal witnessed a unique cultural and ideological development. Amidst the pervasive distress of British colonial rule and the escalating global turmoil, Kazi Nazrul Islam, an influential Muslim polymath, emerged as a pivotal figure in Bengali literature and music. His compositions of Shyama Sangeets—devotional songs dedicated to Kali Ma—became a potent symbol of resistance against the prevailing injustices and colonial oppression.

Nazrul’s journey was fraught with personal and public adversities. His work faced severe criticism from both colonial authorities and his contemporaries. Despite imprisonment, bans, and social ostracism, he remained steadfast in his mission. The Shyama Sangeets, initially met with hostility and censorship from Purba Banga Betar Kendra, underscore his unyielding commitment to his artistic and ideological vision. Nazrul’s exploration of Shaktism—drawing from its deep-rooted traditions and scriptures—reflects his engagement with themes of empowerment and defiance.

The rise of Shaktism in Bengal, particularly from the late 17th century, set a significant cultural backdrop for Nazrul’s work. The proliferation of Kalibaris and the popularization of Shakta dacoits, who were revered as folk heroes, highlighted the era’s spiritual and socio-political dynamics. Literary figures such as Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay, with works like Anandamath and Devi Chowdhurani, played a crucial role in popularizing Shakti worship, celebrating the Mother’s supremacy. Major shrines like Tarapith and Dakshineshwar, along with Kalighat, further entrenched the cultural significance of Shakti worship in Bengal.

In this context, Nazrul’s contributions stand out. His Shyama Sangeets were not merely devotional compositions but were imbued with a deep political and cultural resistance. By elevating Kali Ma as a symbol of nationalistic rebellion and maternal strength, Nazrul utilized Shaktism as a tool for expressing resistance against colonial and racial injustices. His compositions, including those in the collection Ranga Joba, serve as eloquent responses to the colonial oppression and racial discrimination of his time.

Scholars like Ashis Nandy and Partha Chatterjee have highlighted the role of cultural resistance in colonial contexts, and Nazrul’s work exemplifies this phenomenon. His music, deeply rooted in Shakta traditions, served as a vehicle for articulating resistance against both colonial subjugation and racial derision. The thematic elements of his Shyama Sangeets align with what Benedict Anderson describes as “imagined communities,” where cultural symbols play a pivotal role in the formation of collective identity and resistance (Anderson, Imagined Communities).

Furthermore, Nazrul’s work resonates with the critical scholarship of Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, who emphasizes the importance of subaltern voices in challenging dominant narratives (Spivak, Can the Subaltern Speak?). Nazrul’s Shyama Sangeets represents a powerful subaltern critique of colonial power structures, utilizing spiritual symbolism to assert national and cultural autonomy.

Nazrul’s profound engagement with Shaktism, alongside his contributions to Bengali literature and music, situates him as a central figure in the cultural resistance movement of his time. His legacy, preserved through his extensive body of work and the continued reverence of his compositions, underscores the transformative power of art and spirituality in resisting oppression. His works remain a testament to the enduring impact of cultural and ideological resilience.

Kazi Nazrul Islam’s Shyama Sangeets transcend mere devotional music; they are emblematic of a broader struggle for cultural and political liberation. His contributions, characterized by artistic brilliance and ideological fortitude, highlight the significant role of artistic expression in challenging and overcoming systemic oppression.

I yearn for a time when we can see each other purely as human beings, free from the constraints of religious, cultural, or national identities. I envision a future where our interactions are governed not by the divisions of Hindu or Muslim, but by our shared humanity. I dream of a new dawn that ushers in a world where the concepts of majority and minority are irrelevant, replaced instead by a universal consciousness that binds us all together.

Imagine a sunrise that symbolizes the beginning of an era where there are no societal expectations to adhere to patriotic fervor or religious obligations. In this envisioned world, humanism becomes the guiding principle, not as a mere ideology, but as the essence of our existence. We would transcend the superficial boundaries that currently segregate us, embracing a collective identity rooted in empathy, respect, and solidarity.

In this ideal world, our focus would shift from the superficial aspects of identity to the core of what makes us human. There would be no need for labels or classifications that pit one group against another. Our conversations would be genuine, untainted by the need to conform to societal norms or expectations tied to our backgrounds. We would interact with each other based on our intrinsic value as individuals, not on preconceived notions or stereotypes.

The notion of patriotism would be redefined, moving beyond the narrow confines of nationalistic pride. Instead of being bound by allegiance to a specific nation or political entity, our loyalty would extend to the collective well-being of humanity. The idea of being patriotic would be replaced by a commitment to universal human rights and justice, focusing on what unites us rather than what divides us.

Similarly, religious obligations would no longer dictate our behavior or attitudes. The diversity of religious beliefs and practices would be acknowledged and respected, but they would no longer serve as barriers between us. Our shared humanity would take precedence over any doctrinal differences, fostering a culture of mutual understanding and acceptance.

Humanism, as the central tenet of this new world, would champion the inherent dignity and worth of every person. It would encourage us to look beyond our differences and to appreciate the common threads that connect us. In this world, acts of kindness and compassion would be the norm, and our actions would be driven by a desire to enhance the collective good.

While it may seem like a lofty dream, the hope for such a world is not without precedent. Many have shared this vision of unity and harmony, advocating for a future where humanity is valued above all else. The dream of a world free from division and conflict is one that has inspired countless individuals throughout history.

As John Lennon famously sang, “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.” This sentiment resonates deeply with those who aspire to a more inclusive and compassionate world. It reflects a collective hope that, despite the challenges and obstacles, there will come a time when our shared humanity will prevail over the divisive forces of identity and ideology.

I hope that, one day, you will join us in this vision of a united world. Together, we can work towards a future where humanism is not just an ideal but a lived reality. Let us strive to build a world where the boundaries that separate us are dismantled, and we come together as one, bound by our common humanity.

If you haven’t stood up for Palestine despite witnessing a full-scale genocide for eight months, you need to restore your humanity. You don’t need to be Muslim or Palestinian; you only need to be human. People are dying, and while the UN seems ineffective, are we just going to sit quietly and do nothing? Will US unipolarity prevail again, as it often does? It’s no secret that the US benefits economically from instigating wars everywhere. Those surprised by their current hypocrisy either haven’t studied history or are too naive to fall for neoliberal propaganda. No wonder they label a genocide as a war.

In India, we’ve seen how state-sponsored pogroms are often misrepresented as riots for mainstream consumption. Similarly, we should recognize how a genocide is being misrepresented as a war in Palestine. When the home is in crisis, the home minister is missing; when the world is in crisis, the United Nations is absent.

Human lives are being sacrificed for the sake of sovereignty, while fence-sitters are busy writing academic papers. Palestine is not a research area for extra credits. Instead, research US unipolarity and find ways to combat it. Palestine needs an end that is just and humane.

What troubles me most is the tragic irony that when Palestine retaliated in self-defense, some intellectuals abruptly shifted their support to Israel. Noam Chomsky’s quote comes to mind: “You take my water, burn my olive trees, destroy my house, take my job, steal my land, imprison my father, kill my mother, bombard my country, starve us all, humiliate us all, but I am to blame because I shot a rocket back.”

The media, both in India and elsewhere, is hypocritical and lacking in human values. They reduce a humanitarian crisis to a religious conflict, oversimplifying the issue and giving a distorted narrative. This is why reading books is crucial. Podcasts designed to brainwash will never replace the depth of reading.

One day, when Palestine is free, many will regret standing on the wrong side of history. If you still have a heart that cares, set aside your social, religious, and political ideologies and speak up. At least counter the false propaganda.

As Arundhati Roy says, “The only moral thing Palestinian civilians can do apparently is to die. The only legal thing the rest of us can do is to watch them die. And be silent. If not, we risk our scholarships, grants, lecture fees, and livelihoods.” Will you be able to forgive yourself for letting democracy become a historical event? Will you be able to explain to future generations that you chose silence because politics didn’t affect you personally? If not, speak up now.

“All battles are fought to win, but to establish that someone fought while others refused to.” – Ravish Kumar, Indian Journalist

The claim that Kolkata remains a safe city because only one rape case has recently garnered attention is deeply flawed and overlooks the fundamental issue that underpins such crimes—brutal physical and psychological violence against women. No space, urban or rural, is inherently safe or unsafe. As long as individuals—predominantly men—exist without a comprehensive understanding of consent, incidents of sexual violence will continue. The administration must be held accountable, whether it is for one rape or a hundred. Every act of sexual violence, irrespective of its nature, demands collective outrage. The argument that “only one rape” occurred is a fallacy because the occurrence of even a single rape indicates a profound failure of society and the state. Thus, the administration, as well as society, should express deep remorse, recognizing both direct and indirect responsibilities. Such a response is rooted in an ethic of care, a concept explored by scholars like Carol Gilligan, which emphasizes the moral importance of responsiveness to the needs and vulnerabilities of others.

The absence of widespread condemnation, particularly from supporters of the ruling party, raises significant concerns about the political culture in West Bengal. Men, as a group, need to confront the historical and systemic oppression of women, and women who have justified or ignored misogynistic behavior within their families also bear responsibility. No individualj becomes a rapist in isolation; rather, such behavior often stems from environments where misogyny is normalized or overlooked. However, it is crucial to distinguish between those who perpetuate these norms and those, particularly mothers, who are unable to influence their sons despite their best efforts. In these cases, the lack of culpability must be recognized, and empathy extended. Democracy, as argued by scholars like Alexis de Tocqueville, cannot thrive without empathy and active citizen participation. It is essential that citizens and political actors alike exert themselves to demonstrate empathy and hold the state government accountable. As citizens, it is our duty to demand that the government prove us wrong in our criticisms. The ultimate goal is not to seek retribution but to ensure justice for victims like Moumita.

The argument that women should remain indoors after dark to avoid rape is a reductive and misguided response to the problem of sexual violence. Rape can occur at any time and in any place, underscoring the inadequacy of simplistic solutions. The bystander effect, where individuals do not intervene in instances of public harassment, is a manifestation of a deeply entrenched patriarchal culture that must be dismantled. The midnight protest symbolizes a reclamation of public space and a rejection of the narratives that confine women to private, controlled environments. Feminist scholars such as Judith Butler have discussed the importance of performative acts in public spaces as a form of resistance against normative power structures. The act of taking to the streets, blowing conch shells, and asserting presence is a powerful political statement against the Brahminical patriarchy that has historically sought to confine women within certain religious and social boundaries.

This protest transcends the specific case of Moumita, addressing the broader issue of sexual violence in India. Despite potentially lower rape statistics in Bengal, one cannot ignore the findings of the 2018 Thomson Reuters Foundation survey, which declared India the most dangerous country for women. Critics who question this ranking by comparing it to countries like Afghanistan and Pakistan fail to recognize the complex ways in which patriarchy operates. In highly conservative societies, women may have internalized their subordination to such an extent that they no longer seek justice, viewing their oppression as a normal part of life. This aligns with Michel Foucault’s concept of biopower, where power operates through social norms and internalized discipline, leading to self-regulation among the oppressed.

Rape is not merely about sexual gratification; it is about exerting power over someone deemed inferior. In societies where women have been conditioned to accept their subordination, the absence of vocal resistance does not equate to safety but rather to a deep-seated resignation. This resignation must not be allowed to take root in India. Women must continue to raise their voices, demand justice, and refuse to conform to patriarchal expectations of docility. We must challenge the notion that political protests are inherently politicized in a negative sense. Politics, as articulated by scholars like Chantal Mouffe, is about the expression of dissent and the protection of the marginalized. To demand justice and criticize state institutions is not to politicize an issue, but to engage in the necessary work of democracy.

In a country where figures like Asaram Bapu still have supporters and where the Prime Minister follows accounts that propagate abusive rhetoric, the fight for women’s safety and freedom is far from over. The path to justice requires not only outrage but also sustained political action. Joining protests is not merely about Moumita; it is about shaping a society where neither sons become rapists nor daughters become victims of rape.

I know people and have classmates across political affiliations. I am going to address a BJP & CPM paradox here. Also just to be clear I am neither BJP nor cpm supporter. Communists are stereotyped as people who wear indecent clothes, have rainbow symbol in SM, Ukraine – Palestine advocate, love cats, drink alcohol, have cigarettes, have radical opinions, sexually expressive, indulge in promiscuity, atheism advocacy, speak in english, book lovers, talk on climate change, are pro muslim and are disrespectful to seniors.

BJP supporters are stereotyped as people who love saffron, full clothed, have Hindu emojis in bio, proud sanatani written, Israel advocate, love cows, abstain from smoking and drinking, have unapologetic opinions, don’t talk about sex, unless it’s about jihad, watch cooking shows, love fashion, ram favourite God, watch Radha Krishna serial, speak in hindi, podcast lovers, talk on juvenile delinquency, obsessed with religious mythology, and are respectful to seniors.

However, I have personally found the reverse to be true as well. I have seen communists who match stereotypes. I have seen BJP supporters who match the stereotypes. But I have also seen the reverse too. I know communists who don’t drink, smoke, wear decent clothes, aren’t LGBT supporters, aren’t interested in geopolitics, support Russia and Israel, have opinions but place them in diplomatic ways, don’t talk about sex and sexuality, believe in God, Ganesh, Kali – favourite deity, love fashion, love sarees, read love stories, talk on juvenile delinquency, are respectful to seniors, dislike muslims, watch cooking shows, love food, speak in local language, aren’t book lovers, watch Radha Krishna serial etc;

I have seen BJP supporters too who have rainbow symbol in SM, Ukraine – Palestine advocate, drink alcohol, have cigarettes, refrain from opinions in public platforms, sexually expressive, indulge in promiscuity, believe in God, speak in english, love podcasts, talk on climate change, are pro muslim and are disrespectful to seniors.

Wokism cannot be a derogatory term. Conventional bad girl vibes is relevant on both sides and the reverse is also true.

The contemporary discourse surrounding secularism and governance in South Asia reveals a striking paradox that highlights deep-seated inconsistencies and misunderstandings about the principles of secularism. On one hand, there is a vocal segment of Indian Hindus on social media platforms like Twitter who advocate for a Hindu Rashtra in India. This concept envisions India as a nation predominantly defined by Hindu cultural and religious norms. However, the same group often supports secularism in neighboring Bangladesh, where they argue for equal treatment of all religions and oppose any form of religious governance. This stance creates a curious contradiction: advocating for a religiously defined state at home while endorsing secular governance abroad.

On the other hand, Indian Muslims on Twitter frequently champion the cause of secularism in India, calling for a state that upholds the separation of religion from politics and ensures equal rights for all citizens, regardless of their religious affiliations. Yet, this group often expresses support for Islamic governance in Bangladesh, which they view as more aligned with their religious principles and cultural values. This preference for Islamic governance abroad, despite advocating for secularism at home, underscores a similar paradox: promoting secular values in one context while supporting a religiously defined state in another.

This duality reflects a broader issue: a lack of nuanced understanding and consistent application of secular principles. Secularism, in its true sense, implies the separation of religion from the state, ensuring that governance is conducted in a manner that is impartial to all religions. It requires not only tolerance but also active efforts to prevent any single religion from dominating the political sphere. Yet, both liberal and right-wing factions often exhibit a selective commitment to secularism.

The liberals, who advocate for secularism, may overlook the necessity of maintaining it in all contexts, including in their support for secularism abroad. Conversely, right-wing supporters of religious nationalism may espouse secular values when convenient but push for religious-based policies when it aligns with their ideological goals. This selective adherence to secularism is detrimental to its true purpose and contributes to the current state of discord and confusion.

In essence, both sides of the ideological spectrum bear responsibility for the confusion and contradictions surrounding secularism today. The challenge lies in fostering a genuine, consistent understanding of secularism that is applied universally, rather than selectively, to ensure that all citizens, regardless of their religious identity, are treated with equal respect and fairness.

Opposing the Awami League might appear popular, yet it is crucial to recognize that the party has been instrumental in Bangladesh’s economic development. Similarly, supporting Ukraine without considering the broader implications of American interventionist policies and President Zelensky’s decision to continue the war offers a partial perspective.

The shifting allegiances between Palestine and Israel reflect a trend-following mentality rather than principled positions. This pattern is evident in the support for Anna Hazare, whose movement indirectly facilitated Narendra Modi’s rise. Many who now oppose Modi supported Hazare and, as a result, contributed to the Congress party’s defeat in the 2014 election.

Normative conformity and shifting political trends undermine genuine democratic engagement. Had the IAC movement not occurred, the Congress might still be in power, and democratic processes might not have been as compromised. The failure to critically assess edited graphics and misinterpret Rahul Gandhi’s positions have exacerbated these issues.

Manmohan Singh’s assertion, “I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it,” underscores a commitment to democratic principles that contrasts with the current political landscape. For instance, Mamata Banerjee, previously part of the NDA, now champions secularism, and Arvind Kejriwal, who endorsed Modi for Prime Minister in 2013, now opposes him.

Both liberals and right-wingers must engage in introspection. The issue is not confined to one side but is indicative of a broader trend of privileging neutrality and making impulsive decisions to align with current trends. This pattern is detrimental to democracy and necessitates reevaluation from all political perspectives.

Recent extensive outrage has been observed regarding geopolitical crises in Ukraine, Bangladesh, Israel, and Palestine. While I have also engaged in these discussions, I am increasingly concerned that this geopolitical outrage is failing to uphold humanitarian principles. It appears to function more as a coping mechanism driven by normative conformity rather than addressing substantive humanitarian concerns. Consequently, I have decided to focus exclusively on issues affecting Manipuris, Dalits, and other marginalized groups.

This shift in focus is motivated by a growing realization that geopolitical discourse often aligns with transient trends rather than providing meaningful solutions. It may be influenced by a “holier-than-thou” attitude, where engagement with political content is sought for intellectual gratification rather than genuine moral concern. The subjective nature of morality and the conflict inherent in righteousness debates often result in counterproductive outcomes, akin to the effects of revolutions. These discussions may only create an illusion of negative peace rather than fostering genuine positive peace. The tendency to seek validation through confirmation bias reveals a deeper issue: a lack of true liberation and an adherence to the paradoxes of neoliberalism.

In this paradoxical context, there is a notable disconnect between those who express concern for Palestine or Bangladesh and the neglect of issues in Manipur. This pattern indicates that both Hindutvadis and Islamists are engaging in religious solidarity under the guise of geopolitical concern, rather than advancing authentic humanism.

In the face of the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Palestine, it is crucial to underscore a fundamental truth: supporting the plight of the Palestinian people does not require one to be Muslim or Palestinian. The essence of human solidarity transcends religious and national identities. To advocate for Palestine is to stand up for universal human rights and dignity. The ongoing conflict in Israel and Palestine is not merely a religious dispute but a profound humanitarian crisis that demands a response rooted in empathy and justice.

Our moral compass should not be swayed by affiliations or biases. The suffering experienced by Palestinians is a global concern, as human rights are universal and indivisible. If tomorrow, the walls of your own home were under siege, would you remain indifferent or neutral? Neutrality in the face of such egregious violations of human rights serves no purpose. It is neither an act of wisdom nor a stance of moral superiority. Instead, it reflects a troubling disconnect from the very essence of our shared humanity.

It is imperative to reject selective outrage—where empathy and solidarity are reserved only for those whose suffering aligns with our personal or political preferences. Such cherry-picking not only undermines genuine humanitarian concern but also perpetuates a cycle of injustice and inaction. True solidarity demands a commitment to humanism over tribalism, transcending boundaries of religion and nationality.

In this critical moment, let us champion humanism with unwavering resolve. Support for Palestine is not about choosing sides in a religious or political debate but about standing up for human rights and justice. Embrace the principle of being Pro-Humanism, and resist the temptation to tailor your outrage to fit convenient narratives. Genuine compassion and action are needed now more than ever.

In the heart of the Indian Parliament, a moment of intense drama unfolded. Rahul Gandhi, now the Leader of Opposition, stood before the assembly, his voice echoing with conviction. The backdrop of his speech was an issue that had deeply troubled the nation: the recent demolitions of Muslim homes by Hindu extremists. These demolitions, carried out with alarming frequency and fervor, had ignited a storm of criticism and concern, with many accusing the ruling BJP of tacitly endorsing or even encouraging such actions.

Rahul Gandhi’s response to this turmoil was both bold and symbolic. Amid the heated debate, he took a stand that was as much about politics as it was about faith. With a resolute gesture, he displayed a picture of Lord Shiva, one of Hinduism’s revered deities, to underscore a message of peace and non-violence. In his address, he urged for courage in the face of violence and called upon all to reject the path of destruction that had marred the recent days.

His move was a strategic defiance against the BJP’s narrative, which many perceived as an attempt to monopolize Hinduism for political gain. By invoking Lord Shiva, Rahul sought to remind the Parliament and the public that true Hindu values were rooted in respect and harmony, not in the divisive actions of extremists. The display was not just a critique of the demolitions but also a call to rise above communal discord and uphold the principles of justice and unity.

The Congress party, often criticized for its perceived silence on communal issues, saw this as a pivotal moment. Rahul Gandhi’s address was a calculated effort to reposition the party as a defender of secular values, challenging the BJP’s portrayal of Hinduism. The speech aimed to shift the narrative, emphasizing that the demolitions and the ensuing violence were at odds with the essence of Hindu teachings.

The BJP, on the other hand, dismissed Gandhi’s approach as a political maneuver, accusing him of attempting to defame Hindu values and undermine the party’s actions. The incident highlighted the increasing polarization of Indian politics, where religious symbols and narratives are wielded as tools for political gain.

In this charged atmosphere, the Parliament became a stage for a dramatic clash of ideologies, each side using the weight of religious and political symbols to assert their vision for India. As the Leader of Opposition this was his first challenge. He knew that avoiding religious symbolism wasn’t an option. It wasn’t an option because bjp wanted that to happen. In chess you don’t move the pawn your player is expecting. In power politics too you sometimes therefore have to do opposite of your opponents expectation. The BJP’s game plan was too deeply entrenched in cultural and religious rhetoric.

In rural India, where life is defined by relentless labor and struggle, secularism is lived rather than debated. These hardworking individuals had already shown their wisdom by rejecting Modi in Ayodhya, a testament to their understanding of secular values. They lived their secularism through their daily lives, far removed from the ideological battles of urban centers.

In contrast, the BJP had captivated urban India, especially the youth, by portraying Hindutva as a cultural revival. This movement was seen as a counter to rising atheism, with many urban supporters mistakenly equating secularism with atheism. For them, aligning with Modi was a way to demonstrate their religious identity and avoid the stigma of atheism.

The BJP’s strategy had effectively transformed secularism into a slur, and the urban elite, steeped in government-sponsored content, struggled to grasp the nuanced distinction between secularism and atheism. This confusion was compounded by a scarcity of accessible literature that could clarify these concepts.

Amid this backdrop, Rahul Gandhi took a bold step. In Parliament, he wielded religious symbols not just as a counter to the BJP’s narrative but as a means to articulate a more nuanced understanding of religion in a democratic context.

Gandhi’s approach was a stark contrast to Modi’s, who used religious symbols to impose a singular vision of religion. Gandhi sought to bridge the gap between modern democratic values and spiritual understanding, challenging the BJP’s oversimplified narrative with a more complex and inclusive view.

The BJP’s claim that technology and spirituality could coexist was undermined by censorship and restrictions, reflecting a cognitive dissonance between their ancient spiritual ideals and modern technological realities. Gandhi’s efforts were an attempt to offer a simplified counter-narrative, bridging modernity and spirituality while navigating the turbulent waters of political and religious discourse.

There is significant evidence indicating that attacks on Hindus persist in Bangladesh. Recently, in Dhaka’s Shahbagh district, Hindu groups organized a four-hour blockade to highlight their concerns and demand increased security. The protesters articulated several critical demands: they called for the establishment of a Ministry for Minority Affairs, the creation of a Minority Protection Commission, and the implementation of stringent laws to prevent all forms of attacks on minorities. Additionally, they sought the reservation of 10 percent of parliamentary seats for minorities.

Syeda Rizwana Hasan, the advisor for forest, environment, and climate change, has acknowledged the reality of the situation by confirming that “attacks are occurring against religious minorities and indigenous communities in some areas.” This acknowledgment is crucial as it underscores the ongoing threats and violence faced by Hindus and other minority groups in Bangladesh.

It is essential to recognize the genuine dangers faced by Hindus in the country, avoiding sensationalist narratives that could obscure the real issues. The persistent violence against minorities suggests a deeper systemic problem. If the Bangladeshi people claim to have removed dictatorship but fail to safeguard their minorities, the situation becomes even more concerning. It illustrates that the removal of a dictator does not automatically translate to a just or safe environment for all citizens.

A failed state does not require a dictator to be labeled as such; the failures of a nation can be attributed to the actions—or inactions—of its people. Just because some right-wing groups are spreading false information does not mean that Hindus are secure in Bangladesh. Minorities are particularly vulnerable, often becoming the first targets when the societal system breaks down or fails to function properly.

This situation is not a litmus test for those who support the oppression of minorities in our own country, as such individuals have always shown little regard for minority issues. Rather, it serves as a litmus test for those who claim to support minorities, urging them to address these concerns with genuine commitment and action.

The BJP’s Hindutva agenda is justified among urban circles as a cultural revival movement. This movement is in opposition to rising atheism. People mistake secularism for atheism. To clarify this, it was important to prove that the BJP is not truly Hindu. People supported Modi to demonstrate they were not atheists; supporting Modi was perceived as a religious stance. Atheists, on the other hand, are subject to cancel culture. Anyone who opposed Modi was perceived as an atheist. The assumption was that if you vote for Modi, you are religious, and if you don’t, you are not. People believe a practicing Hindu cannot be secular. Secularism has become a slur in India. Those who follow geopolitics know that secularism refers to the separation of church and state, which is negative secularism but not atheism. How can a highly privileged society that studies humanities solely to pass exams, consuming government-sponsored content, understand this difference? It’s difficult. There are individuals who understand this difference at a subconscious level, but there isn’t enough accessible literature to reinforce their beliefs. Moreover, the BJP’s continuous victories left little room for validating opposing ideas.

What Rahul Gandhi did was a crucial step in verbalizing this subconscious conflict at an ideational level. People were confused due to rising cancel culture but were not convinced at a subconscious level. The BJP framed the issue as constitutionalism versus cultural revivalism. Consequently, Gen Z chose culture to avoid being mistaken for atheists. However, the very existence of this choice is undemocratic. Rahul Gandhi had to wield both the constitution and religious symbols. Some BJP leaders claimed that technology and spirituality go hand in hand in India. However, you cannot use a smartphone if there is censorship over the content you can access. China may be an economic superpower, but it is not a democratic country. Thus, it was never about balancing modernism and spirituality; it is ableist to suggest making ancient people spiritual but not modern ones. The same individuals who boast about plastic surgery existing in Vedic times exhibit cognitive dissonance. Modi used religious symbols to impose one idea of religion, while Rahul used them to explain religion. That is the difference: the former presented an oversimplified thesis, while the latter provided a simplified antithesis.

I’ve observed a narrative suggesting that only certain Muslims, Sikhs, Dalits, and Adivasis—those who are perceived as exceptional or different—are exceptions to widespread stereotypes. The belief that all religious individuals prioritize their religion above all else often leads to oversimplified views. For example, a common phrase heard in Bengal about Muslims is: “Eder ke tomra jottoi apnate jao na keno, era nijeder ke Pakistani mone kore, era beimaan hoye” (no matter how hard you try to accept them, they won’t accept you the way you do. They think of themselves as Pakistani. They are traitors). This oversimplified dichotomy doesn’t capture the full picture.

I’ve seen both sides of this issue through personal interactions and research. While I don’t have many Muslim friends, I’ve been raised among Hindus and Christians, and I observe people closely. I’ve encountered Muslims who openly express hatred for India, and others who seem to prioritize fitting into specific social circles over friendships. Indian Muslim Twitterati often engage in moral policing, focusing on religious purity and the call for a Caliphate.

However, I’ve also seen the positive side. Some Muslims celebrate Hindu festivals like Holi and Diwali, and I’ve had experiences where Muslims and Christians engaged with Hindu traditions respectfully. For instance, a Muslim friend appreciated a prayer I shared during her pregnancy, and another enthusiastically participated in Hindu festivals.

In my interactions, I’ve found that both positive and negative traits exist across all religions. I’ve met Hindus who are equally pluralistic and respectful, and those for whom religion takes precedence over humanism. The same diversity exists within Muslim and Christian communities.

The media often fails to show the progressive and plural aspects of these communities, focusing instead on negative stereotypes. The liberal, plural side of both Hinduism and Islam is rarely highlighted because it doesn’t fit the divisive narratives that can be politically mobilized. Good people, often a minority, need protection from being overshadowed by prevailing paradigms.

Dr. Abdul Kalam, a figure who embodied syncretism and embraced multiple religious practices, is a rare example of someone who transcended such divisiveness. While syncretism isn’t necessarily a solution, it demonstrates that religious people, whether conservative or progressive, should not be judged or canceled for their beliefs. We must fight prejudice, broaden our minds, and approach each other with empathy. Hate the sin, not the sinner. Address stereotypes openly, challenge your own biases, and listen to your conscience. Be empathetic and inclusive in understanding the full spectrum of human experience.