India’s shrinking space for dissent

THE ritualisation of periodic elections and occasional transfer of power might give the impression that the Indian democracy is flourishing. Yet, amid this politically engineered narrative, what we often fail to admit is that ours is a decadent culture that often damages the spirit of a truly democratic mode of thinking and living. It is high time we began to look at ourselves with critical self-enquiry and honestly strive for a sane and democratic society.In this context, let me refer to three pertinent issues relating to our ways of seeing, living and engaging with the world. To begin with, let us accept that the most important marker of a truly humane, democratic and civilised society is the elasticity or openness of consciousness — the ability to strive for the fusion of mental and cultural horizons, embrace others and celebrate authentic cosmopolitanism.However, the fact is that, far from moving towards this civilising process, we are regressing and continually limiting our horizons, distancing ourselves from socially and politically constructed 'others'.No wonder, the walls of separation or exclusion seem to be present everywhere. For instance, if you wish to feel the festivity of Eid in the otherwise hyper-modern national capital, you have to go to a distinctively marked Muslim locality, like Old Delhi or Jamia Nagar. Likewise, a careful look at the matrimonial columns in our leading newspapers reveals how even the educated youth fail to broaden their mental horizons.It is, therefore, not difficult to understand why, for instance, a Brahmin software engineer wants a Brahmin/ convent-educated girl as his partner. His modernity is merely ornamental; it is not powerful enough to help him overcome his caste fixation.In fact, the ceaseless reproduction of these social boundaries, or walls of separation further reinforces what we witness in our times — not an inclusive politics based on reasoned debate and shared secular issues like employment, health and education, but an emotionally intoxicated politics based on mere identity markers like caste and religion.Second, because of this sort of poverty of consciousness, we often develop stereotypes about others — say, a Muslim in the border district of West Bengal is necessarily a beef-eating Bangladeshi immigrant; a Dalit student in the IIT is bound to be non-meritorious because he belongs to the reserved category; or a Hindu boy not uttering the mantra of Jai Shri Ram is essentially a misdirected urban Naxal!In fact, this sort of stereotypical thinking and the resultant act of othering have caused immense anger and aggression in our society. The entire country, it seems, is angry. Yes, Hindus are angry with Muslims; Brahmins are angry with Dalits; Assamese are angry with Bengalis; proponents of development are angry with environmentalists and affluent city-dwellers are angry with those who live in slums.No wonder, this sort of anger manifests itself in everyday life, and even in the political speeches delivered by high-profile ministers. In fact, the recurrence of hate speech need not surprise us as the psychology of hatred, unlike that of love and solidarity, is infectious. It is, therefore, not surprising that in a society where there is so much of anger and hatred, the very idea and practice of bulldozer justice has become the new normal. The assumption is that the democratic mode of conflict resolution is a time-consuming process.Instead, it is better to be aggressive and ruthless. Destroy and demolish. Empathy or compassion, far from being your strength, is your weakness! Is this sort of aggression also a byproduct of the prevalent Hindu supremacist discourse of hypernationalism?Third, it seems there is hardly any space left for reasoned debate and dialogue. In a way, the collapse of communicative rationality and empathic listening has led to the breakdown of trust, which is essential for meaningful human relationships. In this toxic and polarised world, it will not be wrong to say that many of us fear that what we say or write might be misinterpreted, or it might destroy our relationship with others.In fact, in these turbulent times, we often censor our thoughts and expressions even when we communicate with our friends and family members. Who knows your school friend might brand you as a jihadi if you express even the slightest ambiguity towards the discourse of Hindutva?Likewise, as teachers, we are afraid in our classrooms. We fear that our lectures — if not in tune with the dominant political discourse — might hurt the sentiments of some nationalist students, or annoy the authorities.Or, for that matter, it is not impossible that even the judiciary might condemn and ridicule you as a cockroach if you refuse to follow the official line!What is left of democracy if we are afraid of expressing our opinions freely and if the noise of the propaganda machinery replaces the spirit of reasoned debate and dialogue?Amid this decadence, it becomes really difficult to believe that this is a country that once saw a poet like Rabindranath Tagore, a seeker of truth and ahimsa like Mahatma Gandhi, and an emancipatory thinker like BR Ambedkar. Even though we garland their statues on their birth anniversaries, the fact is that in contemporary India, we have killed their spirit.Yes, the harsh reality is that the virus of parochialism has replaced the music of Tagore's universalism; the aggression of religious symbolism has replaced Gandhi's sublime prayers and cross-religious conversations; and Ambedkar's plea for the annihilation of caste has been cleverly forgotten, and the hierarchical principle of caste has taken diverse forms in everyday life and politics.Can democracy really survive, if this sort of regressive culture continues to be reproduced?

India’s shrinking space for dissent

His modernity is merely ornamental; it is not powerful enough to help him overcome his caste fixation.

Avijit Pathak

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