Manufacturing fear
THESE days, I am not very sure whether it would ever be possible for me to appreciate — spontaneously and wholeheartedly — the creative skill of cricket: say, the magnificent performance of a Pakistani fast bowler, or a batsman. I am not very sure whether I can send a message of love to my Muslim friends when they celebrate Eid. Can I say with pride and confidence that Urdu poetry has truly enriched our literary heritage? Or would it ever be possible for me to love the ‘pedlar from Kabul’ as Tagore depicted in one of his path-breaking short stories? In fact, there are moments when I become afraid; I begin to fear that I might be accused of promoting ‘anti-national’ sentiments. I ask myself: How did we come to this stage?
Is our patriotism so fragile that it can crumble if win and loss are not seen through the lens of militant nationalism?
Well, throughout the world, sports carnivals arouse nationalist sentiments, and it is certainly not unnatural if you like the sportspersons from your country to win gold medals in the Olympics, or want your football team to win the match. However, there is something called the spirit of humility —the courage to accept defeat, and even appreciate the performance of the opponent team. But then, as the ugliness of cricket nationalism has poisoned our collective consciousness and severely damaged our ways of looking at the world, we seem to have reduced even this beautiful game into a war or a surgical strike.
In the age of hyper-nationalism when you are asked to demonstrate your patriotism on every occasion through loud symbols, or hating the ‘enemy’ of the nation, and ‘patriotic’ television channels are never tired of stimulating the war instinct, a game no longer remains a game. And even a good gesture of appreciating the brilliant performance of the opponent team, as the message is conveyed to us through the bunch of self-proclaimed patriots, or toxic troll army, has to be considered as a conspiracy against the nation.
Is it, therefore, surprising that the UP government can think of filing sedition charges against three Kashmiri students—arrested in Agra for allegedly supporting the Pakistan team, and raising ‘pro-Pakistan’ slogans? And even a private school in Udaipur chose to terminate a teacher after her alleged celebration of Pakistan cricket team’s victory over the Indian team. Even if you and I do not approve of their behaviour, is it altogether impossible to take it lightly? How can it be seen as a crime? Not solely that. The troll army did not forget to suspect and castigate Mohammed Shami — a brilliant Indian cricketer — as his religious identity is not in tune with the mental landscape of ‘Hindu nationalists’. It is pathetic to see this moral, political and cultural degeneration. Is our patriotism so fragile and insecure that it can crumble if with the lightness of being and a sense of humour, you love cricket, crack jokes, accept victory or defeat with a smile, and refuse to see it through the lens of militant nationalism?
It is really sad to see that this bunch of hyper-nationalists is continually manufacturing the psychology of fear—the fear of ‘Muslim conspirators’. See its toxic character—its chronic intolerance. These days an organisation called ‘Sanyukt Hindu Sangharsh Samiti’ seems determined to put a stop to offering Friday namaz in the open at public places in Gurugram. And the fear is so much that they see conspiracy even if you are fond of Urdu—a beautiful language symbolising our syncretic culture. Think of it. The clothing brand Fabindia had to delete an ad from social media because these ‘patriots’ didn’t like the use of Jashn-e-Riwaz in the ad. For them, the use of Urdu can pollute the purity of Diwali. Have these nationalists ever tasted the spirit of true religiosity — the religiosity of love and fusion of horizons?
Possibly, militant nationalists cannot exist without manufacturing the fear of the stigmatised ‘other’? In a way, the cult of narcissism, authoritarianism and militarism become an integral component of militant religious nationalism. Through its cultural apparatus and propaganda machinery, it continually constructs the imagery of the ‘enemy’; the ‘enemy’, we are asked to believe, can pollute our culture, conspire against the nation, and become overwhelmingly powerful if we do not become alert and cautious. Hence, be aware of every move of your Muslim neighbours; observe carefully whether they are watching Pakistani television serials, or learning Urdu and Arabic; or calculate meticulously whether their population size is increasing and posing a threat to the ‘Hindu civilisation’! In other words, fear them; suspect them, hate them. No wonder, these days the majority Hindu community has been asked to feel ‘insecure’. Yes, this manufactured fear can legitimise all sorts of surveillance and punitive measures in the name of ‘national security’. They reduce everything into ‘either’ or ‘or’. If you love India, you have to hate Pakistan. Or, if you are a Hindu, you have to suspect or fear Muslims. The psychology of militant religious nationalism is incapable of comprehending the domain of pluralism, cross-religious conversations and cosmopolitanism. Instead, it is divisive and schizophrenic.
Given the cultural and moral decay all around, will it ever be possible to restore the idea of religiosity that transcends boundaries, sees beyond temples and mosques, and activates the enchanting power of love? Will it ever be possible to reimagine a nation that seeks to become oceanic, cherishes the memory of Kabir, Nanak and Nizamuddin Auliya, and wants its children to internalise the ethics of love and care rather than the aggression of militarism and demonstrative patriotism? Or is it a utopian dream in the age of popularisation of Talibanisation of consciousness?
