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Last month, the Akhil Bharatiya Pratinidhi Sabha, the decision-making body of the RSS, passed a resolution that renewed an unresolved debate over the meaning of secularism. Decrying the jehadi terrorism that has plagued India in recent years, it made it clear that it does no credit to the Muslim community to allow itself to be made a pawn in the hands of extremist Muslim leaders and Hindu-baiting elements. “Let the Muslims understand that their real safety lies in the goodwill of the majority.”

It was a provocative resolution essentially telling some 120 million people, the country’s largest minority group, to behave or face the consequences. Predictably, the threatening tone of the resolution created a political furore. At the same time, it found endorsement in eminently respectable circles.

“Indian secularism,” says retired Supreme Court judge Kuldip Singh, “has been reduced to apologetic communalism. The minorities must realise that they cannot disown the culture, heritage and history which happen to be in sync with the Hindu way of life ... Minorityism cannot and should not be allowed to become a subtext of anti-nationalism.”

What both the RSS and Singh have touched upon is one of the unresolved dilemmas of secularism: to homogenise the modern Indian or keep citizenship a loose arrangement. Creating a new Indian is akin to the “melting pot” syndrome of the US whereby people of disparate origin come together to espouse the American dream and the American way.
It is a monumental project in social engineering and one that seems impossible in the face
of India’s maddening diversity. Yet, ironically, social harmony depends on accepting a broad range of ground rules. Some of these rules celebrate differences—in food, clothes, language, religion and political preferences. The question is: what is the bottom line of commonality?

It is here that friction occurs. The secularist notion is that a common adherence to the Constitution is the ultimate test of both good citizenship and nationality. However, assertive nationalists like the RSS see nationhood in larger cultural terms. To them, what is important is a shared understanding of both India’s history and the recognition that India is a Hindu nation despite being a secular state. The Muslim objection to the national song Vande Mataram—on account of its Hindu imagery—is cited as an example of cussedness. The sense of unease is compounded by Muslim fundamentalists who repose their faith in the Islamic ummah over the nation-state and endorse jehad by way of abstruse theology.
In a tranquil world many of these contentious differences over nationhood could have been either glossed over or resolved by agreement. Bollywood is a perfect example of Hindus, Muslims and Christian co-existing in an expedient Amar, Akbar, Anthony arrangement. Unfortunately, competitive electoral politics has not only come in the way of resolution but exacerbated conflict. If the BJP is guilty of using emotive issues like Ayodhya, cow slaughter and conversions to mobilise Hindu voters—and thereby paper over intra-Hindu problems like caste and class—secular parties like the Congress and Samajwadi Party are guilty of playing up the insecurity of minorities. In the past few months, observes Trinamool Congress MLA Saugata Roy, there has been a ripple of “soft Hindutva” in West Bengal. This has been caused by the CPI(M)’s cynical volte-face over Chief Minister Buddhadeb Bhattacharya’s campaign against the communalism spawned by madarsas.

Such double standards and vote bank politics inevitably evokes a communal response on the other side.

There Is No Alternative

INSECURE: Often forced into refugee camps, Muslims have lost faith in a secular order

“India is secular but state patronage of Hindutva vitiates the mood.” John Dayal, Christian leader

“India has to remain secular and abjure bigotry if it is to prosper.” H.D. Shourie, social activist

On May 14, 1970, initiating a discussion on the Bhiwandi riots in Maharashtra, Atal Bihari Vajpayee delivered a speech that could well be a replication of what Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi is professing today. He cited a Home Ministry report that blamed Muslims for starting 23 of the 24 riots between 1968 and 1970. “We must understand two things,” he went on to say, “Our Muslim brethren are getting more and more communal, and as a reaction Hindus are getting more and more aggressive ... Hindus will no more take a beating in this country.”

On the face of it, nothing has really changed in 32 years. The same charges of Muslim aggression, RSS instigation, official blundering and police partisanship that followed every communal clash in the past are being repeated. Yet, there are big differences.

First, the rising tide of Hindu aggression that Vajpayee spoke of in 1970 has become a terrifying reality. Since the Bhagalpur riots of 1989, the Hindu rioter has come of age and has perfected the art of ruthless savagery. Whether it was Gonda in 1990, Surat in 1992, Mumbai in 1993 or Ahmedabad in 2002, the pattern has repeated itself. The stereotype of the timid, passive Hindu belongs to history. What is even more ominous is that unlike the Ayodhya movement—which the BJP injected with a political dimension—today’s show of Hindu anger is unstructured and, consequently, more vicious. More sinister is its spread to rural areas which makes it impossible for even the most well-intentioned of governments to either monitor or control.

Political equations too have changed. During the Ayodhya movement, there was a romanticised belief that the election of a BJP government would help resolve the imbalances of the secular order decisively, one way or the other. Tragically, what sociologist Ashis Nandy once called the search for a Hindu Bismarck has ended in disappointment. Indeed, the Sangh Parivar, which nurtured Hindu militancy, is in real danger of being outflanked by wild freelancers like Orissa’s notorious Dara Singh. It may even end up as a victim of a revolution it fostered.

Second, Muslim assertiveness no longer takes the form of mob violence and isolated incidents of stabbing. Action and retaliation aimed at salvaging the pride of the community is now in the form of symbolic terrorist action. It began with the Mumbai blasts of 1993, the bombing of the RSS office in Chennai a year later and was last witnessed in the deadly Coimbatore explosions of 1998. The authorities in Gujarat are already on the alert in anticipation of anonymous acts of RDX-powered revenge. A beleaguered minority may not have the numbers but it has access to a technology that can wreak havoc on its tormentors.
The model of sectarian strife is not 1970s Beirut; the bombings in Israel present a more attractive option for a desperate minority craving recognition.

Finally, in an age of globalised media, a communal outbreak in India has ceased to be an exclusively domestic concern. It is also an international human rights issue with adverse consequences for the country. The destruction of Christian churches in Dangs district of Gujarat in 1998 didn’t lead to a single loss of life or even broken bones. Yet, it became an international incident, particularly in the US. There were also mutterings of anger in political circles when All India Christian Council Secretary-General John Dayal deposed before a US Congress sub-committee on religious freedom in 2000. There will be a similar outcry when the human rights violations in Gujarat are raised by NGOs at the UN Human Rights Commission meet in Geneva.

It is paradoxical that India’s secular edifice—based not so much on ideology or constitutional guarantees but on ordinary decencies—has come under threat at a time when the prospects of an alternative political order are least attractive.

It was possible for a group of determined militants to cleanse the Kashmir Valley of Hindus in 1990. India failed in its duty to protect this hapless minority. It can’t fail the second time round. If the simmering communal anger explodes yet again and with the same ferocity as in Gujarat, its consequences are unlikely to be localised. Every corner of India—and each part has a multi-religious complexion—will become vulnerable.

Secularism in India is flawed and has been turned into an instrument of political expediency. Yet, it has survived because at the end of the day there is no alternative to living, working and adjusting together. The point is not to discard secularism but to improve and rid it of its imperfections and hypocrisy. A clash of civilisations may be imminent; it is important to ensure that the theatre of war isn’t India.