In India, the words Muslim and ghetto seem to go together. The word ‘ghetto’ comes from medieval Venice where it was used to describe the quarter of the city where Jews were required to live. ‘Required’ is the important word in this definition; Webster’s second definition of the word expands upon the coerced nature of this segregated togetherness: “a quarter of a city in which members of a minority group live especially because of social, legal, or economic pressure”.
Predominantly Muslim neighbourhoods in India are often ghettoes in this precise sense of the word. Muslims live in them because they can’t afford rents in non-Muslim localities or because they feel unsafe elsewhere or find it near-impossible to rent or buy homes in other localities from non-Muslim house owners.
My mother used to rent a small flat above the garage in her home in Delhi. An estate agent she knew called to say that he had the perfect tenant: a single woman, who lectured at a nearby college. My mother was pleased; a working woman herself who had married very late in life, she was predisposed towards independent single women. There was, however, a ‘but’: the prospective tenant was a Muslim and the estate agent needed to know before he arranged a meeting if that was a problem for my mother. Affronted, my mother asked if he asked that question of every house owner. “Everyone,” he said firmly. “I don’t want my client embarrassed in a face-to-face meeting.”
This is an anecdote but it’s a leaf in a forest of anecdotes exactly like this one. I had a distinguished colleague whose first name didn’t give her Muslim identity away so she would often get to meet house owners to rent a flat only to be told it had been taken the moment the penny dropped. Another colleague, a young lecturer called Nazim masqueraded as Naveen to rent a cheap room in a laldora neighbourhood, one of the many villages swallowed up by the expanding city.
When Indians talk about Muslim ghettoes, they tend to disregard the involuntary aspect of this clustering. In bhadralok minds, a Muslim ghetto is the result of a shunning of modernity (and therefore cosmopolitan urban living), a determination to send their children to medieval seminaries instead of KendriyaVidyalayas and a natural affinity for the company of their own kind. In this view, the Muslim basti is a rash of burqa-and-topi iron filings, tightly grouped within the magnetic field of a mosque.
The Muslim ghetto thus defined becomes a microcosm of the Muslim condition: a backward community held back by a self-harming and blinkered view of the world. From here it is a step to arguing that Muslim emancipation depends on Muslim self-help: these bearded men and shrouded women must bootstrap themselves into the modern world by shifting their loyalties from the fatwas of the pajama-edmaulana to the exhortations of the trousered modernist.
This Muslim ghetto out of Mere Mehboob or Chaudhvinka Chand is home to a small selection of types. The woman in a burqa is one such, about whom a great deal has been written both in the West and, more recently, in India. Her male counterpart is the bearded man in a skull cap who wears a dirty-white kurta and a pair of flood-level pajamas that stop at his ankles.
Now this man exists just as the woman in the burqa does. The fact that they are stereotypes doesn’t make them less real. In JamiaMilliaIslamia where I teach, you can see dozens of young men dressed exactly like this, most of whom have done their schooling in a madrasa and then travelled to the great city to go to university. So far, so true to type. What is interesting is that these young men who are hugely outnumbered by young Muslims in denims who crowd the same campus, become emblematic of Muslim-ness in the minds of non-Muslims. In exactly the same way, women in burqas come to stand in either for Muslim women or Muslim backwardness.
One way of achieving perspective on this is to look at other communities. No one, for example, thinks of a bearded and turbaned Sikh as a walking anachronism or as the antithesis of the modern man despite the fact that the overwhelming majority of Sikhs sport beards and turbans. New York is home to nearly two million Jews out of which a very visible minority of Orthodox Jews wear skull caps, old fashioned hats, white shirts, black jackets and black trousers. Long, twisted tendrils of hair frame their faces. People think they are quaint and anachronistic but no one thinks that their orthodoxy defines America’s Jews. The reason they don’t is that tendrilled Jews, turbaned Sikhs and tufted Hindus aren’t seen as the rearguard of a failed community; bearded Muslims are.
Muslims are radically under-represented in middle class circumstances in India, so it is tempting to attribute their poverty or their backwardness to their Muslim-ness. The burqa and the skull-cap are a shorthand for that quality. If Muslims were more prosperous than they are, if they were, say, as prosperous as Sikhs, bearded Muslims wouldn’t be seen as representative of the community because their quintessential Muslim-ness couldn’t then be used as an explanation of a community’s failure.
But Muslims in India aren’t prosperous. They are by some measures more deprived than Dalit communities. The readiness with which Muslims are urged to cast off their burqas and skull caps the better to emerge from their ghettoes, isn’t always an expression of concern for their welfare; it’s often a way of holding them responsible for their plight. Muslims, in this view of the world, are losers; and they are losers because they are stubbornly and excessively Muslim. The BharatiyaJanata Party’s ostentatious concern for the plight of Muslim women and its contempt for the bearded Muslim aren’t hard to understand but the secular modernist’s critique needs explanation.
It is inappropriate in civil company to blame the poor for their poverty. But it is still acceptable to publicly admonish poor people in skull caps and burqas because they haven’t embraced reason and modernity. For modernizers, backward Muslims are lineal descendants of the feckless poor, both guilty of the cardinal sin of failing to help themselves. The Victorian philanthropist commended the deserving poor dedicated to the ‘chapel, the friendly society and the co-op’; in just this way must the backward Muslim be seen to embrace individualism, modernity and the market to win the approval of his benevolent yet bracingly liberal compatriot.
We shouldn’t attribute Muslim isolation and backwardness to patriarchal bad practice in Muslim communities. If polygamy were outlawed and if the burqa was progressively given up, the rights and freedoms of Muslim women would be expanded. This would be good in itself. What this progress wouldn’t do is liberate Muslims from their ghettoes because that confinement has little to do with Muslim traditionalism and orthodoxy. That single lecturer looking for a tiny flat and my colleague routinely ambushed by the abruptly filled vacancy, weren’t applying from inside a burqa; they epitomized the modern Indian working woman: single, independent, actively looking to live a life not defined by religious identity or male relatives. How is the Muslim to embrace a market that is set to reject her by default?
The gendered orthodoxies of Muslim communities should be separated from their backwardness. The one doesn’t lead to the other. The Muslim poor are no more responsible for their poverty than any other kind of poor. Less so, if anything, because their condition isn’t mitigated by affirmative action, it is aggravated by prejudice. The work of several scholars, notably Anirudh Krishna, has shown how hard it is to climb out of poverty in India and how easy it is to slide deeper into it. To argue that Muslims are held back by an unconscionable hostility to the modern world and that their backwardness is down to bad Muslim leadership is to make several mistakes at once.
It is to absolve the State of its duty of uniform care: education, public health, security and basic procedural equality. It is to give civil society a free pass on prejudice and discrimination. And it is to succumb to the idea of the saviour: the absent but longed for leader who will lead his people into a new dawn. A republic’s citizens shouldn’t (and shouldn’t have to) look to community redeemers to do the secular work of State and civil society.
(The Telegraph, Kolkata)
War or peace?
By Dr Akmal Hussain
Foreign Minister Shah Mahmud Qureshi on Sunday, April 7, in a press briefing in Multan, announced that the government had “reliable” information that India was planning another attack on Pakistan. He revealed that during a meeting of the Indian Cabinet Committee on Security, the three service chiefs had indicated that they were ready with plans of multiple strikes against Pakistan across a wide front and were awaiting a “political nod”, which was duly given by PM Modi during the meeting.
After the political boomerang of the failed Balakot strike, simple statistical theory would suggest to the military mind that the larger the number of strikes next time the higher the probability of at least one succeeding. The chances of partial success would increase if the air attack is across a wide front: the defending air force would have to spread itself thin and so the number of intercepting aircraft that could be fielded against any one group of attackers would be reduced.
Such a military adventure by India would not simply be a repeat strike after Balakot. It would be a precipitous escalation, fraught with the risk of full-scale conventional war that could quickly lead to a catastrophic nuclear exchange. When India suffered a setback in the Balakot engagement, they reportedly readied themselves for a missile strike against three Pakistani cities on the night of February 27.
There is no technology in existence that can determine whether or not incoming missiles have a nuclear payload. So Pakistan’s declaration that they would launch triple the number of missiles in retaliation, as soon as Indian missiles left their launch pads, carried the grim possibility of a nuclear war in the Subcontinent. If we had come so close to Armageddon soon after even a single abortive strike, imagine how much greater would be the risk of escalation to the nuclear level during a full-scale conventional war.
At present, and in the foreseeable future, two aspects of the structure of the India-Pakistan relationship create a hair trigger that can quickly and repeatedly bring the two countries to flashpoint. First, a popular freedom movement in Kashmir that, despite their protracted coercion, Indian security forces have been unable to suppress. It has instead produced a pantheon of martyrs and a new generation of militant youths willing to sacrifice themselves for freedom. Under these circumstances the internal dynamics of the Kashmiri movement can generate acts of violent rebellion against Indian troops at any time.
Second, on the other side of the border for many years non-state groups of militant extremists who have off and on received patronage continue to exist. The toxic mix of these two elements creates an environment in which spectacular acts of violence by Kashmiri youth could be blamed on “Pakistan-based terrorists” by India. This could intensify tensions, precipitating another military conflict. The past cannot be taken as a guide to say how it will end, whether in peace or nuclear war.
Given the firepower of modern conventional weaponry, significant loss of territory can occur during the initial onslaught that could escalate to the use of battlefield nuclear weapons. Once nuclear weapons are used on enemy troops, all-out nuclear war would follow. The recent history of India-Pakistan military conflict however has shown that even before a full-scale conventional war, a limited, localised battle can bring the two sides to the nuclear precipice.
For example, during the Kargil conflict in 1999 when the then prime minister Nawaz Sharif flew to Washington to ask the then US president Clinton to help end the conflict, he was shown satellite pictures of nuclear weapons being loaded onto F16s as evidence for a shocked PM of how close the two countries were to a nuclear war. Then again during the first two days of the February 2019 conflict involving limited Air Force engagements, nuclear missiles were reportedly readied on the night of February 27 for use by both sides.
So far these confrontations have induced timely intercession by the international community and peoples of the Subcontinent have survived by the skin of their teeth. But what a future confrontation will bring, whether we live or die in a nuclear war is inherently uncertain. Its probability cannot be estimated.
Some take comfort in the fact that seven confrontations in the past did not result in full-scale war as international pressure to defuse tensions worked. However, this 100 percent success in preventing war in the past cannot be used as a basis for saying it will not occur the next time around. This is because in society as much as in the relationship between states the averages of the past do not necessarily hold into the future. This is unlike natural phenomena where averages of the past as expressed in natural laws do hold into the future.
For example, take the law of gravity: if you had dropped an object and it fell to the ground yesterday, there is a high probability that it would fall again if you dropped it tomorrow. But in society, probability estimates which are essentially based on projecting the past into the future are not possible in principle. The pattern of social phenomena and human behaviour observed in the past can in the future be shattered by unique events or a combination of unique events.
As the preceding discussion argues, even a limited conventional conflict following a terrorist incident can quickly escalate to the nuclear threshold. It is vital, therefore, for the two countries supported by the world community to address the explosive structure of a situation that leads to repeated military confrontation.
Millions of citizens in both countries are mired in poverty, illiteracy and disease. Thousands of children are dying at birth every day; of those who survive birth, thousands die before they are five years old. Of the children who live beyond five years, millions are suffering from malnutrition, their bodies stunted, their brains dulled. Millions of children roam the streets and alleys, deprived of quality education, abandoned by society and state and living without hope. Instead of halting this massacre of innocents together, the two states are marching in lockstep to a nuclear catastrophe.
It is time for the leaderships of both India and Pakistan to reflect on the irrationality and inhumanity of using proxy wars or ‘surgical strikes’ as a means of achieving national security. The power of a nation lies not in following the course of mutual annihilation but pursuing the path of peace for the welfare of its citizens. The leaderships of the two countries should dip their cupped hands into their shared civilisational well-springs. Imbibe the sense of compassion and human solidarity to care for our children rather than killing them.
Rubbing salt on the wounds:
By Aleem Faizee
Another assault on the people of Malegaon – this is how a shopkeeper in Malegaon reacted to the news of the BJP fielding Sadhvi Pragya Singh Thakur from Bhopal against Congress’ Digvijaya Singh in this Lok Sabha election.
It’s like rubbing salt on our wounds, another Malegaon resident said.
For the people in Malegaon, the announcement of Pragya Thakur’s candidature has brought back the ghastly memories of 29 September 2008, when the city was rocked by a bomb blast. Thakur is facing trial in the case.
On the night of the blast, it was about 9.40 pm and people were about to finish Salaat-ut-Taraweeh – special night prayers offered during the month of Ramadan – when they heard a loud sound of explosion. At first, they thought it could be a cylinder blast accident. But it soon emerged that it was a bomb blast.
The blast spot was just metres away from the Ladies Fashion Market at Anjuman Chowk where a huge crowd of women and children were busy shopping for Eid al Fitr. There was chaos near Bhikku Chowk – the site of the blast. People carried the bleeding victims, more than a hundred, to hospitals using whatever means they could find.
The blast claimed six lives. One of them was 5-year-old Farheen Shaikh who was out to buy some snacks and was on her way back home to have Ramadan dinner with her grandmother.
Among the injured was Abdullah Jamaluddin Ansari of Shakeel Transport. The 75-year-old man, during initial investigation, had said he had noticed the LML Freedom motorcycle, which was later traced to Sadhvi Pragya Singh Thakur and led to her arrest, parked in front of his office since afternoon that day. He had also informed the police chowki, a stone’s throw away from the blast site, but claimed that no action was taken.
Javed Ansari, owner of a photocopier shop, was also injured in the Malegaon blast. It took him over three years to recover and resume work.
But for these blast victims, life has never been the same since that September night.
While Javed Ansari and the family of Farheen Shaikh left the locality after the blast, Shakeel Transport’s Abdullah Ansari died last year. Following the blast, Ansari often looked at the wall clock in his shop, which had stopped working at 9.37 pm – the time of the blast – and waited for justice.
One doesn’t know how he would have reacted to the news of Sadhvi Pragya Singh Thakur joining the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and contesting the Lok Sabha election.
By fielding Sadhvi Pragya, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) wants people to believe that she and other accused arrested in various blast cases were ‘framed in fabricated cases’ and that ‘saffron terror’ is a myth.
But while doing so the, BJP has undermined the fact that Sadhvi Pragya Singh Thakur still remains a key accused in the 2008 Malegaon blast case. As per court papers, the first evidence that led to her arrest was the LML Freedom motorcycle that was registered in her name and was used to plant the bomb. There are also some audio tapes and visuals too. Based on these evidences, the Bombay trial court judge had observed that there was enough ground to establish Sadhvi Pragya Singh Thakur’s role in the blast.
Ironically, while nominating Sadhvi Pragya Singh Thakur as the party candidate, the BJP did not think about the kind of message this would send to all the world leaders with whom Narendra Modi has often taken up the issue of terrorism.
The people of Malegaon, who had been hearing about the pressure on some officers and public prosecutor Rohini Salian ‘to go soft’ in the case, have almost lost all hope of getting justice. Wife of Mumbai ATS chief Hemant Karkare – the officer who initially investigated the case – had turned down then-Gujarat chief minister Narendra Modi’s monetary compensation after 26/11 attacks.
Therefore, the BJP’s decision to field Sadhvi Pragya Singh Thakur in this election is neither shocking nor surprising for most people in Malegaon. But it is painful, especially for the blast victims and their families.
Majboot Sarkars Overrated?
Prior to the 1990s, coalition governments in Indian politics were considered to be an aberration and not particularly desirable. The lack of coalitions in India was clearly tied to the one-party preponderance of the Congress. So, when the party sensed defeat in the 1989 Lok Sabha election, it tried to remind voters of how shambolic the 1977 Janata government had been.
The VP Singh-led National Front government formed in 1989 was perhaps the strangest political entity that people had witnessed in Indian politics. Propped up by the Left parties on one side, and the right-wing BJP that provided support with its 86 seats on the other – the government proved to be short lived.
The grand old party then supported the Chandrashekhar Singh government for four months, after which it decided to withdraw support and elections in 1991 brought back a Congress-led coalition government in the country. With that, the era of coalition politics was well and truly upon us.
Coalition governments were the new normal in Indian politics and would continue to be so until 2014, when the Narendra Modi-led government became the first in three decades since 1984, to win a clear majority.
In 1996, there was a short-lived Vajpayee-led BJP government for 13 days, followed by the rather soporific one led by HD Deve Gowda that lasted until 1997. After that, IK Gujral led the United Front coalition government that lasted from April 1997 to March 1998.
By then, the political scenario of the country was beginning to look a bit like a game of musical chairs. However, things stabilised with Atal Bihari Vajpayee returning in 1998, hanging on for a year and then getting re-elected in 1999 to finally last a whole term.
After that, with a full decade of the Congress led United Progressive Alliance leading the way, Indian politics developed a version of the two party system, rather, a two coalition system. Numerous political parties have coalesced around BJP and the Congress in the form of the National Democratic Alliance and the United Progressive Alliance, respectively.
Congress governments in coalition have brought about some of the most momentous and far-reaching changes. It was the Narasimha Rao-led government that introduced the economic reforms, which for better or worse, changed the country tremendously.
One simple indicator of the worth of coalitions is the fact that many thought that the UPA-I government was too hobbled by the presence of the Left, as it was a hindrance to the economic reforms associated with Congress governments since 1991.
The withdrawal of Left support, followed by the more emphatic victory that led to UPA-II in 2009, was supposed to bring in a more decisive and unfettered government. Yet, it is the UPA-I government that is remembered for the succession of rights-based legislation it introduced, while UPA II has come to be associated with crony capitalism.
Similarly, the NDA-I government of Vajpayee, with all of its coalition pulls and pressures ensured two things. First, the core and often contentious BJP issues, which are Article 370, Babri Masjid and Uniform Civil Code, were relegated to the back-burner.
Second, the Vajpayee-led BJP government could well and truly be said to have a fringe and a centre, with the fringe remaining where any fringe should belong.
However, the ruling BJP government of the day has once again brought the core contentious issues to the forefront. It has also ensured that the fringe encompasses the party uniformly, leaving no hint of nuance or differentiation.
What this suggests is that weaker coalitions may actually perform better. More importantly, coalitions are able to more naturally weave in the vital regional parties that act as breakwaters in the path of potentially elective despotism.
Are majority governments over-rated?
What have supposedly strong and stable majority governments been able to do? Have they taken decisive measures or brought about ‘big-ticket economic reforms’, untroubled by the petty pulls of coalition partners?
Take the 1984 Rajiv Gandhi government with its mammoth majority of above 400 hundred seats. In less than two years, it started playing communally divisive politics around the Babri Masjid and Shah Bano issues.
The Congress thought it was being cleverly even handed by dealing out both majority and minority communal cards. The drift in the Rajiv Gandhi government could be sensed right in the middle of its term when it lost badly in the Haryana assembly elections of 1987. It lost the hugely symbolic Allahabad by-election in 1988 to V.P. Singh, and the rest we are prone to saying, is history.
The question then is this: Could the supposed strength and stability provided by majority governments be overrated? What has the Modi government achieved on the back of its huge mandate? Has it squandered that majority much like the Rajiv Gandhi led government of 1984-89? Can Modi return to power? This has been a bit of a see-saw question.
When Modi’s government came to power with a huge landslide, or ‘tsunami’ if you will, conventional wisdom was that he was here to stay for at least two terms. The UP assembly elections in 2017 seemed to confirm this. After that, it has been more of a will he/won’t he guessing game. The jury is well and truly out on this one.