December seems to be a month for remembering. There is the feast of Goencho Saib, a man deeply connected to the identity of Goa, and also famous for his connection to the Inquisition, that much-reviled institution which, as scholars have pointed out, was also probably the first systematic codification of crime and punishment in Europe and Goa, at a time of widespread traditional and casual violence. There is the death anniversary of civil rights champion Dr B R Ambedkar, who chaired the committee which produced the Indian Constitution, offering caste society a path towards modern republicanism. The same day is the anniversary of the Babri Masjid demolition, perhaps the biggest moment in the BJP’s ride to power. There is also the Bhopal Gas Disaster, the worst industrial disaster in the world. Finally, we have the anniversary of the liberation of Goa, when the new Indian citizens had perforce to give up their hardwon Portuguese citizenship, a real loss as can be seen by the many Goans – and neo-Goans – determined to regain it.
Now, of course, it is also the month of the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), which offers citizenship to non-Muslims from Afghanistan, Pakistan and Bangladesh. As many protests, articles, and statements across the country have already pointed out, the new act is against the Constitution of India, which does not discriminate on the basis of religion. The three countries seem chosen only because they have Muslim majorities; the two large communities that have already sought refuge from genocidal violence in India, the Rohingyas from Myanmar and Tamils from Sri Lanka, are notably excluded from the list of potential citizens. The CAA comes on the heels of the National Citizens Register (NCR) project, implemented in Assam with 1.9 million (mostly Hindus) declared as non-citizens – and the BJP declaring that Hindus need not worry, as CAA allows them citizenship. The aim of NCR-CAA is thus clearly, say critics, the creation of Hindu Rashtra.
Indeed, there is little doubt that these measures will enormously worsen life – even hasten death, going by examples in Assam – for many across the country, especially minoritised and Dalit-Bahujan-Adivasi communities. But can we, for a moment, step back and see what has brought us to this point? Are these really the first steps to Hindu Rashtra – or the final nails in the coffin of the proclaimed modern and federal republic of India? Was India ever a secular and democratic space? Yes, secular and democratic ideas are enshrined in the Constitution, but how much has the Constitution been visible on the ground? Never, said Martin Macwan in Goa last year, except in a limited way in the big cities; what rules everywhere else is caste. Or, in other words, Hindu Rashtra.
And this precedes the BJP. Just check – even in the token media coverage every anniversary – the example of the Bhopal Gas Disaster. Patriotic Indians bristle with rage at the memory of Jallianwala Bagh, but do they feel anything similar about that night of 2nd December 1984, when thousands of Indians citizens died inhaling gas from the Union Carbide factory in Bhopal? And the real disaster was revealed later, in the Indian government’s ommissions and commissions: cover-ups, protection to the powerful wrongdoers, callousness towards the powerless victims, the blatant denial of justice. Whose government certified that the factory was safe, just days before the leak? Whose government ensured that those living next to a dangerous factory were the poor, most of them Muslims, while the elites lived far away? Who ensured a safe exit for some from the poisoned city that night? Who protected Union Carbide’s office-bearers and shareholders, then and now? Who allowed the company to maintain secrecy about the poisons, so that the survivors – with crippling and fatal illnesses – recieved only symptomatic medical care? Who agreed to a miniscule compensation amount? A massive oil spill in Alaska four years after Bhopal saw the Exxon company having to pay one billion dollars in punitive damages, though not a single human being was injured. Union Carbide had to pay only $470 million for genocide.
All of this happened under the Congress, with the help of a conniving bureaucracy. It is perhaps the most searing indictment of the republic ever, and proof that some Indian citizens matter much less than others.
Citizenship is not just about the right to vote; it includes many rights and privileges shared with other citizens, including being considered of equal importance. This has always been glaringly absent in India. Look at the recent rape-related news. The public protests following the Hyderabad rape-murder of a veterinary doctor saw protesters actually shouting: ‘She came from a good family!’. Isn’t that why the many other rapes that took place on the same day went without protest, because only ‘good families’ matter?
Such is the ‘Republic of Fear’, as the journalist Sagar described India from the point of view of the poor (The Polis Project, 2019). Only a few have enjoyed the freedoms, protections, and rights guaranteed by the Constitution, and not because we are citizens, but because of our caste privilege.
This is true in Goa too. The liberal and Christianised culture here has ensured better social behaviour, but underneath this can be found the casteist control of land and wealth, and the persistence of untouchability and other atrocities, bolstered by the post-1961 privileging of Brahmanical languages and perspectives, the denial of citizenship to those working abroad on a Portuguese passport, and the lack of implementation of Constitutionally-mandated caste-based reservations. These are all the foundational building blocks of Hindu Rashtra, without which NCR, CAA, and the whole monstrous edifice taking shape today would be impossible.
(Amita Kanekar is an architectural historian)
