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In
December 1995, in a judgement that Hindutva faithfuls hailed as a
major victory, the Supreme Court exonerated the Shiv Sena’s
Manohar Joshi of charges of soliciting votes in the name of
religion. If they had cared to read the decision, they might not
have cheered so much. Because while the Court found Joshi himself
not guilty, it deplored the growing tendency to misuse religion
for votes.
“It is indeed very unfortunate,” wrote the judges, that “if
in spite of the liberal and tolerant features of Hinduism
recognised in judicial decisions, these terms (‘Hindutva’ and
‘Hinduism’) are misused by anyone during elections to gain any
unfair political advantage.” In particular, the judges
reprimanded Joshi’s own political boss, Bal Thackeray, for his
unique notion of electioneering: referring to Muslims as “laande”
and “snakes.” This kind of language, they pointed out,
amounted to promoting enmity between Hindus and Muslims on the
grounds of religion.
We have laws to punish such promotion. In part, Section 153A of
the Indian Penal Code says: “Whoever, by words either spoken or
written, promotes or attempts to promote on grounds of religion
disharmony, enmity, hatred and ill-will between different
religions... shall be punished with imprisonment to three years or
fine or both.” This was not the first time Thackeray had used
such language. But he has never been punished under Section 153A.
Which is why the Supreme Court’s observation about tolerance and
the misuse of Hinduism is so interesting. I’ve written about
tolerance in this space before (April 2003). But here I want to
explore a subtly different facet: the relationship, the tension,
between tolerance and misuse. I mean, congratulations to the
judiciary for recognising the essential tolerance of Hinduism. But
what is the meaning of tolerance when it becomes a fig-leaf for
the worst abuse? Is tolerance a virtue when intolerance abounds?
Is tolerance not destroyed by unchecked intolerance?
“You must distinguish,” a woman told me gently as we talked
about these themes, “between the people who do good in the name
of religion and the people who misuse it.” Fine advice? Indeed,
much good has come from religion: example, the liberal, tolerant
ideas of Hinduism. But in the
end has that good been outweighed by the bad? More important, do
those doing good bear a responsibility to check the bad? And if
they don’t, are they guilty of misuse themselves?
Look at it this way: I might be the most virtuous, most tolerant
soul in the world. But do I remain virtuous if I stand and watch
– tolerate – a murder committed in front of me?
Like many things, religious tolerance doesn’t stand in
isolation. When some of us openly use religion to incite hatred,
the tolerant others don’t stay tolerant by staying silent.
Instead, that silence makes them acquiesce in the crime. So
whatever the judicial appreciation of the tolerant features of
Hinduism, it means little without punishing those who disgrace it
with their intolerance and incitement.
In a lot of ways, laws like Section 153A are the heart of our
country’s secular character. They are supposed to nurture
tolerance in a very important way: by weeding out and punishing
criminal acts founded on intolerance. (After all, weeds kill the
plants you want to nurture. That’s why you want to weed them
out). If applied in that spirit, our laws are strong enough to
prevent communal tensions.
But instead of being prevented and punished, communal hatreds have
run very deep. Our history is pockmarked with riots. No doubt
there are many reasons for such a climate. One, may I submit, is
that we never apply Sections 153A and its legal cousins to those
who offend them. (Bal Thackeray, for one, who now knows he can
flout them at will). But also at fault, may I submit, are we who
are content to sit in our cocoons of self-righteous tolerance,
drawing our empty distinctions between good and bad, unwilling to
do more than wring our hands over the misuse of our faiths,
allowing them to be abused and tarnished – not just by the
misuse, but by our own silence as well In the Joshi judgement, the
judges went on to express “the fervent hope that our observation
has some chastening effect in future election campaigns.” Their
anguish over the misuse of terms like “Hindutva” and
“Hinduism” is clear, as is their hope that it will not be
repeated. But I would like to offer to the judges this thought:
mere anguish and hope, by themselves, are pointless sentiment.
They serve for very little. Absent more stringent action, like
applying our penal laws where they must be applied, the misuse
will continue and grow. As it has.
This is the dilemma that faces people who like to think of
themselves as tolerant. That’s not enough any more. Because
their religions are being dragged into intolerance and in that
process, we are all responsible.
Because when you tolerate misuse, or misuse tolerance, you create
and perpetuate intolerance. Then hatred. Then bloodshed.
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