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The crisis has caused Indians of all religions and ethnicities to come together to save lives.
People wearing face masks as a precaution against the coronavirus line up to receive the vaccine for COVID-19 in Mumbai, India, Tuesday, May 25, 2021.
Amid the devastating impact of the COVID-19 pandemic in India, there’s a glimmer of hope. Strangers are responding to SOS calls on social media for oxygen, medicines, hospital beds, and even cremation spots. While some politicians are seeking to further divide the country on religious lines, many faith communities have opened up their places of worship and other institutions as “COVID care centers” and are providing critical food and oxygen supplies indiscriminately. A sense of fraternity that transcends plurality is emerging among the citizens, just as the framers of India’s Constitution had desired.
Brotherhood can be noticed in Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, Christians, and other people with no devout religion who combine with others. This camaraderie is driven by a natural necessity in the face of the government’s monumental failure to prepare for a second wave of coronavirus and highlights a key precept of networking.
Fraternity is “a sense of common brotherhood of all Indians – if Indians are seen as being one people. It is the principle which gives unity and solidarity to social life,” said Dr. Bhimrao Ambedkar, the chairperson of the Constitution of India Drafting Committee, in November 25, 1949 as he addressed the Constituent Assembly for the last time.
Article 51-A(e) of the Charter in particular states that “it is the duty of each and every Indian citizen to promote concord and the spirit of brotherhood not unusual among all peoples of India, beyond the religious, linguistic, and regional or sectoral ones. “Diversities. This is a strong, relational, non-relativistic view of pluralism, also known as covenant pluralism by scholars.
Unfortunately, in recent years, the founding philosophy of India’s pluralistic fraternity has come under attack. Community clashes and violence driven by competing narratives have fractured communities. Take, for example, the 2020 mob violence against the Muslim minority in the capital, Delhi; the growing culture of lynchings on trains and roads since 2014; and the continued spread of incendiary rhetoric calling for attacks on communities and institutions.
The United States Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF) took note of these disturbing trends in a report released this year, calling for the U.S. State Department to designate India as a “Country of Particular Concern.” “Religious freedom conditions in India are taking a drastic turn downward, with national and various state governments tolerating widespread harassment and violence against religious minorities,” USCIRF said.
The USCIRF has echoed fears about restrictive legislation, such as state-level “anti-conversion” legislation, that limits conversions. The USCIRF also rightly criticized India’s Citizenship (Amendment) Act (CAA) of 2019, which called for expediting citizenship for foreigners from Bangladesh. , Pakistan and Afghanistan, which have been harshly persecuted, but excluded from Muslims. The CAA, read alongside a call for the creation of a National Citizenship Register (NRC), has sparked widespread fears that many Indian citizens will be excluded due to document deficiencies or are targeted because of their faith.
These incidents or trends have led to strict prosecution and public outcry. However, the weakness of the establishment (legislative, executive, judicial and media) has exacerbated the problem. In many incidents of violence similar to those of devout identity, vigilante teams acted with impunity.
Victims of communal and targeted violence have continuously accused the state apparatus, specifically the police, of failing to protect them. An investigative committee (of which this writer was a member), set up through the Delhi Minorities Commission to investigate Delhi’s anti-Muslim violence in 2020, included the testimonies of several victims about how mobs attacked their homes and advertising institutions while the police remained there.
Political expediency seems to be the main explanation for why religious-based violence continues to occur, goes unpunished, and is even rewarded.
Studies by leading scholars, such as Paul Brass, recommend that communal conflicts can be politically entrusted to political parties and that state governments allow them to continue to rely on calculations about wasting or obtaining votes. Brass also emphasized the role of “firefighters,” Americans who seek politicians to gain advantages from those divisions within society.
India’s political leaders have continually used those Hindu-Muslim dividing lines to stir up trouble. Recently, a video circulating on social media showed a member of parliament, Tejasvi Surya, berating staff at a “COVID control room” in the city of Bangalore for hiring Muslims and turning it into a “madrasa. “Its outbreak led to the suspension of 16 Muslim employees, who were offering essential items to COVID-19 patients.
Fortunately, public outcry over his decision led to the reinstatement of Muslim employees.
In this case, fraternity built due to the COVID-19 crisis helped keep a check on the attempt to fuel communal passions. But we must do more to actively call out the discrimination and violence on the basis of religious identity.
Far too often, however, we have stayed quiet when rights of fellow citizens who are Dalit, Tribals, women, and religious minorities have been eroded. We acted out of fear or indifference or worse, still believing that this violence or discrimination was deserved.
The pandemic has taught us that running together for a common good, putting aside differences, can literally save lives. In our long run, it is a basic duty of each and every citizen, in accordance with the Constitution of India. .
Fraternity is the bedrock on which other essential ideals like liberty and equality flourish. Without it, Ambedkar reflected, “liberty and equality could not become a natural course of things. It would require a constable to enforce them.”
Fraternity compels us to speak up for those who are different. It flourishes when we allow ourselves to be affected by the vulnerability of the other, and recognize our ability to act to assist the other. It is a recognition of our interdependence for the common good. It is nurtured through acts of kindness and by creating space for each other. The Constitution of India, in Hindi language, uses the term bandhuta for fraternity. Bandhuta draws on the concept of being bound or knitted together in friendship and love. It is a powerful vision for a nation of citizens working together for the good of each other.
It is imperative that this sense of solidarity among citizens continues even after the pandemic is over. The only reliable “vaccine” that opposes exclusivist nationalism and violence is the revival of India’s venerable philosophy of pluralistic fraternity.
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Amid the devastating effect of the COVID-19 pandemic in India, there is a glimmer of hope. Strangers are responding to emergency calls on social media asking for oxygen, medicine, hospital beds and even cremation sites. While some politicians seek to further divide the country along religious lines, many devout communities have opened their places of worship and other establishments as “COVID care centers” and are indiscriminately offering essential materials such as food and oxygen. A sense of brotherhood is emerging among citizens that transcends plurality. , as the framers of the Indian Constitution intended.
The brotherhood can be seen in Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, Christians, and other people with no devout religion running together for others. This camaraderie is motivated by sheer necessity in the face of the government’s monumental failure to prepare for a second wave of coronavirus. and highlights a key guiding principle of networked life.
Fraternity is “a sense of common brotherhood of all Indians – if Indians are seen as being one people. It is the principle which gives unity and solidarity to social life,” said Dr. Bhimrao Ambedkar, the chairperson of the Constitution of India Drafting Committee, in November 25, 1949 as he addressed the Constituent Assembly for the last time.
Article 51-A(e) of the Charter in particular states that “it is the duty of each and every citizen of India to promote concord and the spirit of brotherhood not unusual among all other peoples of India, beyond religious, linguistic boundaries and regional or sectoral diversities. » This is a solid, relational, non-relativistic view of pluralism, also known as covenant pluralism by researchers.
Unfortunately, in recent years, the founding philosophy of India’s pluralistic fraternity has come under attack. Community clashes and violence driven by competing narratives have fractured communities. Take, for example, the 2020 mob violence against the Muslim minority in the capital, Delhi; the growing culture of lynchings on trains and roads since 2014; and the continued spread of incendiary rhetoric calling for attacks on communities and institutions.
The U. S. Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF) took note of those disturbing trends in a report released this year, calling on the U. S. State Department to designate India as a “country of specific concern. “”Conditions for freedom in India are deteriorating dramatically, and national and state governments tolerate widespread harassment and violence against minorities,” USCIRF said.
The USCIRF echoed concerns about restrictive laws such as the state-level “anti-conversion” laws, which restrict religious conversions. USCIRF also rightly criticized India’s 2019 Citizenship (Amendment) Act (CAA), which called for expediting citizenship for foreigners from Bangladesh, Pakistan, and Afghanistan who have been religiously persecuted, but which excluded Muslims. The CAA, read in conjunction with a call to create a National Register of Citizenship (NRC), led to widespread fear that many Indian citizens would be left out due to poor documentation or might be targeted due to their faith.
These incidents or trends have led to strict prosecution and public outcry. However, the weakness of the establishment (legislative, executive, judicial, and media) has exacerbated the problem. In many incidents of violence similar to those of devout identity, surveillance teams acted with impunity.
Victims of communal and targeted violence have continuously accused the state apparatus, specifically the police, of failing to protect them. An investigative committee (of which this writer was a member), set up through the Delhi Minorities Commission to investigate Delhi’s anti-Muslim violence in 2020, included the testimonies of several victims about how mobs attacked their homes and advertising institutions while the police remained there.
Political expediency seems to be the main explanation for why religious-based violence continues to occur, goes unpunished, and is even rewarded.
Studies by leading scholars, such as Paul Brass, recommend that communal conflicts can be politically entrusted to political parties and that state governments allow them to continue to rely on calculations about wasting or obtaining votes. Brass also emphasized the role of “firefighters,” Americans who seek politicians to gain advantages from those divisions within society.
Indian political leaders have continually used these dividing lines between Hindus and Muslims to sow trouble. Recently, a video circulating on social media showed a parliamentarian, Tejasvi Surya, berating staff at a “COVID control room” in the city of Bangalore for hiring Muslims and turning it into a “madrasa. “His outburst led to the suspension of 16 Muslim employees who provided critical services to COVID-19 patients.
Fortunately, public outcry over his decision led to the reinstatement of Muslim employees.
In this particular case, the fraternity built through the COVID-19 crisis helped curb the attempt to feed passions online. But we will need to do more to actively speak out against discrimination and violence based on devout identity.
Yet, on too many occasions we have remained silent when the rights of our Dalit, tribal, women’s and devout minority citizens have been eroded. We acted out of fear, indifference, or worse, believing that this violence or discrimination was deserved.
The pandemic has taught us that running together for a common good, putting aside differences, can literally save lives. In our long run, it is a basic duty of each and every citizen, in accordance with the Constitution of India. .
Fraternity is the foundation on which other essential ideals, such as liberty and equality, flourish. Without it, Ambedkar reflects, “freedom and equality may not be a natural evolution. It would take a police officer to enforce them. “
Fraternity obliges us to speak on behalf of those who are different. It flourishes when we allow ourselves to be affected by the other’s vulnerability and recognize our ability to act on the other. It is a popularity of our interdependence for the commons. Well. It thrives on acts of kindness and creating space for everyone. The Constitution of India, in the Hindi language, uses the term bandhuta to refer to brotherhood. Bandhuta is based on the concept of being united or united in friendship and love. A tough vision for a country of citizens competing in countries combined for the common good.
It is imperative that this feeling of solidarity among citizens continues even after the pandemic is over. The only reliable “vaccine” against exclusivist nationalism and violence is the revival of India’s venerable philosophy of pluralistic brotherhood.
Amid the devastating effect of the COVID-19 pandemic in India, there is a glimmer of hope. Strangers are responding to emergency calls on social media asking for oxygen, medicine, hospital beds and even cremation sites. While some politicians seek to further divide the country along religious lines, many devout communities have opened their places of worship and other establishments as “COVID care centers” and are indiscriminately offering essential materials such as food and oxygen. A sense of brotherhood is emerging among citizens that transcends plurality. , as the framers of the Indian Constitution intended.
The brotherhood can be seen in Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, Christians, and other people with no devout religion running together for others. This camaraderie is motivated by sheer necessity in the face of the government’s monumental failure to prepare for a second wave of coronavirus. and highlights a key guiding principle of networked life.
Tehmina Arora is a lawyer practising in Delhi, India, and is a director of ADF India. ADF India is a legal advocacy organization that protects freedoms and promotes the inherent dignity of all people.