Syed Reyaz Khawer
In recent years, the subcontinent has witnessed a disturbing rise in violence carried out not in the pursuit of justice, but under the garb of religion, nationalism, and misplaced zeal. These acts are not merely crimes against individuals; they are direct assaults on the foundations of law, constitutional morality, and civilised society. What makes them especially disturbing is not only their brutality, but the selective silence of authorities and the steadily shrinking space for reason.
In Bangladesh, the horrific burning alive of a Hindu individual by radical goons stands as a chilling reminder of how extremism corrodes both religion and humanity. Such an act finds no sanction in Islam, which places the sanctity of human life above all else, nor does it find any refuge under Bangladesh’s penal laws. It is a crime born not of faith, but of hatred—hatred that mocks religion even as it claims to defend it.
Across the border in India, intolerance manifests in different but equally troubling forms. Reports of Christians being beaten and their properties vandalised for celebrating Christmas represent a betrayal of India’s pluralistic heritage. Hinduism, at its philosophical core, teaches tolerance, coexistence, and respect for diverse paths to the divine. Violence against Christians for practising their faith is not Hindu culture—it is a distortion of it, and a clear violation of Indian penal law.
Equally alarming are incidents where Muslims have been assaulted for allegedly refusing to chant “Vande Mataram” or sing the national anthem. Such coercion strikes at the heart of the Indian Constitution, which guarantees freedom of speech, conscience, and religion. Nationalism enforced through fear is not patriotism; it is authoritarianism. A nation secure in its ideals does not need fists, threats, or mobs to extract slogans.
The constitutional position on this issue is unambiguous. In the landmark Bijoe Emmanuel vs State of Kerala (1986), the Supreme Court held that three Jehovah’s Witness students could not be expelled for refusing to sing the national anthem, provided they stood respectfully. The Court affirmed that Articles 19(1)(a) and 25 protect not only the right to speak, but also the right to remain silent according to one’s conscience. This judgment remains a powerful reminder that forced patriotism has no place in a constitutional democracy.
Yet constitutional values often falter when political convenience enters the picture. A stark example is the 2015 lynching of Mohd Ikhlaq in Dadri, Uttar Pradesh, over allegations of storing and consuming beef. The attempt by the Uttar Pradesh government, through its public prosecutor, to withdraw the case against the accused shook the nation’s conscience. It was only the courage and independence of a Noida court judge that prevented this miscarriage of justice. While that moment restored some faith in the judiciary, it also exposed the alarming fragility of institutional resolve.
What binds these incidents—from Bangladesh to India—is not religion, but radicalism, mob mentality, and the erosion of accountability. Violence thrives when perpetrators believe the law will look away, hesitate, or actively protect them. Silence from authorities, delayed action, and selective outrage do not calm society; they embolden its most dangerous elements.
Every conscientious citizen, irrespective of faith or ideology, must condemn such acts unequivocally. Justice cannot be selective. Laws cannot bend to mobs. Constitutional rights cannot be bartered at the altar of majoritarian pressure.
A society is judged not by the slogans it shouts, but by the rights it protects. When law remains silent in the face of injustice, injustice becomes the loudest—and most dangerous—voice in the room.
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