Communal Riots Quotes

Some people are not even that precious to be counted in the official death tolls.

There is something like a switch in us that kills the individual in favor of the collective when people engage in communal dances, mass riots, or war. Your mood is now that of the herd. You are part of what Elias Canetti calls the rhythmic and throbbing crowd

As spontaneous organizations of the distressed emerge, professional politicians and political parties attempt to capture their energy toward their own electoral gain. Franklin Roosevelt, as we have seen, was not averse to using antimarket rhetoric to appeal to the distressed. And once the politicians capture power and there is a drive to legislate, incumbents are not far behind in directing legislations toward their needs. Thus, much as a riot can be exploited by a few to achieve goals that are not the intent of the mob—it is interesting how often riots that are ostensibly labeled “communal” in India turn into a targeted destruction of especially irksome rival businesses owned by the minority community—the political organizations of the distressed can be used by those who have a broader agenda.

In that year began the tragic bookending of the Indian debate on secularism with two unspeakable pogroms. From that time onwards the 1984 riots in Delhi that took place on Rajiv Gandhi’s watch and the 2002 Gujarat riots that took place on Narendra Modi’s watch would be used to checkmate one another in what might be called the chessboard of competitive communalism. And secularism, the foundation of the republic, fashioned out of our astonishingly diverse society, would find itself challenged again.

It is a fallacy that suicide bombers are driven by the promise of a reward of some Islamic paradise with virgins and other entertainment, for, as the anthropologist Scott Atran has pointed out, the first suicide bombers in the Levant were revolutionaries of Greek Orthodox background—my tribe—not Islamists. There is something like a switch in us that kills the individual in favor of the collective when people engage in communal dances, mass riots, or war. Your mood is now that of the herd. You are part of what Elias Canetti calls the rhythmic and throbbing crowd. You can also feel a different variety of crowd experience during your next street riot, when fear of authorities vanishes completely under group fever.

Thanks to all Zafar’s precautions, ‘Id passed peacefully on 1 August. The British, who were aware through their spies of the growing communal tension, and who had been eagerly hoping for a major communal riot, were disappointed. Hervey Greathed was left merely to grumble in a letter to his wife ‘that it is a good satire on the Mahomedans fighting for their faith, that at this Eid, under the Mahomedan king, no one was permitted to sacrifice a cow’.

Somewhere in the city of Vadodara, a young woman named Zaheera Sheikh stood on the balcony of her friend’s house and watched in helpless stupefaction all the members of her family along with a couple of their staff being engulfed by fires of hatred. Best Bakery which also served as their residence was in flames. It was locked from outside by some people whose slogans would remain beyond Zaheera Sheikh’s comprehension for years. The religious fervour of those slogans would go on scorching her in a different way even years after all her beloved people were interred.

The flames of hatred had died down in Gujarat. The media reported that more than 2000 Muslims were charred by those flames and at least fifty times that number were rendered homeless. People became refugees in their own homelands. The ashes of their homes and the scorched wails that lingered on in those ashes became a pain that smouldered in the veins of the survivors. Many people chose to abandon those ash heaps. Yet another exodus was merging into the forgotten histories buried in the palimpsest of the country. Wherever there are vanquished people, there are also winners, Ishan realised with a pang. The winners obtained an unprecedented majority in the state election and Mr Narendra Modi was re-elected as the Chief Minister for the third time consecutively.

Huq, being the leader of the KPP, opened negotiations with the Congress to form a coalition. However, talks between the two parties soon broke down. The Congress insisted on giving immediate importance to the release of political prisoners while for the KPP, the settlement of agrarian debt was the primary concern. As negotiations between the KPP and the Congress broke down, the KPP saw no option but to form a coalition ministry with the League, with Huq as the Chief Minister. However, this turned out to be the biggest political blunder for Huq – the selection of personnel of the Ministry was not in his hands, and nine out of eleven members were from the zamindar class. This was deeply resented by other members of the KPP, who soon began to distance themselves from the new coalition party. Faced with severe criticism from both the KPP and the Congress for completely deviating from his electoral promises, Huq joined the Muslim League in October 1937. With this, the ministry practically became a League ministry.

Pre-modern Hinduism had its warts—big and small—as do all religions, but its subtleties were richer than what is now being thrust on its believers. Hindutva is in many ways the antithesis of Hinduism, and aims to create a society that is narrow, bigoted and inward looking, in which the co-existence with those that differ, such as the minority communities of various kinds, is becoming increasingly impossible, as demonstrated by the frequency of communal riots.

It was as though the throttling nature of the cloth against her mouth wanted to sentence her to a lifetime of silence.

There is something like a switch in us that kills the individual in favor of the collective when people engage in communal dances, mass riots, or war. Your mood is now that of the herd. You are part of what Elias Canetti calls the rhythmic and throbbing crowd. You can also feel a different variety of crowd experience during your next street riot, when fear of authorities vanishes completely under group fever.

As to the technique employed at Ahmedabad Girish Mathur gave the following description: “What happened in Ahmedabad was not a communal riot in the ordinary sense. Rachi, Rourkela, Calcutta were put to shame by Ahmedabad. There more people were burnt alive than died of stabbings or as a result of clashes, and they were burnt alive not because they were caught in the fire. The technique was to set fire to a group of houses belonging to the minorities and, as men and women and children rushed out they were caught hold of, their hands and feet were tied and then they were thrown into the fire. This could not have been the spontaneous action of an angry mob. And the largest number of cases of arson and this type of murder took place during the curfew hours, which can mean only one thing, that the curfew was ineffective.” Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s shock with pain over what she saw and heard in Ahmedabad could be seen on her face as she stepped out of her plane at Palam on her return to Delhi. A dog feeding on a half-burnt corpse in the midst of the ruins of buildings razed to the ground; five thousand refugees confined without food or even drinking water in a small chawl stinking with human excreta, there being no lavatories nearby; scores of young and old men, women and children rushing towards her crying, some with folded hands–“Indraben, I have lost all my children, I have lost my parents, my wife was cut to pieces, they caught hold of my son and threw him into the burning house; now at least save us, for God’s sake, save us, may you live long.

It is time we stopped talking about communal riots” remarked Enayat Habibullah, a retired Major General of the Indian Army. “These are massacres of the Muslims by the Hindus. The aim is to push us back into ghettos.” That, at least, is the result.

Now as the train moved towards Calcutta, Malay felt as if his life was coming full circle. It had been a strange decision to visit the city at a time when post-Partition vomit and excreta was splattered on Calcutta streets. Marked by communal violence, anger and unemployment, the streets smelled of hunger and disillusionment. Riots were still going on. The wound of a land divided lingered, refugees from East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) continued to arrive in droves. And since they did not know where to go, they occupied the pavements, laced the streets with their questions, frustrations and a deep need to be recognised as more than an inconvenient presence on tree-lined avenues. The feeling of being uprooted was everywhere. Political leaders decided that the second phase of the five-year planning needed to see the growth of heavy industries. The land required for such industries necessitated the evacuation of farmers. Devoid of their ancestral land and in the absence of a proper rehabilitation plan, those evicted wandered aimlessly around the cities—refugees by another name. Calcutta had assumed different dimensions in Malay’s mind. The smell of the Hooghly wafted across Victoria Memorial and settled like an unwanted cow on its lawns. Unsung symphonies spilled out of St Paul’s Cathedral on lonely nights; white gulls swooped in on grey afternoons and looked startling against the backdrop of the rain-swept edifice. In a few years, Naxalbari would become a reality, but not yet. Like an infant Kali with bohemian fantasies, Calcutta and its literature sprouted a new tongue – that of the Hungry Generation. Malay, like Samir and many others, found himself at the helm of this madness, and poetry seemed to lick his body and soul in strange colours. As a reassurance of such a huge leap of faith, Shakti had written to Samir: Bondhu Samir, We had begun by speaking of an undying love for literature, when we suddenly found ourselves in a dream. A dream that is bigger than us, and one that will exist in its capacity of right and wrong and beyond that of our small worlds. Bhalobasha juriye Shakti