It all started in the family WhatsApp group. A member of my extended family posted photos and videos of fireworks with the caption “a very good day” and many smiley emojis. When I asked, “what are we celebrating?” she replied, “the temple in Ayodhya”. It quickly escalated into a heated discussion about the decision to build a Hindu temple in place of a mosque that was razed to the ground, and the rise of far-right ideology.
As someone who left India 20 years ago for the UK, I am often seen as an “outsider” who cannot really understand Indian politics. If I comment on the political climate I’m accused of being brainwashed by the foreign media and discriminating against India. But I see the country of my birth changing and it upsets me hugely.
I am not going to claim that this is the first time a Hindu-Muslim divide has surfaced. I remember the religious violence during my childhood when schools were closed for weeks and we couldn’t leave the house due to a curfew. But what I mostly remember is that even as a Hindu household, we celebrated Eid and my father had a Muslim “sister” who would tie rakhi on his wrist. I attended a school run by Irish Catholic nuns, a legacy of the British empire, and we celebrated all religious festivals at school and at home. I thought this was what the freedom fighters fought for: a nation for everybody. Maybe I was too young to see the simmering tensions underneath; I believed in the constitutional message that India was a secular country.
I mulled over the idea of writing about this under a pseudonym for a long time, given the abuse I’ve faced on social media every time I’ve commented on this nationalistic fervour, an intimation of the violence lurking within the movement. Often criticism of the rise of Hindu nationalism is equated with criticism of Hinduism as a religion. These are two entirely different things, one is the following of religious values and principles, the other uses religious symbols, imagery and texts to mobilise people into violence and create divisions that benefit political leadership. The people are mere pawns, and increasingly this movement is relying on women to mobilise it, from all levels of society.
Hindu nationalism has deployed gendered imagery for a long time. Women have held leadership positions in this nationalist movement. By becoming nuns or sadhvis they are seen to have risen above the baseness of carnal desire, something that holds huge moral currency. Sadhvis and other prominent women give emotional speeches at public gatherings – appealing to men’s masculinity, and women’s benevolence, to protect the nation from those who do not value their ancestors. They project an image of a pure and pious Bharat Mata (Mother India) that must reject “western values”. They also disguise their political ambition as concern for the children, and for the women they say are under threat from anti-nationalists. They claim Hindu women are being abused and converted to Islam (“love jihad”). They use these narratives to incite communal tension and violence against Muslims, fuelling rightwing ideologies.
Indian women are being bombarded by public lectures by sadhvis on media channels. They are being told that the Hindu goddesses were strong and fiery, and fought for their rights, while they are being corrupted by Muslim invaders and British colonialists. It is easy for many Indian women to believe in the message that they can fight for their rights, that this is empowering rather than an institutionalised way of living.
Women with political ambitions have to be louder, more strident, more outspoken than men to make their mark and be visible. Many of them are seen to be breaking feminine stereotypes, holding huge power and influence, crossing lines of class and caste. Other young women aspire to this kind of influence. As a result, Hindu nationalism is being seen as a movement that will liberate women from the oppressive patriarchal roles they have been relegated to.
But there is an underlying patriarchy within this movement that binds women to subservient roles with deep roots in Indian society. Hindu nationalism has long relied on gender norms. Motherhood is part of this ideology: it is the woman’s role to give birth to children who will take over the mantle of protecting the Hindu nation, and to procreate so that the Hindus are not outnumbered. A recent survey showed that a large proportion of men and women in India, of all ages, believed that women should obey their husbands, that women should be the primary carers of their children, and that men should get priority for jobs.
Alongside their regressive gender politics, these movements are often also homophobic and transphobic – the effects of such extreme ideologies are nearly always intersectional. While women may believe they are taking back control and rejecting patriarchy by leaning into Hindutva ideologies, they are giving away rights and choices over their bodies, their autonomy in public spheres and in their homes, the right to sexuality and control over reproduction: which were all hard fought for.
I feel very anxious seeing how many women from my extended family and friends are being sucked into this movement while claiming their right to celebrate their religion and express their religious views. They are the ones being brainwashed; their vulnerability being exploited to fuel Islamophobia. Many of us in the Indian diaspora are having these debates in family WhatsApp groups and with friends on Facebook, and we are watching with concern as growing numbers of women in India become enablers, but also victims of the nationalist movement.
