In a charged UP, why 2022 may be different from 1992
Three religious petitions have dredged up decades-old communal tensions. But there are key differences that will determine how the movement evolves — the most critical being BJP’S increased stature
Uttar Pradesh (UP) is on the boil again, and this time, it is not due to elections. Over the past month, a raft of petitions involving decades-old religious disputes strewn across the state have fanned communal tensions. Two of three petitions concern nerve centres of Hindu traditions: The Kashi Vishwanath Temple in Varanasi and the Krishna Janmabhoomi Temple in Mathura. The third petition, the only one that’s been unsuccessful for now, involves arguably the world’s most recognisable monument: The Taj Mahal. All three claim that Islamic structures were built during the medieval times by Muslim rulers by demolishing Hindu shrines, and together, may represent a return to the tumultuous 90s, when the politics of the state, and the country, was shaped by the Ram Janmabhoomi movement and the destruction of the Babri Masjid. Of course, 2022 is not 1992; India has since opened up to the world, become a global powerhouse, pulled millions out of poverty, built a powerful middle class and become assertive on the global stage.
But if some things have changed, many others have not – a majority of Indians continue to be driven by caste and faith allegiances, the benefits of economic liberalisation haven’t percolated to the downtrodden, and anxieties about slipping back into poverty have been exacerbated by the pandemic The biggest link is the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) – a fledgling party looking to spread its footprint then, and the national hegemon now. It is the interplay of these factors that will determine whether 2022 follows the trajectory of 1992, or charts a new path.
But first, a look at the cases. The first involves a dispute in the Kashi Vishwanath Temple-gyanvapi mosque complex in Varanasi – and it is the petition that has achieved the most success legally. In 2021, five women sought worshipping rights at the Maa Shringar Gauri Sthal, located behind the mosque complex. They argued that Hindu deities were installed within the mosque complex and devotees had a right to access them. On April 26, a local Varanasi court ordered a survey of the mosque complex, but when the survey began on May 6, it ran into angry protests from Muslim groups. The Varanasi court, and later the Supreme Court refused to stop the exercise, marking a victory for the Hindu petitioners. Some Hindu groups believe a temple was partially razed to build the 17th-century Gyanvapi mosque; Muslims refute this – but never found many takers on either side. But the controversial survey was enough to exacerbate tensions.
The second dispute involved Mathura’s Krishna Janmabhoomi, the site where devotees believe the Hindu god Krishna was born. Since September 2020, nine cases have been filed in the courts of Mathura, with one thing in common: They all argue that the Shahi Eidgah mosque was built after demolishing a part of the Krishna temple next door. Some of them want the 13.37 acres of the mosque complex returned to the temple while others challenge a 1968 settlement between the Sri Krishna Janmasthan Seva Sangh and the Shahi Masjid Eidgah that established a status quo that held for the next 50 years. The Allahabad High Court has asked all petitions to be decided within four months, so expect more movement on this account.
The third claim is by a BJP leader on the Taj Mahal. His petition, dismissed by the Allahabad High Court this week, asks for 22 locked rooms in the mausoleum to be opened to ascertain the presence of any Hindu idols. The failure of the petition is unlikely to dampen the spirits of fringe Hindu groups, who claim Taj Mahal is actually Tejo Mahalaya, a Shiva temple.
These petitions represent a churn in the state’s politics, and in Hindutva. The parallels with the Ram Janmabhoomi movement are many: Disagreements that were managed for decades are slowly becoming intractable as the position of communities ossify. Local support for the so-called reclaiming of the sites is growing among Hindus. And Muslim communities find themselves on the backfoot and are defensive of what they see as an attempt to attack their culture.
There is another direct link – the petitions represent an alarming erosion of the mandate of the Places of Worship Act, which placed on July 11, 1991 a status quo retrospectively on the character of places of worship as existing on August 15, 1947. Only the Ram Janmabhoomi-babri Masjid site in Ayodhya was kept out of the purview of the law, which was aimed at avoiding dispute in Ayodhya spreading by freezing other such religious disputes – at the time, kar sevaks, or religious volunteers would chant ‘Ayodhya toh bas jhanki hai, Kashi, Mathura baaki hai’ (Ayodhya is a tableau of what’s coming in Kashi and Mathura). What’s happening shows that once the lid of majoritarianism is opened, it is difficult to put it back onto the box.
But 2022 is very different from 1992 in three crucial ways. One, the Ram Janmabhoomi movement was a carefully crafted political campaign helmed by a rath yatra by LK Advani, who mobilised young Hindu men and galvanised kar sevaks to gather in Ayodhya. It was a painstaking, if eventually violent, effort that saw leaders from BJP, its ideological parent, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh and affiliate groups go to villages, hamlets and small towns to recruit volunteers. The 2022 moment is led largely by fringe organisations and individuals (only the Taj Mahal petition is linked to a BJP leader, and the party has largely refrained from commenting on it). To be sure, these individuals are from Hindu groups that claim proximity to the ruling party, but, at least for now, there is little large-scale political mobilisation on the issue.
The reason for this might lie in the second difference between 2022 and 1992: The status of the BJP. The rath yatra, and the Ram Janmabhoomi movement built the BJP’S base in north India, propelled the party from two seats in Parliament to 85, and 16 seats in UP to 221. The mobilisation helped it achieve grassroots appeal, broadened its base beyond the traditional upper castes and gave it an emotive issue that has been its ideological core ever since. The BJP today is the central pole of Indian politics, its position is well entrenched, and its message, clear. It has managed to blend Hindutva with muscular nationalism and welfare and the enduring popularity of Prime Minister Narendra Modi and a record of efficient welfare delivery have created a new constituency of poor and lower caste support for the party. Put simply: It once needed the Ram Janmabhoomi movement to establish itself; right now, it doesn’t need these movements.
This brings us to the third crucial difference – the absence of a robust Opposition.
Even at the height of the Ram Janmabhoomi movement, non-bjp parties offered a credible political and ideological alternative. Mulayam Singh Yadav was mobilising Yadavs, Muslims and some other backward class groups into a cohesive electoral constituency, and Kanshi Ram was stitching together Dalits and small backward groups into a new vote bank. In contrast,the Opposition today is fragmented and weak – the Samajwadi Party faces a serious challenge of expanding its appeal and the Bahujan Samaj Party is in an existential tailspin.
So, how will this moment evolve, and what will the government’s role be? Though the new disputes may not be as important to the BJP, they keep the pot boiling and give the more extreme elements of its coalition an ideological goal at a time of increasing economic distress. Moreover, it puts the Opposition in a bind. Even if the courts put an end to the dispute for now, it will simmer until there is social reconciliation, or a political signal that enough is enough. Will that happen? Only time will tell.
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