When politics marries communalism

A book explores the political narrative around love jihad at ground zero, Uttar Pradesh

“Love jihad is an issue close to our hearts. How can any state tell its subjects who to marry and who not to? Adults have the right to choose their spouses,” write Mihir Srivastava and Raul Irani in their new book Love Jihadis: An Open-Minded Journey into the Heart of Western Uttar Pradesh. This collaborative work of non-fiction, supported with photographs from the field, is a cross between reportage and travelogue.

How does technology empower women in cloistered societies to create small windows of freedom for themselves? Who feels threatened by their economic independence and sexual autonomy? Why do they treat women like property, and not human beings with the right to determine their own future? What makes them object to romance, sex or marriage involving a Hindu woman and a Muslim man when the relationship is consensual? The book finds answers to these questions through structured interviews and informal conversations.

The authors write, “She (Shallu from Sarawaha) fell in love with a Muslim man — Kalim — and decided to marry him. That act of choice unleashed the wrath not only of her family, but also of the political and religious establishments of India. She was held captive by her own family who threatened her life, and she had to run away and live for a year in a government facility for destitute women simply to survive.” Her husband and four other men who she did not know were jailed for abducting and gangraping her. The charges were fabricated.

Srivastava and Irani’s exploration of the political narrative around love jihad, a supposed attempt by Muslim men to lure and possess Hindu women through conversion and marriage, is located within the broader context of Uttar Pradesh, and not framed simplistically as a BJP versus Congress issue. They try to untangle the links between Hindu majoritarianism, the marginalisation of Muslims, religious conversion, cow vigilantism, love jihad, ghar vapsi, the debate around triple talaaq, and votebank politics.

The authors state, “Western Uttar Pradesh has always been communally sensitive, especially in cities like Aligarh, Meerut, Agra and Bulandshahr. There have always been hardliners among both Hindus and Muslims, believers of the philosophy of ‘the clash of civilisations’, who advocate that the propagation of their faith essentially entails the annihilation of other faiths. The problem has been compounded by the political patronage these elements enjoy.” The book is based on the authors’ observations and impressions. They do not cite any second research on the subject they are dealing with.

Over a year, Srivastava and Irani — who describe themselves as “two disgruntled journalists” — spent their weekends travelling from Delhi to various parts of Uttar Pradesh to research this book. On two occasions, they ended up spending longer than a week. Mihir introduced himself as Mir when they “met representatives of the orthodox Muslim community” and Raul called himself Rahul when they “visited militant Hindu organizations”. Was it ethical to conceal their religious identity? The authors do not engage with this question in the book.

Love Jihadis is impressive because it strikes a different note from the volume of opinion being churned out by commentators who have rhetorical flourishes to offer but little understanding of local politics. This book is an experiential account with immediacy, reflection and insight. The authors are keen on listening to people with a variety of positions and beliefs. Their intention is to discover and learn, not confirm their biases. That said, they do not condone bigotry. They challenge their respondents respectfully.

The book transports readers to Sarawaha, Meerut, Deoband, Agra, Kairana and Mathura through atmospheric descriptions of the physical setting, and useful entry points into the cultural milieu by quoting from conversations with locals encountered at tea stalls, primary schools, ashrams, madrassas, and barber shops. The authors seem cognizant of their outsiderness in terms of class, language and sensibility. This is reflected in their storytelling, which is marked by curiosity rather than the pretence of expertise.

Love Jihadis

Author: Mihir Srivastava, Raul Irani

Publisher: Westland

Price: Rs 499; Pages: 176

There are gut-wrenching stories here of Hindu parents who threatened to kill their daughters for falling in love with Muslim men, of Muslim men who were falsely accused of raping Hindu women, of policemen who colluded with politicians to communalise interfaith marriages that did not involve forced conversion, and of ordinary Hindus and Muslims whose trust in each other was eroded through divisive propaganda that instilled fear in their minds.

Srivastava and Irani state, “Most of these cases turned out to be political hoaxes that a subservient mainstream media played on the people of India. After the elections, most of these cases were no longer pursued. The accused, portrayed as sinister villains, were the real victims, their lives destroyed.” While researching this book, the authors found that their respondents were scared of being misquoted and misrepresented. Due to their previous experiences with journalists, some refused to talk; others refused to be photographed.

This book raises awareness about the lifelong trauma experienced by families that have been ripped apart by false allegations, and the terror it has generated among Muslim elders who want young men in the community to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible to rule out any possibility of being framed for crimes they have not committed. Apart from losing their reputation, Muslims who have been falsely accused have lost their source of income. In addition, they have to continue paying the fees of lawyers in order to stay out of trouble.

Srivastava and Irani also examine how communal tensions are fanned by economic anxieties, how unemployment leads to resentment, and how migration for jobs is given a communal angle by people who wish to tear the social fabric and also disrupt law and order. Despite the grim realities they witnessed, they believe that “the composite culture of India is still intact and fairly robust…What is happening in the country now will pass”. Is this wishful thinking? Cynicism is fashionable but hope is what we might truly need.