Mohammad Akhlaq and the Decade That Normalised Hate

Now we are a demolition nation. Somewhere along the line, we stopped registering the names of lynching victims.

The passport photo of a serene-looking 52-year-old Akhlaq, wearing white, his fading mehndi-coloured hair against the bright red background—typical of a small town photo studio—became an image most of us could identify immediately. 

(Illustration: Vibhushita Singh/The Quint)

When Mohammad Akhlaq was lynched in 2015 by a mob that had been whipped into a frenzy by accusations broadcast from a temple’s loudspeaker, the nation reacted. Yes, full stop after ‘reacted’. No further adjective needed.

The passport photo of a serene-looking 52-year-old Akhlaq, wearing white, his fading mehndi-coloured hair against the bright red background—typical of a small town photo studio—became an image most of us could identify immediately. 

Leaders from across the political spectrum, including those from the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) were pushed to speak up by our outrage. Rajnath Singh, then the home minister, promised action against “those trying to break communal harmony.”

There were protests against the murder and displays of solidarity between communities. Believe it or not, Bollywood actors also spoke up.

Author Nayantara Sehgal returned her Sahitya Akademi award, declaring that “India is being unmade”. It was the era before Republic TV beamed acid directly into our brains.

An angry Indian Express editorial said this was just not enough and described the Narendra Modi government’s response as ranging from “unforgivable silence to tedious homily”.

The newspaper fired questions: “Are these bare statements all that the top echelons of India’s government have to offer in the aftermath of a murder that has made a nation recoil in shame? Is Akhlaq’s murder to be treated as only a law and order problem that calls for a mere administrative response, or as an avoidable spot on the country’s projection abroad?” 

The response to Akhlaq’s death was so heartfelt that after more than a week’s silence, Prime Minister Narendra Modi was forced to react. He called the incident “dukhad” and said, “Hindus and Muslims should fight against poverty and not each other”.

It seems like so much now, but back then, it felt inadequate, almost like our politicians were not accountable (what a quaint idea!).

Akhlaq's Killing Changed the Country

Incidentally, it was around this time that we saw the rapid growth of hardline cow-protection units. Subsequent lynchings were recorded on phones and livestreamed.

I became part of a group called Karwan-e-Mohabbat, and in 2017, led by activist Harsh Mander, we (a mismatched group of activists, journalists, entrepreneurs, a band of singing Jesuits, an ethics professor, lawyers, a scientist) hopped on and off a ride through eight states to meet families of lynching victims and offer them solidarity and legal help. 

After Akhlaq, editor Shekhar Gupta wrote in the Business Standard that the Dadri incident was a “chilling turning point” in the politics of this country. “It marks the rise of Hindu supremacist mob militancy that the BJP won’t unequivocally condemn or disown. It will criticise the killing, but qualify it in a half-dozen ways,” he wrote. 

Of course, in the same article, he blamed the Congress for not taking a padyatra or fact-finding mission to the village that was just 40 minutes from Delhi. “Lalu, Nitish, Mamata…all claimants to the secular vote, are afraid of messing with an issue involving the cow. Holiness of the cow has now become as multi-partisan an issue as hostility to Pakistan.”

Journalist Pankaj Parashar made The Brotherhood, a film about the syncretic history of that region. When the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) asked for cuts and was fussing about the film, he appealed to the Film Censor Appellate Tribunal.

The tribunal saw the film and said, “This documentary film is a commendable effort to (foster) communal harmony in the country, and especially the message of unity among the largest Hindu and Muslim communities." It was released on Independence Day and aired on Tata Sky.

Barkha Dutt anchored the show We The People on NDTV, and in true Dutt style, got Akhlaq’s elder son Mohammad Sartaj, a corporal in the air force, to appear on her show. He began by thanking the media for highlighting his father’s case. When asked to share a message with people, he simply quoted the lyrics of ‘Saare Jahan Se Acha’: Mazhab nahin sikhata apas men bayr rakhna. (Religion does not teach us to sow division between each other)

On the show, Gaurav Bhatia, then the Samajwadi Party spokesman, defended his party’s response as Dutt shouted at him: “A man was murdered, a man was murdered,” and berated the state for sending the meat in Akhlaq’s fridge for laboratory testing to determine if it was beef or mutton.

A Deafeningly Silent Nation Today

I haven’t crunched the numbers, but from Akhlaq’s murder in September 2015 to teenager Junaid’s murder on a train in June 2017, one could say that India experimented with speaking up. The Not In My Name protests across Indian cities were inspired by the historic Vietnam protests. Briefly, we believed, we were a functioning democracy. For a few months, we didn’t look away.

But 10 years on, as the Uttar Pradesh government applies under Section 321 CrPC to withdraw all charges against the 10 accused of murdering Akhlaq (once upon a time there were 18 accused, I have no idea how the number shrank. I do know they got bail swiftly after the murder), it is time to acknowledge that we have come full circle. 

This time there’s no reaction or response—just a faint flicker of something familiar, a vague remembrance of a face that defined a moment (flashpoint if we must use a cliché) in a nation’s history. Almost like something from another life, another time. 

Mainstream newspapers like The Indian Express no longer use the language I’ve quoted above to criticise the Prime Minister and his government. A decade after Akhlaq’s cold-blooded murder, Allama Iqbal, who composed ‘Saare Jahan Se Acha’, is out of the textbooks; Gaurav Bhatia, who once spoke up for the Samajwadi Party, has joined the BJP, and the twists and turns in Nitish Kumar’s ‘secular’ story are known to all of us. 

The Film Censor Appellate Tribunal has been disbanded. The CBFC routinely demands multiple cuts in progressive films and clears hateful films without a single red mark. God help you if you choose to appeal, like director Honey Trehan did when he was asked to make over a hundred cuts in Panjab ‘95.

Nobody airs syncretic films on Tata Sky, we are firmly in the age of propaganda.

One of the Dadri accused, Vishal Singh Rana, the son of local BJP party worker Sanjay Rana, was spotted in the front row of a Yogi Adityanath rally last year. It’s not a new trend. Just three years after Akhlaq’s murder, minister Jayant Sinha garlanded eight men convicted of lynching Alimuddin Ansari in Jharkhand. 

No victim of a hate crime has thanked the media in a long time—in fact, those protesting against government policies often mock TV journalists as “Godi media” when they show up to cover the story. The landscape of the mainstream media can best be described by that 200tablih9 film title, Zombieland. 

Independent, cash-starved media does its best,  but how to compete with a juggernaut that can blame the spread of Covid-19 on a quiet gathering of Muslim men? Remember the Tablighi Jamaat? 

The Joke's On Us

Now we are a demolition nation. Somewhere along the line, we adopted breaking instead of building as a preferred national activity. We have long stopped registering the names of lynching victims.

We hide from real news, soaking in the misinformation that wraps its seductive tentacles around us and squeezes out every last ounce of critical thinking. Which liar said the Taj Mahal was built by a Mughal? Evil Muslims, evil Muslims, evil Muslims. 

In his critique of fake patriotism and surveillance nation, a standup comic laughs, points his phone camera at his audience, and says, “India is the best country in the world, right?” He’s daring his audience to disagree as he records their reaction. Then he zeroes in on a face, adding, “You look Muslim.” 

Everyone laughs. We know the joke’s on us. 

(The author is the founder of India Love Project and on the editorial board of Article 14. This is an opinion piece. All views expressed are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)