Businesses Hit, Denied Healthcare—How 'Covid Jihad' Propaganda Hurt UP's Muslims

In March 2020, as Covid struck the world, it had a peculiar impact in India. A Tablighi Jamaat congregation in New Delhi was declared as one of the first hotspots, following which a section of the mainstream media vilified and demonised the group. Fake news of Tablighi Jamaat members misbehaving with hospital staff was circulated, and 9 pm news anchors coined terms like 'Thook Jihad' and 'Corona Jihad', which led to many ordinary Muslims being discriminated against. In Uttar Pradesh, Muslim-run businesses were hurt, inter-community relationships took a toll, and some even found themselves being denied access to healthcare. While the propaganda was at its peak in the initial days of Covid, the ramifications of it were felt till well after.

This is part of The Quint series in UP called ‘Everyday Communalism’. This is the sixth report in the series.

Pregnant Muslim Woman Forced to Deliver Outside Hospital

At few minutes past midnight, on the early morning of 9 April 2020, Fauzia Shaheen felt an intense and recurring ache in her stomach. Nearing the end of her 9 months' pregnancy, she knew these were labour pains and needed to get admitted immediately. She rang up the doctor who had been treating her at a private clinic since the start of her pregnancy. But when she got no response, she decided to show up at the clinic with her husband Mohammad Arkeem.

Weavers in Varanasi’s Muslim-majority Madanpura region, the couple were making a meagre earning, just enough to feed themselves and their two children. But with the third on the way, the two had been working extra shifts and saving up. Equal parts anxious and excited for the delivery, the couple knocked at their doctor’s clinic, only to have the nurse turn them away.

“She kept saying that we have brought Covid with us. But we had no positive test, nor did we have any symptoms,” Arkeem recalled.

Baffled at the allegations of “bringing Covid”, the couple decided to not waste more time and head to Sir Sunderlal Hospital, part of the Banaras Hindu University (BHU) campus. The hospital staff issued an admission slip, but eventually told Fauzia she would not be admitted.

“They said we can’t admit you because you are from Madanpura and have Covid,” Fauzia recalled. The Quint has seen the admission slip made by the hospital. It says "no history of cough/fever", ruling out primary Covid symptoms.

Many Muslim-majority colonies were being viewed with suspicion of being ‘Covid hotspots’ at the time. The same was the case with Madanpura—a tight security and barricades surrounding it from all sides.

Fauzia kept urging the hospital staff to deliver her baby, but her pleas fell on deaf years. “The doctors and nurses began yelling at me, asking me to leave immediately. My husband had to drag me out on a stretcher, I was in no condition to walk,” Fauzia said.

The hospital staff asked Fauzia to go elsewhere, but it was too late for that by then. Right on the doorstep of the hospital, in the wee hours of that Thursday, Fauzia delivered a girl.

She had no pain killers and no IV fluids hooked on to her. Even as she lay in a pool of blood, the hospital staff refused to even cut her umbilical chord. "My husband had to arrange a blade and he cut my umbilical chord," Fauzia said. Eventually, a nurse agreed to clean her up and do her stitches—but the taunts continued.

“She did my stitches so aggressively and crudely. And she kept saying things like: you people just keep having babies. You already have two children, why do you need a third one. It was very humiliating,” Fauzia remembered, with tears in her eyes.

The Quint reached out to the Sir Sunderlal Hospital for a response, after which the hospital asked for a copy of the admission slip which the reporter shared with them. There has been no response since. The report will be updated if and when there is a reply.

Finally, Fauzia and Arkeem left with their child for their home, but that traumatic night wasn’t over. The ambulance dropped them off midway—not agreeing to go to Madanpura.

After eventually managing to get home somehow, Fauzia cried for hours. Now, nearly two years later, their daughter Zara, who Fauzia calls a "miracle child" is healthy and doing well. “But some days I just look at her and start crying. I can’t believe what we went through that night. And all because we are Muslim. I would never have imagined this,” she said.

How Muslim Markets and Businesses Took a Hit

In Varanasi’s Pilikothi, another Muslim-majority neighborhood in the city, 26-year-old Mohammad Aamid has been running his father’s construction material business. He has been dealing with clients for long enough to start considering them family, he said. But when the propaganda against Tablighis peaked, he felt like he was “shown his place”.

It started with him realising how many long-standing clients don’t want to have any cash dealings with him, even when they continued to exchange cash with other non-Muslim business owners.

“This one time we went to collect the payment at a client’s home. But instead of handing it over, he just threw it from the 1st floor balcony on the ground. I felt very ashamed and embarrassed at that point. I came to collect my hard-earned money, and he insulted me like this. I had to collect the money from the ground...it was all scattered. It was close to 14 thousand rupees,” Aamid said.

Another time, a client insisted he will take only online payments from Aamid now onwards, and not deal in cash at all. "This was when he continued to take cash from other, non-Muslim business owners," Aamid said, adding that while it began with subtle instances like these, it eventually began hurting his business in the long run.

“Initially, the anti-Muslim propaganda was made to spread like wildfire by the media. But even after that, the narrative was set in the public’s mind for good. Many festivals came, but Muslim markets and businesses continued to suffer because of this Covid propaganda,” Aamid said.

For Naushad Ahmad, the gaze of suspicion and heightened restrictions led to a significant loss in his eatery business. “Shops in non-Muslim areas would be allowed to run till 10 in the night. While ours would be forced to shut by 7. So this definitely hurt my business,” he said.

Gaze of 'Suspicion' Against Muslims Hurt Inter-Community Mingling

But it wasn’t just businesses that took a hit, the Covid-related prejudice against Muslims began to hurt inter-community mingling too.

In Nati Imli’s Bunkar Colony—a colony of weavers—50-year-old Mohammad Ahmad said he found it difficult to move out of his colony even well after restrictions had been lifted. “It was so scary, there was an atmosphere of dread and paranoia. Everyone would look at Muslims with suspicion,” he said.

After several months, Ahmad finally stepped out to meet an old friend, a Hindu. But on the way, a group of 4-5 odd men began passing discriminatory comments. “They said, Miyan where are you going about spitting and spreading Covid. I was so embarrassed, I just lowered my gaze and walked away,” Ahmad said.

“After that, it became difficult to even stand at a non-Muslim paan shop, worried about the kind of taunts that could come my way,” he said.

While the propaganda lasted the first few months of Covid, the impact of it was felt till well after.

"We thought things would get better eventually. But the narrative built by the media was so strong, that even now I can sense suspicion and hate because of my name. I have lost long-standing clients as a result of this," said Aamid.

Ahmad too echoed the sentiment.

"The Hindu-Muslim relationships damaged due to Covid propaganda never really recovered. The anxiety in inter-mingling continues to date," he said.