By Shreyash Sharma
India is no stranger to complexities, especially when it comes to social hierarchies and the challenges embedded within them. As a nation, India has evolved through centuries of history, shaped by diverse cultural, religious, and regional influences. Today, however, as conversations around caste, privilege, and socio-economic inequality gain momentum, the approach to these issues is increasingly polarized.
At its core, shaming is a method by which individuals are criticized, often publicly, for the social or systemic benefits they are perceived to enjoy. In India, this concept takes shape in discourse around caste and socio-economic status, with upper-caste and middle-class individuals often at the center of criticism. Shaming aims to make people more aware of their position and to advocate for those who may be disadvantaged. While well-intentioned in theory, it often devolves into a reductive approach that breeds resentment rather than fostering empathy. One of the issues with shaming caste capital in India’s context is that it tends to overlook the socio-economic struggles that transcend caste. India’s vast population and socio-economic diversity mean that simply labeling individuals as privileged based on their caste or class is simplistic. Given the stark economic disparities within communities, the simplistic binaries of upper-caste versus lower-caste, along with the stereotypical incentives and disincentives ascribed to them, fail to hold up under scrutiny and capture societal nuances. This approach risks alienating individuals who might otherwise be allies in addressing social injustices, as it fosters a sense of shame rather than motivating constructive engagement.
The trend of “Varna slamming” has emerged as the motherhood statement for woke activists and the left intellectual cabal, in which historical Varna categorizations are vilified wholesale, often without contextual understanding. Reducing the entire caste spectrum to a simple oppressor-oppressed narrative flattens a historically complex and multifaceted system, leading to generalizations that are at odds with the realities of many Indians today. This approach risks alienating individuals who might otherwise be allies in addressing social injustices, as it fosters a sense of shame rather than motivating constructive engagement.
One of the most problematic aspects of the modern discourse, championed by self-anointed progressives from ‘Lutyens’ Delhi’, academics in India’s liberal arts colleges and so-called Dalit activists, is the application of the oppressor-oppressed binary to India’s social structure. Borrowed from Critical Race Theory (CRT) and intersectional frameworks, this binary has limited application in India’s context. Western societies, particularly the U.S., have a different historical trajectory when it comes to race, class, and discrimination, shaped by slavery, segregation, and a dualistic power struggle. Applying this lens to India’s socio-political context can obscure more than it reveals. When this binary is used to categorize entire groups as oppressors or victims, it not only oversimplifies a complex issue but also risks deepening divides. Rajiv Malhotra and Vijaya Vishwanathan, in their seminal work Snakes in the Ganga, caution against this kind of reductionism, arguing that “Western models of systemic oppression, transplanted onto India, fail to address the nuanced realities of Indian society, instead creating divisive rhetoric that serves external agendas.” The focus shifts from addressing societal issues to blaming individuals or groups based on inherited identities, resulting in divisive rhetoric rather than cohesive action. Furthermore, by framing social justice within the bounds of inherited privilege and oppression, this would only increase resentment and accentuates fissures. Malhotra also warns that such binaries serve external agendas: “CRT’s framework is not neutral. Its universal application across non-Western societies is a form of intellectual colonization aimed at destabilizing cultural cohesion and manufacturing new conflicts.”
A stark example of this was the uproar triggered by Congress leader Rahul Gandhi’s statement during his election campaign that Dalit students fail IIT entrance exams because “papers are set by upper-class professors.” This remark not only oversimplifies systemic issues in education but also alienates educators and students who strive for merit-based inclusion. Reservation, per se, is an extremely contested issue in independent India, therefore the way it is framed not only determines the trajectory of Hindu society but also shapes the future of the world’s largest democracy and navigating the complexities of social harmony and economic progress. Yes, addressing the Dalit issue is imperative, but overdoing caste politics—and fostering a perception that an entire class is inherently malevolent due to caste capital, with the only solution being their systemic disincentivization to achieve substantive equality of outcome—is as detrimental as sectarian exceptionalism. The focus should instead be on improving access to quality education and livelihood for marginalized groups rather than shaming others based on inherited caste identity.
In India’s anglicized elite circles, the widespread circulation and casual use of the term “Brahmanical patriarchy” has become emblematic of such reductionist thinking. I’m tempted to ask, “patriarchy is patriarchy. What does adding ‘Brahmanical’ even mean?” Does it seek to uniquely vilify one community while ignoring the universality of gender hierarchies across all social strata? Or is it simply a convenient rhetorical device to perpetuate divisive narratives? As Malhotra and Vishwanathan observe, “such slogans are not designed to foster reconciliation but to deepen divisions, leveraging historical grievances as weapons to perpetuate victimhood and resentment.” Harvard academic Suraj Yengde has attributed almost every social evil – gender injustice, class struggle, income inequality, oppression of women, caste-based discrimination, religious atrocities – to the fictional monster called ‘Brahmanical patriarchy’. So much so that Yengde identifies as ‘Ambedkarite Africanist’ and in his work ‘Caste Matters’, he also draws direct parallels between Dalits and African-Americans. What’s particularly noteworthy is the selective outrage displayed by the same lobby that excessively highlights caste-based discrimination within Hinduism. Interestingly, Yengde’s entire intellectual corpus rests on isolating Ambedkar’s views on Hinduism and caste. This selective reading allows him to capitalize on and place the blame for every social injustice squarely on Hinduism. However, perhaps Yengde should also consider Ambedkar’s critical views on Islam and other Abrahamic faiths to gain a more balanced perspective. Such scholars have weaponized caste as the primary axis for the oppressor-oppressed binary to transform the issue from a societal one to a political tool.
One would rarely find these scholars providing a barrage of columns to publications decrying the discriminations within Islam, Christianity, or even Sikhism. Instead, there comes a deafening silence. This silence isn’t just hypocrisy; it’s a strategic omission. Malhotra and Vishwanathan argue that “Caste is targeted because it serves as the weakest link to destabilize Hinduism as a cohesive civilizational force. Parallel sectarian hierarchies in Abrahamic faiths are conveniently ignored to maintain their moral high ground.” For example, the discrimination against Dalit Christians within Indian churches or the Shia-Sunni divide within Islam—both of which involve entrenched inequalities and violence with recent examples being terror attacks on Shia muslims in Pakistan—rarely make their way into woke discourses or critical media analysis.Even within caste itself, the complexities of intra-caste discrimination—such as those faced by Dalits at the hands of other Dalit sub-castes—are overlooked. Instead, the focus remains disproportionately fixed on vilifying Hinduism as a monolithic structure of oppression.
The infiltration of Cultural Marxism into India’s caste discourse has further exacerbated these divisions. It thrives by finding new oppressed classes, caste-politics promises good dividend. If anything, these deliberate caste fissures would permanently destroy the sanctity of the Hindu society. We need to destigmatize caste and educate the masses about the historical context of Varna and Jaati, understanding why they existed and how they have evolved. It’s crucial to have open conversations about their relevance and perpetuation in modern India. Varna and Jaati were once important tenets of Hinduism, devised in a different time and context, and have undergone transmorphisms over millennia. It’s time to acknowledge that, in the modern age, we largely no longer operate within such rigid frameworks. We must, therefore, resist the forces that seek to reignite these divisions. Encouragingly, political developments and voter behavior in states like Haryana and Maharashtra show that Indians have the capacity to transcend caste, focusing instead on progress, economic development, and unity.
Contributing Author: Shreyash Sharma is a research assistant at the Department of Public and International Affairs in City University of Hong Kong (CityU).
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