An open letter to PM: Before you forgive, ask for forgiveness

By Martin Macwan* 

Respected Prime Minister, 

The first step toward true forgiveness is asking for it, and it is out of respect for the Constitution that the title "Honourable" is used for the office of the Prime Minister.

Every abuse is "dirty" because almost all abuse is uttered with the conscious intention of publicly humiliating a woman, much like the disrobing of Draupadi in the royal court. This includes remarks like "Jersey Cow," used at public meetings on the Gujarati land of Gandhi and Sardar; comparing a female MP's laughter in India's Parliament to "Surpanakha's laugh"; and using a vulgar address like "Didi O Didi" for a Chief Minister who holds a respected position in a democracy—along with every other such remark. In the 79-year history of independent India, you are better placed than anyone to say which Prime Minister has used such language against women.

It is natural for anyone to be shaken when their mother is insulted. I am confident your mother never taught you such language in childhood. Nor would the schools where you received your education have taught it, since it has no place in the Indian curriculum. You would not have learned it at a place of worship either. That leaves two spheres that shaped you ideologically, politically, and spiritually over fifty-plus years: the RSS and the BJP. Only you can say where you picked up this culture of verbal abuse. Forgive me if there is some other sphere I am unaware of.

As for "forgiving," that is a high spiritual state—what the Buddha called Nirvana. It is the final peak of life's mountain range, and the first step toward it is asking for forgiveness. Those who cannot ask for forgiveness cannot grant it. Gandhi used to say, "We have wronged the untouchables so much that even if they break our heads, we should not feel bad." Socrates drank the cup of poison with a smile, and Jesus, from the cross, asked that those who drove nails into his hands and feet be forgiven.

First, most of those you accused of using foul language are not children, but educated young citizens of India. Second, the language used in public was not directed at you personally, but at the head of the Government of India. It was an expression of anger at your government's authoritarian, anti-poor, and corrupt policies. Third, these young people did not simply gather and start shouting abuse. They sat on a hunger strike and protest for twenty-five days, hoping only that someone from your administration would come to hear them.

On the first day of the Monsoon Session of Parliament, you made a sarcastic remark about a "56-year-old youth" at the gates of Parliament, while ignoring Gen Z—thirty-three percent of India's voters, or 52 crore citizens—sitting hungry and thirsty a short distance away. You said you understood "their fury"; that fury was so intense that, for the first time in independent India's history, you as Prime Minister reportedly had to leave Parliament and rush home for security reasons, and the doors of Parliament had to be locked with iron chains.

And yet, if a girl uses abusive language, it becomes a matter of concern to you that Indian culture is in decline. Should a girl—expected to endure abuse all her life—never be allowed to speak it herself?

When your government, during the Azadi ka Amrit Mahotsav, granted early release to men convicted of gang-raping a pregnant nineteen-to-twenty-one-year-old woman and murdering fourteen members of her family—certifying their "good conduct" for electoral gain, and then welcoming them home with garlands and sweets—was that also part of Indian "women's culture"? In the name of Gujarat's pride, where were your words of moral concern then? If it escaped your notice, a young woman, without uttering a single abusive word, single-handedly stopped a police truck.

In Una, Gujarat, when self-styled cow-protection vigilantes—who flourished under your political culture and exercised police-like authority unlawfully—tore open the backs of Dalit men in front of a police station, with the police looking on, you said, "If you want to attack someone, attack me, not my Dalit brothers." Was that a genuine commitment to ending atrocities against Dalits, or helplessness before a culture that had grown under your watch? Was it not under your government that the accused were paraded, made to crawl like chickens? In your long career as India's longest-serving Prime Minister, I would ask you to look closely at the statistics on atrocities against Dalits and tribal communities, and on sexual violence.

Poverty, untouchability, backwardness, communalism, unemployment, and corruption are not born from a mother's womb; they are products of governance conducted without principle. Instead of showing compassion to educated youth driven to despair by corruption, and instead of addressing that corruption, these young citizens were called "cockroaches." Had you stood by them then, you would be remembered very differently today. Taking inspiration from Gen Z, when children now block roads over the state of their schools or stop police vehicles with thorn bushes, forcing a District Collector to come and meet them, it must be said that even India's children are no longer naive.

Gen Z is strong because they embraced Dr. Ambedkar as a national leader and did not fall for communal politics. They carried copies of the Constitution and of Gandhi's writings. Ordinary, anonymous people across the country sent them food through platforms like Zomato, while your government deployed police to trace those very addresses to find out who was feeding them. The doors of dargahs and gurudwaras opened to shelter these young men and women, while temple doors stayed shut. That is not a small thing, and your prolonged silence on it speaks for itself. Now the attempt to defuse the movement is to invoke the spectre of "reservation," hoping it can serve as a straw for your sinking ship.

My purpose in writing this: to help you "earn forgiveness" and raise your moral standing, your associates placed a fifteen-year-old girl before the world as an accused, broadcasting her photograph and her folded-hands confession to everyone. That act is an embarrassment to all of India.

Having thought this through, I don't believe you need to ask for forgiveness. It is we Gujaratis who owe the nation an apology—because the pride Gujarat once carried as the birthplace of Gandhi, Sardar, and the freedom struggle has been reduced to dust by the actions of you and your Home Minister.

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*Founder, Dalit Shakti Kendra, Navsarjan Trust, Gujarat