Aap logon ne chronology toh bahut sun li hai abhi tak—thanks to deshdrohi Modi and his chatta-battas, along with his godi media.
Ab ANALOGY samjho.
India and Gaza Analogy
“An analogy is a comparison between two different things that share some relevant similarity, usually made to explain, illustrate, or understand something better.”
The analogy here is not that India and Gaza are the same. They are not.
The analogy is that India has been pushed deeper into the dangerous psychological mechanism of dehumanization by hate-mongering rhetoric from Modi and from godi media—and, if that process continues unchecked, it can turn a country into a kind of rubble state of the world: not merely rubble in the physical sense, but socially, institutionally, morally, and democratically.
First, a group is described as a threat—“virus,” “cockroaches,” “keede-makode,” “terrorists,” “infiltrators,” “Naxals,” etc.—or is otherwise portrayed as less human, inherently dangerous, or an enemy.
Sounds completely familiar, right?
Then comes the justification:
“They are dangerous.”
“They deserve it.”
“Why should we care about them?”
“Their suffering is necessary.”
This is how the moral ground shifts.
And once the moral ground shifts, destruction becomes progressively easier to justify—not only the destruction of people's lives and dignity, but eventually the destruction of the very institutions and values that are supposed to protect everyone.
We have already seen disturbing examples of this kind of mindset in the treatment of protesters, journalists, and dissenters by Delhi Police, which is supposed to protect every citizen impartially.
Look at the Swatantra Bharadwaj episode.
The alleged assault on the father of student activist Nishu Azad took place months before Bharadwaj was finally arrested. After a viral podcast in which he allegedly appeared to boast about the assault, CJP protesters marched to the Parliament Street Police Station demanding action against him. The protest itself became a major pressure point for demanding accountability, and Bharadwaj was subsequently detained and arrested by Delhi Police.
The important question here is not simply:
“Was Bharadwaj eventually arrested?”
The more disturbing question is:
“Why did citizens feel the need to take to the streets in the first place to demand that the police do its duty?”
When people begin to believe that the same law-enforcement machinery that is quick to act against protesters, dissenters, or critics becomes hesitant when alleged violence comes from people politically aligned with the dominant ideology, something much deeper than an individual criminal case is at stake.
And then look at what happened with journalists Shaheen Khan and Nafisa Khan.
They allege that Delhi Police first detained and assaulted them after they tried to question Delhi Chief Minister Rekha Gupta at an event attended by Union Home Minister Amit Shah, and that police subsequently asked about their religion and assaulted them again after learning that they were Muslim.
Delhi Police denies these allegations and says the journalists were detained for obstructing a VVIP route and failing to follow police instructions.
Notice the psychological mechanism.
The first distinction is:
“Are you following the rules?”
Then the distinction can become:
“Who are you?”
And eventually:
“What kind of person are you?”
That is precisely where dehumanization becomes dangerous.
Because once institutions stop seeing citizens primarily as citizens—and start seeing them through categories such as Muslim, dissenter, protester, journalist, anti-government, nationalist, anti-national, etc.—the principle of equal treatment under the law begins to erode.
And once that happens, the institution itself begins to participate in the shifting of the moral ground.
That is the deeper connection between the Bharadwaj episode, the alleged assault on the Muslim journalists, and the analogy I am making between India and Gaza.
The analogy is not about identical circumstances.
It is about what happens when dehumanization begins entering the machinery that is supposed to protect human beings equally.
Because when the institution that is supposed to protect you begins deciding whose humanity deserves more protection than someone else's, the foundations of the country are already beginning to turn into rubble.
A country can begin destroying its own foundations while believing it is destroying its enemies.
That is what makes the idea of becoming a “rubble state” so frightening: a nation may retain its buildings, borders, flags, armies, elections, and institutions while its moral and democratic foundations are being turned into rubble from within.
And in India's case, there is an even darker possibility: if institutional decay, corruption, and social destruction continue far enough, even the physical foundations of the country may eventually begin to suffer.
A nation cannot endlessly destroy the systems that maintain its infrastructure, institutions, economy, and social cohesion without eventually seeing consequences in the physical world as well.
The most frightening thing is therefore not merely that hateful words are spoken. It is when society gradually becomes comfortable with those words—and eventually with the treatment of human beings that those words make easier to justify.
India is not Gaza. The histories, circumstances, scale, and forms of violence are different.
But dehumanization is dehumanization, and no society should wait until the final stage of that process before taking it seriously.
Because once another human being stops being seen as a human being, almost anything can become easier to justify.
And when that happens at scale, a country can begin turning itself into rubble—long before its buildings fall.
And in India's case, if the process continues far enough, the buildings may fall too.
In conclusion, the analogy points toward something even deeper.
The effect of Modi's politics, in my view, is to keep citizens trapped inside an open-air, cruel and increasingly violent political environment—Just like the Netanyahu government has subjected Palestinians in Gaza to an open air prison, under his cruelty and terrorism.
Again, India is not Gaza. The circumstances, scale, history, and forms of violence can be different right now, but that is just a matter of time and the depth of the trajectory.
Because the psychological mechanism I am pointing toward is the same one:
dehumanization.
And the analogy also points to an even deeper and more disturbing question:
What does it say about humanity when people sitting in positions of power around the world are either unable or unwilling to stop the genocide and immense suffering in Gaza?
At some point, “powerless” and “complicit” can become frighteningly difficult to distinguish from the perspective of the people who are suffering.
I pray to the universe that every human being—including me—faces their karma in this current lived life. 🙏🤲✝️