When a bulldozer moves through a Muslim neighbourhood, it is not merely a legal action; it becomes a message directed towards the community, and this message shapes their attitudes and behaviour
THE decline of civilisations does not always begin when the buildings start collapsing, their armies begin to suffer defeat, or their economies begin to crumble. Sometimes decline begins when a society starts taking greater pleasure in destroying others than in building itself. The deepest collapse is not the collapse of bricks and stones; it is the destruction of the future that exists within human beings.
The question is not how many buildings were demolished by bulldozers in recent days; the real question is how many people’s courage was broken by those bulldozers, how many dreams were shattered, and how many young people were turned into spectators, simply watching the humiliation of others rather than participating in their own development and progress.
A building is not merely economic capital. It is a symbol of dreams, a repository of family memories, a guarantee of social status, a representation of cultural continuity, and a sign of the journey towards the future. A bulldozer on a building is, in reality, synonymous with the one being driven over people’s hopes and aspirations. When a bulldozer moves through a Muslim neighbourhood, it is not merely a legal action; it becomes a message directed towards the community, and this message shapes their attitudes and behaviour. It is not merely legal; it is also anthropological.
As a consequence, shopkeepers, lawyers, and teachers begin to withdraw rather than move forward. They develop a mindset that says: work only for survival, do not attempt to dream bigger, remain safe, and do not take risks to progress. Instead of providing leadership in the public sphere, they begin to prefer quiet and less visible professions. Journalism, politics, and activism gradually disappear. Instead of taking risks in creative thinking, they remain confined within safe and conventional ideas. The courage to ask questions and experiment with new possibilities slowly disappears.
Buildings can be rebuilt, but can the broken spirits also be brought back to life? When a youth sees a shop disappearing in a moment, a home is erased in a jiffy, and a family’s reputation is damaged in no time, a new question arises in his mind: “Is there any benefit in working so hard?”
In psychological terms, this is called Future Discounting — when the future begins to appear uncertain, people stop making long-term plans. Then they begin to think: why become an IAS officer? A small business is enough. Why become a renowned lawyer? It is better to open an ordinary coaching centre.
People continue to live, but their dreams die. The greatest loss for Muslims is not simply that their population decreases; the greatest loss is that their dreams become smaller. A bulldozer does not merely demolish buildings; a bulldozer destroys leadership, reduces visibility, and limits aspirations.
Pharaoh did not merely kill the Children of Israel physically; he transformed their collective psychology. The Qur’an states that he would slaughter their sons, but it also says that he made his own people “hold themselves in contempt,” and they followed his command (Surah Al-Zukhruf: 54).
The meaning of making people feel insignificant also includes lowering their intellectual level and weakening their sense of worth. Pharaoh brought his people to such a state that their independent intellectual and moral capabilities became weak, and they became willing to obey him. Perhaps one meaning of istikhfaf (making people feel insignificant) is that a person’s self-respect, ambition, and ability to make independent decisions gradually disappear from within.
At the very moment when bulldozers are being used against Muslim neighbourhoods, those same machines are also affecting the psychology of a large section of Hindu society. Power does not merely manage the powerless; it also transforms the group that exercises that power.
Collective attention — the attention budget — is the most valuable asset of any civilisation. When bulldozer actions begin to be celebrated through the media, a significant portion of this precious resource of Hindu society starts being spent on negative activities.
Imagine that one crore Hindu youths spend an hour every day watching videos humiliating Muslims, celebrating the bulldozer actions, considering them political victories, and participating in online discussions. Within one year, approximately 365 crore hours of Hindu youth’s time would have been wasted.
The question is: how many universities could have been established with these hours? How many books, how many start-ups, and how many new ideas could have been created? How many Kalidas, Tagores, Aryabhatas, and Abdul Kalams could have emerged?
Could it be that the bulldozers operating in Muslim neighbourhoods are also hollowing out Hindu society from within?
There are two types of civilisations.
One type is a civilisation that asks itself: What do we have to offer to the world? What new research do we need to present? Where should we establish new institutions? In what form and at what time should we introduce a new philosophical idea?
The second is an enemy-centred civilisation that asks: How do we defeat the “enemy”? How do we keep them suppressed? How do we settle centuries-old accounts?
Such civilisations can generate intense political energy for a short period, but in the long run, it becomes difficult for them to preserve their highest creative abilities because a large portion of their collective attention becomes focused on monitoring and defeating their opponents.
Could it be that through “bulldozer justice”, a large section of Hindu youth is moving towards becoming an enemy-centred civilisation?
Could it be that increasing anger and the desire for revenge are clouding their moral consciousness?
Could it be that, in this emotional surge, one of the world’s oldest civilisations — the Indian civilisation — risks losing its reputation and dignity?
If the moral sense of a significant section of any society begins to be affected, then Muslims here do not remain merely an affected party; they also become morally responsible.
The question is: Will Indian Muslims continue to see themselves only as victims, or will they become a community concerned about the moral health of the country as well?
The greatest civilisational wealth of Indian youth is their collective energy, moral consciousness, and creativity. To watch this being wasted and to see oneself merely as a victim would go against the ethical requirements of Amr bil Ma’ruf and Nahi ‘an al-Munkar (commanding what is right and preventing what is wrong).
The mission of Indian Muslims is not merely the preservation of their own survival and protection of their rights; safeguarding the moral and intellectual health of Indian civilisation is also among their fundamental responsibilities.
They are not merely an oppressed community; they are also Ummat-e-Wasat (the middle/community of balance), whose responsibility is Shahadah ‘ala al-Nas (bearing witness before humanity).
Witnessing does not mean only verbal testimony. It also includes becoming guardians of human potential, feeling disturbed by the moral decline of humanity, protecting human creativity from being wasted, and directing it towards the path desired by God.
