Babri Mosque Demolition Exposed the Myth of India’s Secularism By Sajjad Shaukat (JR94SS05)

Babri Mosque Demolition Exposed the Myth of India’s Secularism By Sajjad Shaukat (JR94SS05)

26 years ago, Indian Constitution which claims India to be a secular state was torn into pieces when on December 6, 1992, a large crowd of Hindu Karsevaks (Volunteers) entirely demolished the 16th-century Babri Masjid (Mosque) in Ayodhya, Utter Pradesh in a preplanned attempt to reclaim the land known as RAM Janmabhoomi–birthplace of the god.

The demolition of the Babri Masjid sparked Muslim outrage around the country, provoking several months of inter-communal rioting between Hindu and Muslim communities, causing the death of at least 2,000 people, majority of whom were Muslims. The governments of several neighboring countries including those of the Islamic World condemned the Indian government for failing to stop the destruction of the historical mosque.

In a 2005 book, India’s former Intelligence Bureau (IB) Joint Director Maloy Krishna Dhar wrote that Babri mosque demolition was planned 10 months in advance by top leaders of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), BJP BJP/Sangh Parivar, VHP, Shiv Sena, the Bajrang Dal and the then Prime Minister P.V. Narasimha Raow. Dhar elaborated, “He had drawn up the blueprint of the Hindutva (Hindu nationalism) assault at Ayodhya in December 1992.”

However, on December 6, 1992, the RSS and its affiliates organized a rally involving 150,000 VHP and BJP Karsevaks at the site of the mosque. The ceremonies included speeches by BJP leaders such as L.K. Advani, Murli Manohar Joshi and Uma Bharti. During the first few hours of the rally, the crowd began raising militant slogans. A police cordon had been placed around the mosque in preparation for attack. Nevertheless, around noon, a young man managed to slip past the cordon and climb the mosque itself, brandishing a saffron flag. This was seen as a signal by the mob, who then stormed the structure. The police cordon, vastly outnumbered, fled. The mob set upon the building with axes, hammers, and grappling hooks, and within a few hours, the entire mosque was leveled. Hindu fanatics also destroyed numerous other mosques within the town.

A 2009 report of the inquiry commission, authored by Justice Manmohan Singh Liberhan, found 68 people to be responsible for the destruction of the Babri Masjid, mostly leaders from the BJP. Among those named were Vajpayee, Advani, Joshi, Vijay Raje Scindia and Kalyan Singh who was then the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh. Liberhan wrote that he posted bureaucrats and police officers to Ayodhya, whose record indicated that they would stay silent during the mosque’s demolition. Anju Gupta, a police officer who had been in charge of Advani’s security on that day, stated that Advani and Joshi made speeches that contributed to provoking the behavior of the mob to accomplish demolition of the mosque. However, the commission clearly identified BJP, RSS and VHP as the organizations responsible for the incident and also nominated L.K. Advani, Lalu Parsad Yadev and Murli Manohar Joshi as main culprits behind this incident. But no action was taken against them.

By showing prejudice in favour of Hindus, on September 30, 2010, the Allahabad High Court ruled that the 2,400 square feet (220 m2) disputed plot of land, on which the Babri Masjid had stood would be divided into three parts. The site at which the idol of Rama had been placed was granted to Hindus in general, the Sunni Wakf Board got one third of the plot, and the Hindu sect Nirmohi Akhara got the remaining third. The excavations by the Archaeological Survey of India were heavily used as evidence by the court to support its so-called finding that the original structure at the site was a massive Hindu religious building.

Since the leader of the ruling party BJP Narendra Modi became Prime Minister of India, various developments like unprecedented rise of Hindu extremism, persecution of minorities, forced conversions of other religious minorities into Hindus, ban on beef and cow slaughter, inclusion of Hindu religious books in curriculum, creation of war-like situation with Pakistan etc. clearly show that encouraged by the fundamentalist rulers, Hindu extremist outfits such as BJP, RSS VHP, Bajrang Dal and Shiv Sena including other similar parties have been promoting religious and ethnic chauvinism in India by propagating ideology of Hindutva.

In fact, on the basis of anti-Muslim and anti-Pakistan slogans, BJP got a land sliding victory in the Indian elections 2014. Hence, Prime Minister Modi is giving impetus to Hindu chauvinism against Pakistan and the Muslims, as under his directions, New Delhi accelerated unprovoked firing at the Line of Control in Kashmir and Working Boundary across Pak-Indian border, even without bothering for nuclear war.

Particularly, in the recent past, extremists of Hiudu fundamentalist outfits intensified assaults on the Muslims, Christians, and Pakistani artists, famous literary persons—members of the cricket boards etc., and even on Hindus of lower classes, including moderate Hindus.

More than 200 Indian writers, Authors, scientists, artists, filmmakers, film-stars etc. had decided returned their national awards in protest to rising Hindu extremism under Modi rule, while more than 100 persons have returned their rewards. Former Indian military personnel had also started returning their medals, criticizing the policies of the BJP government, embroiling Prime Modi in a new domestic crisis.

Modi’s anti-Pakistan policies have also external aspects. In this regard, while addressing a ceremony during his Bangladesh tour, Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi openly stated on June 7, 2015 that Indian forces helped Mukti Bahini (Militants) to turn East Pakistan into Bangladesh. He elaborated that former prime minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee had played an active role in separating Bangladesh from Pakistan, and he had also come to Delhi in 1971 to participate in the Satyagraha Movement, launched by Jana Sangh as a volunteer to garner support for the Mukti Bahini members.

Notably, various anti-Pakistan developments such as Modi’s open confession regarding Indian support to militants of Mukti Bahini, his arrival in Dhaka to receive award of Atal Bihari Vajpai, presentation of ‘Surrender Ceremony’ photograph by Bangladeshi leader to Modi, ruthless death sentences to Jamat-e-Islami Pro-Pakistan leaders under highly doubtful and objectionable trials etc. show that Indo-Bangladesh media nexus backed by Indian intelligence agency RAW has become more active in the recent years to create mistrust among people of Bangladesh against Pakistan.

Moreover, Indian cross-border terrorism in Pakistan, her support to Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) which is responsible for terror-acts in Pakistan—also involved in the massacre of innocent children at Army Public School, Peshawar might be noted as instance of anti-Pakistan developments.

Although apparently, India claims to be the largest democracy, acting upon the principles of liberalism and secularism, yet in practice, all political, economic and social fields of the country are divided on the caste lines. It is surprising that theoretically, Indian Constitution safeguards the rights of minorities, but in practice, ideology of Hindutva prevails. Hindu majority led by the BJP has shown complete disregard to the Constitution, and continued committing excesses and cruelties against Muslims, Sikhs, Christians and Dalits with impunity.

Nonetheless, apart from other frenzy events, the demolition of the Babri Masjid will remain a major scar on Indian so-called secularism, as on the very day (6th December); Indian fundamentalist leaders broke all the records of Hindutva terror by deliberately hurting the feelings of the Muslims. The atrocities and tyranny let loose on that day in Ayodhya continues unabated against the Muslims in one form or the other, under the Modi regime.

Undoubtedly, we can conclude that Babri mosque demolition exposed the myth of India’s Secularism

Sajjad Shaukat writes on international affairs and is author of the book: US vs Islamic Militants, Invisible Balance of Power: Dangerous Shift in International Relations

Email: sajjad_logic@yahoo.com

The Honest Taxi Driver by Zeenat Hussain (JR93MH04)

The Honest Taxi Driver by Zeenat Hussain (JR93MH04)

What all is involved in a taxi drivers life; physical labour and not much exercise for the grey matter. One such driver was Anwar. He got his driving license from the back door. He did not learn how to drive a car, neither was he aware of the traffic rules and regulations. He was however, a man with a generous heart, known for his hospitality.

            Overheard conversation,( as he sat with his mates at a tea stall). “Tea keeps me on my feet”, have another, everything should be done in moderation”. “Tea is a milder addiction”. The conversation drifted to the price of petrol and passengers. “Things have become so expensive. I bought a kilo of meat for Rs. 150/-. It seems that if the price does not come down, it will be difficult for us to make ends meet”.

            One of the reasons why Anwar stood out amongst his mates was his wife. She never harassed him for extra money. The hard work that he put in was evident from his bronze rugged skin tone. Tanned from the hours, days, years that he had spent driving his cab, exposed to the merciless sun. He was so vigilant that he pierced the distance with the sight of an eagle soaring in the skies and nose-diving to pick up the prey from ground.

Proof of his vigilance, “stop the thief, “cried the lady, whose purse had been snatched. Nobody moved from amongst the onlookers. Anwar from a distance approached the scene of the theft; “move aside” he roared “corner the thief”. The thief was a smart cookie. Dodging Anwar he entered the alley and hid behind a rubbish can. To the thief’s misfortune a cat inside the can scared of the noise the thief made, leapt out of it. Anwar pounced on the thief and recovered the money from him.

            Like the lady above, his work led him to interact with persons from various strata of society. Sometimes there were persons from affluent families also. One bright sunny day when fate was to take a turn for Anwar, Mr. and Mrs. Ahmed sat in his cab. “We want to go to Nazimabad. Will you take us?” “Hope in.” said Anwer. ”We are going to this place for the first time. I hope you will be able to follow our instructions,” said Mr.Ahmed. After clearing a few traffic jams, they finally arrived at the destination. They got off on the main road and said they would manage on foot the rest of the way.

            To his utter surprise Anwar found a parcel on the back seat of his cab. This was when he stopped for a meal after dropping Mr and Mrs. Ahmed. The parcel had jewellery inside. He was somewhat anxious regarding how to locate them so that he could give them their parcel back. He searched for some form of identification, but to no avail. His friends tried to persuade him to keep the parcel. But he took pride in being honest and there was no way he would compromise over it.

            Little did he know that this parcel was to seal the fate of a couple about to be married? The couple was Ammar and Shagufta. Ammar and Shagufta had been engaged for a year. It was customary to give dowry to the daughter. Not to display wealth, but to support her in her new home, till she was self-sufficient.

            He reached home and asked his wife to keep the parcel in safe custody. Weeks passed, and lo and behold, he spotted Mrs. Ahmed. She was shopping in a market where he had just dropped a passenger. He hurriedly approached her and told her that she had forgotten a parcel in his taxi. She told him, she had searched for this parcel. She could not hold back her happiness and gratitude. “I was so worried. The parcel had jewellery, which was my daughter’s dowry. I had fallen sick due to the loss.”

            This jewellery was an heirloom. It had been handed down from Shagufta’s grandmother to Shagufta’s mother and then to her. The grandmother was married to one of Ammar’s father’s uncles. Shagufta’s grandmother had grey eyes and brown hair and so had Shagufta. These qualities endeared Shagufta to Ammar.

            Anwar arranged for the jewels to be returned to Mrs. Ahmed. “We will expect you and your family at the wedding”. Mrs. Ahmed’s happiness knew no bounds. The return of the jewellery meant a big load off her delicate shoulders. Mrs. Ahmed just could not stop praising Anwar. She told everyone she met, about how honest he was and how difficult, it was to find people like him. She thanked God, five times a day, when she prayed.

            “Welcome Anwar”. Anwar was welcomed in a big way at the wedding. All the family were eager to know him, although he was not a rich man and the other guests were all, well, rich people. But who could deny, that Anwar was ‘rich at heart’.  He was the richest in the gathering at the wedding. He walked, in with his head held high. He felt so good, after returning the jewels. Although he was in a gathering of rich people, he did not feel lost as he was bestowed with ‘wealth’ of honesty.

            And as Shagufta wore the wedding band, she looked at Anwar and smiled a smile of gratitude, before she was whisked off to her new home. Her wedding was memorable right from the beginning to the end. A new life, lay ahead of her, and as she entered the threshold of her new home and prepared to remove the heavy necklace, she heaved a sigh of relief, recalling all that had happened. 

Gujarat Massacre Revisited by TAUSEEF HUSSAIN2 (JR92NH02)

Gujarat Massacre Revisited by TAUSEEF HUSSAIN2 (JR92NH02)

(I was aware of my family's pain but had never fully realized that our loss in Gujarat’s communal riots was only a minor footnote in a vast library of rewritten lives.)

TAUSEEF HUSSAIN28 FEBRUARY 2012

Revisiting Ahmadabad, almost 10 years after my grandfather Ahsan Jafri's death during Gujarat riots of 2002, I went with a somewhat undeveloped awareness of the loss. I was aware of my family's pain but had never fully realised that our loss in Gujarat’s communal riots was only a minor footnote in a vast library of rewritten lives.

Being so removed, living in the USA, it had been difficult to truly comprehend the breadth of the emotional ravages of severe injustice. For so long, I was unable to commiserate with those who felt unheard, because I was in the enviable position of having the ear of many, with nothing much to say.

It is mighty humbling to learn lessons one didn’t think one needed.

I took a walk through the now mostly deserted Gulberg society-- past the same bike shop and corner-store my grandmother would send me off to. The houses and courtyards, where we spent so much time as children, were all painfully stark.

Inside the abandoned house, as I stood silent with shut eyes, for a moment I felt I was sweating another hot summer in my grandfather’s beloved library. I could hear the same chirping of the sparrows. Despite the heat, his ceiling fans would remain always off; switches taped over, to make sure those birds could safely weave through our house carefree.

Opening the eyes returned me to reality. The gardens he tended so carefully now lay wild and overgrown, only hiding the charred ruins of a once beautiful and bustling life.

As I spoke with my grandmother, I realized time had treated her as harshly as it did the home she lost. Beneath every deliberately hopeful conversation, the ravaged foundation shone through the cracks.

Standing on our terrace, looking out over the neighborhood we used to call home, I wondered how people who shared so many common bonds could have let those threads so quickly unravel to a breaking point. She did not want to speak of what we lost as a family, only of those who had so little in this world to begin with, now the ones rendered truly destitute.

Looking out from that terrace which once served merely as a platform for my kite-flying, I suddenly had a panoramic view of a community still feeling the aftershocks of too many decade-old tensions.

With acquired maturity, I could now comprehend the distinct word -- be-ghar. It conveys the meaning which eludes perfect definition in English language, despite my better grasp of it. Literally, it means to be without home, but such simplistic terms seem vapid when articulating the sentiment behind a word of such potential depth. Beghar encapsulates the chill of loss and emotional vacuum, pairing homelessness with hopelessness. Though a home can be built, or rebuilt, to become beghar is to have a loss of identity and crisis of belonging which compromises the very basis of one’s being.

To fully understand the importance of any of life’s necessary gifts, one needs to try and appreciate the substantial void which would manifest in their absence. Even one decade after destructive injustice, after rebuilt homes, after rebalanced families, after repressed nightmares, so many families still learn daily what it is to be beghar. This is a city which has seen riots in decades past but risen back, resurrected—always rebuilt, always repopulated, even if always marred by its own acquiescence.

Once again we find ourselves at a crucial juncture, seemingly prepared to claim closure without actually answering the difficult questions such tragedies always leave in their wake. This is not the first time. It was the same after the Sikh Massacres of 1984, the Bombay Riots of 1992, and countless other instances of communal carnage.

Honest introspection is always discouraged on the specious grounds that a transparent analysis would only reopen old wounds that have healed, releasing, as if, unsavoury demons that we won't be able to deal with. Let's think of the future, we are told repeatedly. Why rake up the past? Move on, think of the future, it is constantly chanted. The dead will not come back, we are told. Why seek retribution? we are counseled. Rebuild your lives. Participate in vikaas, in development.

The dead can indeed not be brought back, but is it possible for those who survived to move on, debilitated by lasting and festering wounds of injustice? Can these wounds even begin to heal in the absence of justice? When some of those talking of development now are the very ones who perpetrated ghastly murders and rapes, and continue to strut around with impunity.

Cicero preached that the foundation of justice is good faith, and when we pursue justice in good faith, we should be brave enough to face the answers we seek, no matter if it involves a troubling look in the mirror. Allowing such injustice to linger on is antithetical to what it means to be an Indian, and indeed human.

I hope with sincere reflection we will realize we all deserve better, from our India, and from ourselves.

---

Tauseef Hussain is a recent college graduate and lives in the US. He was 13 years old when his grandfather, the former M.P. Ahsan Jafri was killed in the Gujarat riots of 2002.

The Damaged Horse Shoe By ZEENAT IQBAL HAKIMJEE (JR91MH03)

The Damaged Horse Shoe

By ZEENAT IQBAL HAKIMJEE

 

    OR hundreds of years the horse was the most common means of transport. Before the tractor was invented, the horse was often used to pull farm machinery. It is still used for work on ranches, but most horses are now kept for pleasure. People ride them, watch them perform and enjoy them in sports such as Polo, Hunting and Racing.

The following is the story of a racehorse and the people to whom he belonged. It was the day of the Derby. The participants with their horses, manes trimmed and shining, got ready for the pistol shot, which would indicate the start of the race. It was an event, which people really looked forward to. It was a sport enjoyed by the young and old alike. Bets were placed on the horses and the winners left with a handsome sum of money.

          Mark, the proud owner of a racehorse, whispered something into Godfather’s (the name of the horse) ear. It was these ‘sweet nothings’ that brought a smile to Godfather’s lips. It definitely contributed to Godfather’s victory in the race. The owner also gave some advice to David, the jockey. David was a short and strong fellow. He fitted snugly in the saddle, just as a glove fitted the hand. He had started his career as a jockey with Godfather and longed to end it with him also. The age of any horse can be told by looking at its teeth; Godfather’s teeth showed that he still had plenty of race years to go before he retired.

Also present was Mark’s wife. She always accompanied him to the race. “Godfather is really lucky. He gets all your attention.” She would tell him. But deep down in her heart she knew, that she would not have had it anyway else. She cared for Godfather, too, and would tend to his needs whenever she could spare some time. “I think the trough of water is empty,” she’d say with concern beckoning her staff to fill the trough up. An insect bit Godfather once. Richard, the horse keeper, bathed and dressed his wound so well that Godfather was up and about in half the time than the usual. Godfather loved Richard and he would show it by cuddling up to him. This was Godfather’s family.

          The people who cared for him, were responsible for his consecutive victories. They were all there with him to see him run the race.

          A few minutes before the race was to begin, David mounted Godfather and rode down to the start. But little did Mark or David know what was in store for them. Another horse owner, who was Mark’s enemy, just could not bear Godfather winning all the time. And to make sure that Mark’s horse horse that they must visit Godfather’s blacksmith. “It won’t take us very long” he sneered. The trainer who was a little confused asked, “What wouldn’t take us long?” To this the vicious man replied, “You’d see.”

          The deceitful man, when the time was just right (as he knew the time Godfather came to the blacksmith as well as the time when the Blacksmith left his seat) damaged Godfather’s shoe. The nail ends that showed through the horse’s hoof were wrung off and turned back. He straightened them just a little in the hope that the shoe would come off during the race. He damaged the shoe so deftly that Godfather did not feel it immediately.

          Finally the starter signaled the start of the race. Godfather took the lead, so erect, so graceful. His poise was proof of the fact that he would be very hard to defeat. There he went like a bolt of lightning. He moved so fast that just when you thought you had focused on him, he moved ahead. He had almost reached the finishing line, when the nail of the shoe straightened and got loose, unbalancing Godfather, who stumbled and stopped in his tracks before any further damage could take place. A race official came to guide them off the track. Godfather, Mark, Richard, Mark’s wife, David were all shocked. They failed to understand what had happened.

          Some time after they had recovered from the shock of the damaged horseshoe, Mark and the trainer accompanied Godfather to the blacksmith’s. They were there to have Godfather’s old shoes removed. Also present was the man who had damaged Godfather’s shoe. He was there with his horse.

          As though instinctively, Godfather trotted towards this man and lifted the foot with the damaged horseshoe and started nodding.

          This scared the evil man and before the horse could burst into a fit of anger, he confessed: “I I, I, was responsible,” he stuttered and went down on his knees to apologize. Mark, who was a soft man, accepted his apology. Thus ended the story of the evil man and his horse and Godfather awaited his next victory yet again

My Name Is Hussain by TAUSEEF HUSSAIN (JR90NH01)

My Name Is Hussain by TAUSEEF HUSSAIN (JR90NH01

(The author was 13 when he was plucked out from class before 9/11 was announced in his school. And then, within months, he had to confront another crisis when his grandfather, ex-MP Ahsan Jafri, was one of the many who were brutally murdered in the 2002 Gujarat massacre of Muslims)

TAUSEEF HUSSAIN, 24 March 2010

I was sitting in my second class of the day; flipping through unfinished homework, chatting with friends, and slowly settling into a new school year. After 10 years in the United States – practically my entire life – this was my normalcy, if not quite the glamour I had predicted for my budding high school career.

It was much to my chagrin then, when that tranquil was broken by my name harshly piercing the silence as I was beckoned by the main office. Like any normal 13 year old, I could only cringe at the possible reasons for which I had been summoned. Little did I realize that within a few minutes the entire student body would be notified on that thus uneventful September 11, that one of the most heinous terrorist attacks in the nation’s history had been perpetrated just north of us in New York City.

It took me some time to fully appreciate the foresight the administrative staff had shown in plucking me from class before that fateful 9/11 announcement was made. It was a well-thought measure, to ensure that a child with an already much maligned surname did not have to bear any misdirected anger. All for a crime which was wholly unrelated to me, but would bring an unmerited condemnation upon myself, and nearly one-quarter of the world’s population.

Certainly, that was an impactful moment in my still-young life. A moment which began my early theological maturity, and likewise, my early religious detachment. It was beyond my grasp then, as it remains today, how in the name of religion, any faction could commit such a treacherous act. To my eyes, 9/11 was not only a targeted and sadistic assault against humanity, the United States, and the western world, but also a devastating slap in the face of the very religion those terrorists claimed to be championing the cause of.

At the time, I asked my school’s staff a question, out of naivety, as to why they felt it necessary to pull me out of class. The very idea behind their now-obvious answer resonated with me then, and still does. Why did they feel I might be chastised by my peers? I was among friends, I thought. And I was, but we were at an age where religion was being transformed into something more complicated than it had any right to be. It was then I began to realize that religion without a true acceptance of the values it preached, and without a true understanding of those ideals was an ineffectual concept, and more importantly, a dangerous reality.

As most children are taught by a world which views them as innocents, religion is a spiritual abstraction of culture, intangibly binding them to their fellow man and eliciting a divine morality from their actions. Children have no knowledge of the fundamental differences between themselves and their peers of other religions, and rightfully so, as there are and should be none. It is only as these children grow up in a tainted religious landscape, that they are introduced to the theological perversions of human interpretation. Any distortion is surely human, as none of the basic scriptures of the religions which I have encountered in my lifetime have such shameless bigotry or violence inherent in anything but the most adulterated possible translations.

My views were shaped, as most children’s are, by those of my parents and grandparents. Views shaped by those who knew they bore the responsibility of readying me for a world unfortunately defined by many challenges, including our very own, and tragically human, self imposed partitions. Partitions called race, religion, class, ideology, and the other labels humans have fashioned to stroke the native human, but certainly not humane, instinct which shuns that which is different. Curricula teach cooperation, religions preach acceptance, and yet despite the best efforts of the greater human conscience, these ideals remain but utopian fantasies in our all too partisan world.

It was not long after 9/11 that I had to confront another crisis, which might have occurred much farther from me, but hit much closer to home. It was the following February, when my grandfather, ex-MP Ahsan Jafri, was one of the many who were brutally murdered in the infamous 2002 Gujarat riots which were themselves the appalling aftermath of the equally inexcusable Godhra train burning incident. While the ensuing investigations into the incidents have been murky at best, what has always been crystal clear is the caricature of communal religious dogma which led to such a combustive situation.

The past violence and dormant tension which still exists in Gujarat is sadly but a microcosm of the religious experience worldwide, and indicative of a growing religious disparity in a world that is making fast progress towards becoming very connected in so many other ways. This is not to say that religious friction is a novel concept, as in fact, the religious groups have been at each other’s throats as far back as my elementary history books cared to document human interaction. It just would seem elemental for us now, in a day and age of such strides in communication, diplomatic advancement, and obligatory global interaction, to realize that coexistence, both internally and internationally, is no longer as simple as maintenance of peace, but is now an absolutely irrefutable requisite for any kind of national or cultural advancement.

It shames me, as it should all humane individuals, irrespective of religion or lack thereof, that there are those radicals who have found the audacity to terrorize those they know nothing about, in the name of those who they have forsaken. It frightens me that efforts to promote bigotry among the ignorant have been much more successful than the ability to spur the enlightened from their complacency. It pains me to see that so many of the progressive world’s youth are now rapidly abandoning religion, not because they spurn its myriad virtues, but because they feel the need to disconnect from its perceived refusal to place values and the human kindred spirit ahead of its reprobate desire to be an identifier of its followers.

Despite concerns of the present and fears for the future, there remains much reason for optimism. We can change our stance so that instead of defining our actions by our religion, we work to define our religion through our actions. A new perspective is needed, so that what becomes most salient is a human conscience, with our divine confidence being only a reaffirmation of the direction in which our moral compass is already pointing.

As Thomas Jefferson said:

“I never told my religion, nor scrutinized that of another. I never attempted to make a convert, nor wished to change another's creed. I have judged others' religions by their lives, for it is from our lives and not our words that our religions must be read.”