The Hypocrisy Olympics: When Political Etiquette Meets Moral Bankruptcy
Let me ask you something unsettling: When did condolences become a political weapon? The recent spectacle of three BJP MPs visiting the family of Sajjan Kumar—convicted architect of 1984 anti-Sikh riots—feels less like a mourning ritual and more like a masterclass in political doublespeak. This isn't just hypocrisy; it's a calculated performance in a nation where historical trauma and vote-bank politics collide.
The Moral Quagmire of Political Etiquette
Let’s dissect this farce. Three sitting BJP MPs—Bidhuri, Chandolia, and Sehrawat—decide to pay respects to a man who spent his final years behind bars for orchestrating mass murder. The party’s defense? "They went in personal capacity." Please. Since when do politicians make decisions that don't serve political calculus? These men represent Delhi constituencies carved from Kumar’s old bastion. Coincidence? Or cynical outreach to voters who still revere this butcher?
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the BJP tries to have it both ways. They claim moral high ground as champions of riot victims while quietly letting MPs court the very communities that perpetrated violence. It’s the political equivalent of setting yourself on fire to prove you’re not cold.
The Unseen Calculus of Caste and Community
Here’s what outsiders miss: This isn’t just about 1984. It’s about Delhi’s complex caste equations. Kumar’s Jat stronghold still wields disproportionate influence, and those three constituencies are battlegrounds where caste politics trump ideology. The BJP isn’t mourning Kumar—they’re making a transactional pilgrimage to maintain dominance in a city where every community votes as a block.
I find it especially revealing that Phoolka, the BJP’s own lawyer-turned-advocate for riot victims, called for a boycott. His outrage highlights the party’s internal schizophrenia. They want to appear righteous while maintaining access to every power center—including those built on bloodshed. How long can this balancing act survive?
Collective Amnesia as Governance Strategy
This incident exposes a deeper rot in Indian politics: the weaponization of forgetting. By allowing MPs to honor Kumar, the BJP tacitly endorses the narrative that historical crimes are best buried. But let’s be honest—this isn’t about closure. It’s about creating political immunity for future atrocities. If you normalize mourning mass murderers, what message does that send to today’s power brokers?
What many people overlook is the generational divide here. Younger voters, increasingly detached from 1984’s horrors, see this as ancient history. Politicians like these MPs are betting that moral fatigue will outpace justice. They might be right.
The Future of Political Theater
If this goes unpunished, we’ll see more performative condolences replacing policy substance. Imagine future elections fought not on development, but on who can better romanticize criminals. The danger isn’t just in honoring Kumar—it’s in establishing a template where every dark chapter becomes a campaign stop.
From my perspective, this isn’t just a BJP problem. It’s a symptom of a democracy where moral clarity has zero shelf life. Until voters start punishing this opportunism at the ballot box, India’s political class will keep mourning monsters while pretending to serve the people. The real question isn’t why these MPs did this—it’s why we keep letting them get away with it.
Final Reflection: The Price of Forgetting
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: Every condolence visit to a war criminal’s family is a betrayal of the living. The survivors still waiting for justice aren’t just inconvenient reminders—they’re the moral compass this nation has chosen to silence. Until we confront this reality, Indian politics will remain trapped in an endless loop of performative grief and manufactured outrage. The real tragedy? We’re all complicit in letting it continue.
