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In the kaleidoscope of India’s pluralistic tapestry, the ideology of Hindutva has emerged as a corrosive force, cloaking its moral bankruptcy in the seductive language of complexity. The refrain, “there is no black and white,” is wielded not as a call for nuanced understanding but as a deliberate strategy to obfuscate accountability, silence dissent, and normalize violence. I argue that Hindutva’s invocation of complexity is a rhetorical sleight of hand—an attempt to sanitize its supremacist agenda while entrenching systemic harm against India’s marginalized communities. In complexity, Hindutva, a morally corrupt ideology formed on fascist ideals, finds the argumentative infrastructure that legitimizes its everyday moral and ethical transgressions.
Hindutva, the political ideology rooted in the vision of a Hindu Rashtra (nation), thrives on the erasure of India’s syncretic history. It constructs a monolithic Hindu identity that marginalizes Muslims, Christians, Dalits, and other minorities, often through overt violence and structural exclusion. Yet, when confronted with the immorality of its actions—be it the lynching of Muslims under the guise of cow protection, the erasure of minority histories in educational curricula, or the demolition of mosques—Hindutva’s apologists retreat into the language of ambiguity. “It’s not so simple,” they claim. “You cannot reduce it to black and white.” This rhetorical maneuver is not an invitation to dialogue but a shield to deflect scrutiny.
The invocation of complexity serves a dual purpose. First, it creates a veneer of intellectual legitimacy, allowing Hindutva to position itself as a misunderstood philosophy rather than a supremacist ideology. By framing issues like the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) or the abrogation of Article 370 as “complex” matters of national security or cultural preservation, Hindutva sidesteps the stark reality of their discriminatory impact. The CAA, for instance, is not merely a policy debate; it is a deliberate act of exclusion that renders Muslims second-class citizens. Yet, by wrapping it in the language of complexity—invoking geopolitics, migration, or historical grievances—Hindutva obscures its moral failure.
Second, this rhetoric paralyzes critique. When dissenters highlight the violence of Hindutva—whether in the form of communal riots or the incarceration of activists under draconian laws like the UAPA—the response is to muddy the waters. “Both sides have faults,” we are told, or “the situation is too nuanced for simple judgments.” Such equivocation equates the oppressor with the oppressed, flattening the power dynamics that sustain Hindutva’s hegemony. The 2002 Gujarat pogrom, where thousands of Muslims were killed under a state complicit in inaction, is not a “complex” event requiring endless debate; it is a moral abomination demanding accountability. To suggest otherwise is to gaslight the victims and embolden the perpetrators.
This weaponization of complexity is deeply rooted in Hindutva’s communicative strategy, which draws from a colonial playbook of divide and rule. By invoking ambiguity, Hindutva mirrors the tactics of empire, presenting itself as a rational arbiter in a chaotic world while orchestrating chaos to consolidate power. The Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), the ideological fountainhead of Hindutva, has mastered this art. Its public-facing discourse emphasizes cultural pride and unity, while its ground-level operations—through shakhas and vigilante groups—foment division and fear. The contradiction is not accidental; it is strategic. Complexity becomes a fog machine, obscuring the blood on the ground.
The immorality of Hindutva lies not only in its actions but in its refusal to own them. When mosques are razed, when Dalits are lynched for asserting their rights, or when dissenters are branded “anti-national,” the response is never contrition but deflection. “You don’t understand the bigger picture,” we are told. But the bigger picture is clear: Hindutva’s vision of India is one where difference is not celebrated but eradicated, where power is concentrated in the hands of an elite that claims to speak for “Hindus” while trampling on the most vulnerable among them.
Rejecting this duplicitous complexity is foundational to regaining the ethical basis for an India that has been morally dismantled over a decade of Hindutva consolidation. True nuance does not obscure truth; it illuminates it. It demands that we name the violence of Hindutva for what it is: a supremacist project that thrives on exclusion and dehumanization. To dismantle this ideology, we must center the stories of those it seeks to erase—the Muslims, Dalits, Adivasis, and others whose lives are reduced to collateral damage in the pursuit of a Hindu Rashtra. Their truths are not complex; they are stark, urgent, and undeniable.
The language of “no black and white” is not a bridge to understanding but a barricade against justice. Let us tear it down. Let us speak plainly of Hindutva’s immorality, not to simplify the world but to confront it. For in the clarity of that confrontation lies the possibility of an India that honors its pluralistic soul—an India that refuses to let ambiguity become the alibi for oppression.