The Right To Write
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A. J. PHILIP on what happens when your religious identity becomes more important than what you write

How do you react to this incident as a Christian journalist, asked a fellow journalist doing a quickie a couple of years ago. ‘‘Yes, I am a Christian and also a journalist but I won’t like to be called a Christian journalist’’ I said before giving my opinion on the incident in question. That was, perhaps, the first time that realisation dawned on me that I could be branded as a Christian journalist. Since then, there have been innumerable occasions when my writing was seen through the prism of my religious faith. The bitter truth is that I can no longer escape being called a Christian journalist.

I know it is not because journalism is rooted in the Biblical worldview as it began as a modern institution with Puritans in England in the Sixteenth Century or because in India it was William Carey’s concern for truth which resulted in the modern Press. It is all because of the sudden sinister campaign against Christians by some fundamentalist organisations. It is no longer the strength or weakness of one’s writing that matters but the religious identity of the writer that the byline reveals. Hence, a concerned priest once called me up to find out whether I had fallen for the spiritual charms of Mata Amritanandamai when I wrote a “laudatory” piece on her in the Indian Express. “How dare a Christian write about the ills of Hinduism” is the tone of many an angry response to some of my articles. A learned writer found my use of “His Grace” to describe the late Alan de Lastic, Archbishop of Delhi, questionable but he found nothing amiss when I referred to a Shankaracharya as His Holiness. “Would you have written a piece on a swamy of the Delhi bishop’s eminence if he had met with a tragic end?” he asked in the same vein, even as I recalled how vehemently I had to argue with the then editor of The Hindustan Times before I was allowed to write an edit on the Paramacharya of Kanchi when he attained samadhi.

Is religious identity all that important? My neighbour in Kerala, a devout Muslim, who insisted that I should be the first person to visit her home on the first day of every Malayalam month did not think so. She had the superstitious belief that her husband’s bullock cart brought more income if I stepped into her house before anyone else did every month. Nor did it matter to our Hindu neighbour, who religiously took the first offering from my grandfather, before he set out on his yearly pilgrimage to Palani. Of course, my grandfather was also the first to receive the prasadam from Palani when he returned after his peregrination.

Those were not the days when certain words had a different connotation. The mouthpiece of a preeminent party which wasted seven precious pages to pick holes in my articles heaped scorn on me when it said I was a ‘‘missionary’’ in the garb of a journalist. It is a different matter that the writer did not know that the early journalists did not work for a big salary and perks but for God’s truth and it was, therefore, a compliment to be called a missionary, though I did not deserve to be called one.

Having been made conscious of my Christian identity, they have not left me at that. I have been made aware of my denominational identity too. They say the Orthodox Church and the Mar Thoma Church are fine as they are Swadeshi. “Have you not got a clean chit as you belong to the Mar Thoma Church?” But whoever had given the certificate had no clue to the history of these churches. They do not know that the full name of the Mar Thoma Church is Mar Thoma Syrian Church of Malabar. Syria that figures in the name was never a part of India and the two churches have conciliar relationship with dozens of churches around the world. Or what about the “swadeshi” Syrian church which owes its allegiance to the Patriarch of Antioch? It may be pertinent to recall that the pioneers of the Mar Thoma Church believed that the best treatment for a sick church was to put it on a missionary diet. So where does that leave me? In the bad company of the Universalist Christians? But, then, can a religion be confined to a particular geographic area? Did not Lord Krishna show his ‘Vishwarup’? Or for that matter, since when did “Vishwa” in the name of a famous organisation stand for “swadeshi”?

An ideologue whose bogus theory on Harappa is making the rounds with state patronage has questioned the patriotism of Christians on the specious plea that they did not contribute to the Kargil kitty. How can anyone forget the glorious contributions of Naga Christian jawans to the liberation of one Kargil post after another?

The “hated” Catholics were also not behind as they made a substantial contribution to the country’s Defence Fund. Had Pakistan raised such a fund, surely the Christians there would have contributed to the fund in equal measure. This is because for Christians there is no sacred land; what fires their imagination is the promised land. Wherever they are that becomes their sacred land. That is why I don’t find anything incongruous in the prayer every Sunday we say for the Prime Minister and his Council of Ministers. I don’t have to go by the definition of punyabhoomi and pitribhoomi certain ideologues have attempted even as their progeny queue up before the American Embassy at Chanakyapuri for a Green Visa.
Didn’t a nitwit in Rome say that his own church is superior to other churches? He may have, so what? The famous editor of an Indian newspaper which is known for its caveats even refused to call a fellow newspaper as a “rival”. He called it a “contemporary”. Does any political party say that voting another party to power is also in the country’s interest? What’s wrong if Hindus believe that Hinduism is the greatest religion and the Catholics say theirs is the only way to heaven? My religion meets my spiritual needs and that is why I am what I am. I certainly consider my faith as superior as I concede the right to believe so to the adherents of all other faiths. This, in my view, is true secularism. For this I don’t have to compromise either my journalism or my faith. The two complement each other.

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