The resistance survives. And now occupies the entrance. The Bab-e-Sayed Gate—which leads straight into the white-and-red sprawling Aligarh Muslim University campus—is Aligarh's own tiny Shaheen Bagh. Like at the Delhi neighbourhood, where women are sitting in every day to protest the CAA, here, too, each day, students from the city come to keep the fight alive.
It is not easy. The administration has been stern on protesters. Parents who were earlier supportive of the fight are now terrified. This fear is palpable. The Uttar Pradesh Police registered a case against 1,200 people for participating in a candlelight vigil on December 23. Barricades block the road to the university. The Rapid Action Force and the police—in substantial numbers—make their presence felt. The fear of being persecuted, and possibly losing their seats, prevented injured students from going to hospital, a fact-finding report by a team led by activist Harsh Mander found.
About three weeks later, the situation has acquired a new dimension. The university is sending notices to homes of protesting students. “They cannot shatter us,” says Tuba, a young student leader who admits that her parents are worried. “I am not scared. I sat here even when the RAF was out in full force on December 16.”
Hostels have been emptied. And the new year session, which was to start on January 6, has been postponed. Numbers are hard to come by. Especially at a time when protesting is not safe. Yet, each day—despite the freezing cold—students come out to register their protest. “It is a turning point,” says Mohammad Sajjad, who teaches history at the university. “Whether the state succeeds in crushing it remains to be seen. But if you do that, the memory of that will live.”
Beyond the campus—which looms large over the dusty town of Aligarh—is the city. Physically separated by the railway line, over the years, this division has widened to become almost unsurmountable. “The city is divided into two major communities: the Hindus and the Muslims. Unfortunately, because of polarisation, the Muslims view AMU favourably. The non-Muslims do not. It is plain and simple,” said former AMU vice chancellor Zameer-ud-din Shah.
In the past few years, the AMU has become a convenient target to represent the 'other'. The Jinnah portrait row in 2018, which was “blown out of all proportion”, believes Shah, and even the controversy around Raja Mahendra Pratap (the freedom fighter's grandson wanted AMU to display his portrait), all became fodder to paint the university in a certain image. If JNU has been targeted as anti-national, AMU has been seen as a terrorist bastion, as Ashok Pandey, leader of the Hindu Mahasabha in Aligarh, put it. “This is Islamic jihad that has been spread from Jamia to AMU,” he said.
This is not the first time the university has had to fight an exclusionary tag. It has the burden of its pre-independent history, being at the heart of the Muslim League politics. But this time, in the charged atmosphere, fuelled by social media and fake news, the lines between truth and propaganda have blurred. “People in the city think there are rocket launchers in the university,” says Sajjad. This belief has been strengthened through a steady diet of hate.
Apart from two Muslim-dominated places—Jamalpur, which is in the university area, and Shah Jamal, an area dotted with small factories that produce locks and hardware—the city has remained aloof. The protests and the violence on the students is a “Mussalman” issue. “CAA is a good thing,” says Ashok, the owner of Anu Paithewala, a sweets shop. His son is with the BJP. And his shop is in the saffron heart of the city—with the Bajrang Dal office next door and an RSS shakha nearby. “Modi ji has done a wonderful thing,” he says.
Says Sajjad: “It is not only about Muslims, but they are the ones who feel it more desperately. It is fight or be rendered stateless.”