The Deafening silence of conscience keepers over Dharmasthala genocide (naramedha)

 The horror that unfolded in Dharmasthala — the rapes and murders of hundreds of girls and women — is not merely another episode of law-and-order failure. It is a civilisational moment that tests whether a society can still uphold its moral compass. Thanks to the courage of a handful of media persons, the details of this horror have come to light. But equally shocking as the crimes themselves is the silence of those who otherwise never miss a chance to hold forth on every conceivable issue.

One would have expected respected public figures — Sudha Murthy, a member of the Rajya Sabha, Bhanu Mastaq, this year’s Booker prize award winner, and Santosh Hegde, a former Lokayukta, among others — to break their silence, speak for the voiceless, and demand accountability. But their studied muteness is baffling, if not shameful. In a democracy, the voices of opinion makers matter. They shape the climate of discourse and can influence the decision-making of governments. When such voices choose silence, it emboldens perpetrators and signals to victims that their suffering is not worth recognition.

More disturbing still is the spectacle of betrayal by certain intellectuals. Take the case of Hampa Nagarajaiah, once venerated in literary circles. Instead of showing concern for the victims, he chose to side with caste and community forces, even standing with Jain swamis who went so far as to threaten the government against taking any step that might “damage the reputation” of the accused D gang. In that moment, his words became not a shield for the powerless but a sword for the powerful. Such moral abdication cannot be forgotten.

And then there are the elders and prominent personalities in fields like yakshagana, academics amd literature of the coastal belt, many in advanced age, whose silence is even more chilling. These are individuals who have long basked in the glow of public reverence, often positioning themselves as moral anchors for their communities. Yet, at this crucial hour, fearing loss of grace or reputation, they have chosen to mute themselves. Their silence is not neutrality; it is complicity. History is being made, and it will not pardon them. Posterity will record that when genocide unfolded in Dharmasthala, they chose to look away.

What is at stake here is not just the lives already lost, but the very principle of democratic accountability. In times of atrocity, silence by the influential is never innocent. It either aids the perpetrators or abandons the victims. Writers, artistes, and intellectuals are not ornamental voices for cultural festivals; they are conscience-keepers whose responsibility lies in holding power to account. By failing this duty, they erode the very moral authority they once commanded.

The Dharmasthala horror has already scarred the nation’s conscience. The silence of celebrities and opinion makers now deepens that wound. If they continue to value comfort over courage, and reputation over responsibility, history will remember them not as protectors of democracy, but as accomplices in its betrayal.