‘A space to express and expose’: What inspires resistance poetry on social media

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“When publishing houses and mainstream media are controlled and operated by Savarna or upper caste communities, who selectively publish works that suit them, social media offers a more democratised space for my writings,” says Dr Sunil Abhiman Awachar, an artist and writer who teaches Marathi language at the University of Mumbai.

Awachar has been writing for over 15 years now and has several poetry collections to his name, the most recent one being ‘We, the rejected people of India’, translated from Marathi by Yogesh Maitreya, which gained considerable recognition on Instagram. As someone who has been an active commentator on contemporary issues and national affairs, Awachar was alert enough to recognise the need of the times and share his works in the digital space via social media. He created his Instagram profile four years ago and has regularly used his artworks and poems to engage with issues of caste, religion and the rights of the LGBTQIA+ communities.

“I can express myself completely here. Whatever edits are needed, it’s left to the judgement of my community, because I write in their language and not the editors controlling the media,” he adds.

Writer and poet Tanya Singh reaffirms Awachar’s observation. “When publishing houses and art galleries are dominated by Savarnas, it becomes very difficult to represent your work and gain reachability. In this case, social media eliminates the `middleman` and allows a direct and wider reach.”

Singh’s recent poetry collection ‘Blue is the colour I choose’ offers a resistance to casteism and an assertion of Dalit identity. The poems of the collection, which were shared on Instagram by publisher Panther’s Paw publications, enabled her to connect with members of the community, who could relate to her words, the ones that were initially reserved for personal reflections.

To sum up the challenges of navigating a space rendered exclusive by certain groups, she quotes a poem by activist and poet Chandramohan. The poem ‘Online Magazines’ reads:

kites made of

manuscripts returned

unopened from magazine editors

fly untethered

in a virtual Anglosphere

Be it poet Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s poem ‘Hum Dekhenge’ that became a clarion call against the implementation of the Citizenship Amendment Act across the country in 2019 and 2020, or lines from Rohith Vemula’s last letter, “My birth is my fatal accident”, which never fail to send a chill down one’s spine, impactful words of resistance continue to make the rounds on the internet. They remind us of the events that rendered them immortal — a conflict between the state and citizens or a battle-in-progress against casteist and communal forces. In a digital world, these struggles do not remain limited to the online community. They exist alongside physical protests, as a social media presence helps bring together individuals expressing themselves through art and poetry. Participating in online discourse is an inseparable part of resistance, at a time when mainstream media have become inaccessible to the masses at large.

This space has allowed artists, poets, writers, scholars to not only address the monopolisation of discourses, but also to establish Dalit-Bahujan aesthetics

Why does it matter?

When Deepak Peace, in his verses under the series ‘Inquilab laao yaar’ wrote:

Mere right aur left ke pyaaro

Nazi prashansakon, Marx ke yaaro

agar iss mulk ka bhalaa karna hai

toh pehle apne jaati ke mask utaro

his followers on Instagram were treated to some humorous yet poignant satire on the contemporary political discourse, which he says is often restricted to the binaries of Hindu and Muslim, left and right, pro- or anti-government and a surface level, performative idea of resistance. All this, while neglecting some of the root causes of social unrest in the Indian society—caste and the resulting Brahmanical patriarchy, an intersection of caste and gender-based discrimination.

Deepak, who joined Instagram only in 2019, finds solace in his poems, which are primarily his observations and reactions to everyday events, including politicians, media, artists or even friends and family. His satire, he says, is more about “reducing the burden of existence” and in the process making sense of the world, than about resistance or activism, which comes with greater responsibilities.

“I don’t see it as an act of resistance, because we cannot measure the impact of my writings. And I am not that big an artist. My existence on social media is just to expose the hypocrisies of the upper caste communities and the strategies they deploy to keep their privileges intact. That’s my little contribution here as a spectator laughing in a corner,” says Deepak.

In recent years, a number of Dalit, Bahujan and Adivasi artists and writers on the internet have been  instrumental in creating a safe space for fellow community members to assert their identity and aesthetics to resist the inauthentic upper caste idea or notions about a majority of the population. As Singh says, this has also provided people from the marginalised communities with a sense of belongingness.

“This space has allowed artists, poets, writers, scholars to not only address the monopolisation of discourses but also to establish Dalit-Bahujan aesthetics,” she adds.

For Mariyam Saigal, poet and a law-aspirant, poetry is not merely about expression, but a way of exercising her freedom of speech and the freedom of religion. Her writings primarily focus on women’s rights and anti-discrimination subjects. As a Muslim woman, Saigal says the country’s affairs have been increasingly threatening and has convinced poets like her to observe self-censorship on the internet. Her poems offer a glimpse into her fight against patriarchy, at home and outside, a continuous struggle that comes with her identity and the bleak hope of a better world.

“It`s important to say what you feel or you bury it and it eats you. Even in the poetry circuit, there`s hardly any unity or understanding. You get marginalised on a stage that was made for the marginalised,” says Saigal.

Social media platforms are replete with pages propagating hate against the Muslim community via posts, videos, comments and even articles containing fabricated or manipulated details. Whether it is violence in the name of cow protection, love jihad, or the most recent issues of Bulli Bai and the Sulli deals, a targeted digital attack on Muslim women’s fundamental rights, the community has been vulnerable to hate and discrimination in and outside the virtual world.

Online hate in a relatively free space

Though social media has enabled every individual having access to the internet to freely express themselves, one cannot ignore the hazards of unregulated or unchecked online hate, under the pretext of free speech, against women and the same marginalised communities, for whom the virtual world appeared to be a relatively democratic space. The hate that brews online often spills into the real world in the form of stalking, death threats and targeted attacks.

“When I changed my Instagram profile picture, in which I had worn a Hijab, to a non-Hijabi one, I observed that the hate had drastically reduced. People stopped sending terrible comments and in my direct messages inbox saw less messages of hate,” says Saigal, who had received threatening letters for her poems, which were relevant to the politics of the time and countered the authoritative regime’s attack on activists and artists. The hate perpetrated against 24-year-old Saigal and her words ultimately led her to take down most of her poems from the internet.

The access to digital tools and online networks also determines who and which section of the society identified as “influencers” wield the power to control the narratives on social media platforms too. Both Saigal and Deepak stress upon how one’s reach and recognition on social media depends on their identity. They highlight the inherent caste, religious and gender bias attached towards one’s name and surname, which leads to discrimination at all levels in terms of reach, follower count and response towards the individual’s content.

A report by Centre for Culture-Centered Approach to Research and Evaluation found that a majority of violent content on digital platforms in India are directed towards Muslims, Christians and Dalits. Around 39 percent of participants of the survey responded that they have been called offensive names because of their Muslim name and 59 percent reported coming across content on Facebook, Twitter and WhatsApp that encourages conflict, hatred and violence. There are several such reports based on qualitative analysis of content on social media, which elaborate on ways in which the platforms are exploited to propagate hate against vulnerable communities.

Saigal observes that having a Muslim name can make things for an individual even more challenging in an online platform and that she has been deprived of a lot of opportunities because of the impact her identity has in the current times. “I am always three steps behind because of my identity and Instagram has made me realise it more. It just eats up on my mental health that people fail to realise who we are fighting against,” she adds.

She succinctly expresses this in one of her poems on Instagram. Here’s a verse from it:

I’ll not be well-read

or well-known

But I will always be a poet

You

on the other hand

when I see you,

I only see privilege

No poetry

Awachar, meanwhile, identifies two kinds of responses to the works of writers from the Bahujan or Muslim communities on social media. First, dismissing their work as an exaggeration of their experiences and second, complete ignorance, which ultimately leads to purposeful killing of the art, artists and their modes of expression.

When met with the first type of response, Awachar says, “My work is about reality and these are the aesthetics of my community, which cannot be seen through your privileged lens.”

“I have been trolled for speaking about caste and religion. I have been repeatedly asked by people that until when you will keep protesting through writings and paintings. The answer is, until the marginalised are able to access their constitutional right, the fight must go on. Even if we have less reach, it’s a continuous fight and we must not lose control of this space,” he adds.

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