The Virus Wasn’t the Only Thing That Spread — So Did Hate

I was in a small block in Chhattisgarh when the COVID-19 pandemic gripped the nation in 2020. Fear was all-encompassing — fear of infection, uncertainty, and death. But as the virus spread, so too did another — more insidious — epidemic: communal hate. What began as a public health emergency quickly devolved into a campaign of scapegoating and vilification. The Tablighi Jamaat, a Muslim missionary group, was blamed for everything from the spread of the virus to an imagined bio-war. I was not just a witness to this narrative; I was, in a small but painful way, a participant in it.

Our local mosque, the only one within a 5-kilometre radius, was managed by Muslims associated with the Tablighi Jamaat. I had prayed there regularly. But at the height of the media trial, I too fell prey to fear and uncertainty. I stopped going to the mosque. I offered my prayers at home. Worse still, I posted on social media, urging the Jamaat to suspend congregations and exercise caution. In hindsight, it was less a call for public health safety and more a subconscious surrender to the dominant narrative. I thought I was being balanced. I now see I was being diplomatic when I should have been principled. I deeply regret that choice.

A Mosque, a Moment of Weakness, and a Regret That Lingers

The Tablighi Jamaat gathering at Delhi’s Nizamuddin Markaz was held in early March 2020 — a time when no lockdown had been announced, flights were still operational, and public events of all types continued without restriction. The gathering included Indian and foreign attendees, many of whom became stranded due to the abrupt lockdown that followed.

Almost immediately, a media onslaught followed. Prime-time channels dubbed it a “super-spreader event.” Fake news and communal disinformation mushroomed. Stories about Muslims spitting to spread infection or engaging in “Corona jihad” flooded the public sphere. The Jamaat was not merely criticised — it was demonised. The government, especially in Delhi, released data that portrayed the Jamaat as a major contributor to the spread of COVID-19. Police filed FIRs. Foreign nationals were detained. Mosques were surveilled. Entire communities became objects of suspicion.

From Congregation to Condemnation: How the Jamaat Became the Villain

Now, years later, the truth is finally being acknowledged by the judiciary. Just this week, the Delhi High Court quashed 16 charge sheets filed against Indian citizens accused of sheltering foreign Jamaat attendees during the lockdown. The judge said: “Chargesheets quashed.” Back in January 2022, Delhi Police had opposed these quashing petitions, alleging that these individuals had violated prohibitory orders and contributed to spreading the virus. That claim has not stood the test of judicial scrutiny. These citizens were not criminals. They were victims of poor policy, media hysteria, and communal bias.

One cannot overstate the role of the media in legitimising this witch-hunt. Anchors who project themselves as rational, secular voices — including Rajdeep Sardesai — echoed the government’s position with minimal critique. They chose not to ask tough questions: Why were Jamaat members treated differently than attendees of the Kumbh Mela or political rallies? Why were Muslim congregations portrayed as reckless while Hindu gatherings were framed as acts of faith? Channels ran debate shows questioning whether the Jamaat should be banned, without examining whether any law had been broken. Photos of Muslim men in prayer were circulated out of context. And the media, instead of being a guardian of truth, became a tool of persecution.

Media as Prosecutor, Not Watchdog

Arvind Kejriwal’s role in this affair was particularly disappointing. Known for his secular image and governance-first politics, Kejriwal capitulated under pressure. His government released data blaming the Tablighi Jamaat for half of Delhi’s COVID cases, without clarifying the basis or timeline. He offered no defence of due process. No protection for those being unfairly maligned. His silence during similar violations at Kumbh Mela or political rallies revealed a dangerous truth — that his secularism is negotiable. When faced with the choice between standing up for justice and pandering to majoritarian sentiment, he chose the latter.

Just as disheartening was the silence — or weakness — of Muslim leaders. At a time when the community was being vilified en masse, those in positions of influence remained muted or evasive. Few stood up to defend the Jamaat or challenge the hysteria. Some even echoed the sentiment that the gathering was “irresponsible,” thereby legitimising the unfair treatment it received. The truth is, Muslims in India needed strong, clear leadership during that time. They got ambiguity instead. And this vacuum of leadership allowed the narrative of guilt to flourish.

This pattern of hesitation and delayed resistance has resurfaced during the ongoing assault on the Waqf. When the nationwide attack on Waqf properties and institutions began last year — through surveys, illegal occupations, and the weaponisation of state agencies — the common Muslim public remained silent. Many assumed it was “not their issue.” Prominent Muslim organisations responded late, and even then, in tepid terms.

But just like the Tablighi Jamaat case, the attack on the Waqf is not just about one group. It is a structural assault on Muslim identity, autonomy, and presence. By the time awareness spread, considerable damage had already been done — properties sealed, madrassas defunded, and the narrative again framed as one of “illegal encroachment.” This comparison is not incidental. In both cases, Muslims were first criminalised, then isolated, and finally punished — while their leaders calculated, hesitated, or remained silent.

Silence from Leaders, Both Political and Religious, Enabled the Witch-Hunt

Let us also not forget the role of the State. The police didn’t merely investigate — they persecuted. People were arrested and detained without due process. FIRs were filed on flimsy or non-existent grounds. Foreign nationals were held for months in legal limbo. Even in small districts like mine, local administrations began compiling lists of Muslims linked to the Jamaat. The implication was clear: a religious affiliation was enough to attract surveillance.

The High Court’s acquittal of these cases is a welcome development. But where is the accountability? Will the police apologise? Will the State compensate the innocent? Or will it quietly move on, having tarnished reputations and terrorised communities without consequence? This episode must be remembered — not just for the legal injustice, but for what it reveals about the fragility of India’s secular fabric. In the name of a virus, an entire community was demonised. And many, including myself, failed to stand up at the right time.

But recognition is the first step to repentance. I was wrong to be diplomatic when I should have been courageous. I should have visited that mosque, spoken in its defence, and challenged the disinformation. I won’t make that mistake again.

What the Tablighi Jamaat and Waqf episodes teach us is this: when truth is under attack, neutrality is betrayal. When a community is being targeted, silence is not wisdom — it is complicity. Let the courts quash the charges, yes. But let us also quash the prejudice and passivity that made those charges possible in the first place.