Editorial

Few national expressions in India evoke as much emotion — and controversy — as Vande Mataram. For many, it is a patriotic invocation of the motherland; for others, it has become a symbol of political pressure. The debate is less about the words themselves and more about how they are framed, interpreted, and sometimes enforced.

Composed by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay in the 19th century and later included in his novel Anandamath, Vande Mataram emerged during India’s anti-colonial struggle as a rallying cry against British rule. Its emotional appeal lay in its poetic personification of the nation as a mother — a powerful metaphor that stirred resistance and sacrifice. Over time, it acquired a revered place in India’s freedom movement.

Yet, controversy has persisted, particularly among sections of society who interpret certain verses as religiously loaded. The core issue, however, is not devotion to the nation but the perception of compulsion. When patriotism becomes mandatory performance — “You must sing” — it ceases to be a voluntary expression of love and becomes an instrument of conformity.

Ironically, the conceptual foundation of Vande Mataram resonates with the universal idea of Madre Watan — Mother Homeland — a sentiment deeply embedded in multiple cultures and languages, including Urdu and Persian traditions. Across civilizations, the land of birth has been addressed as mother, symbolising nurture, sacrifice, and belonging. If this shared emotional vocabulary had been honestly foregrounded, much of the suspicion could have been avoided. The controversy might then have been seen not as a clash of faiths, but as a misunderstanding of metaphor.

The unnecessary politicisation of the song reflects a deeper problem in public discourse — the tendency to divide expressions of identity into rigid binaries: nationalist versus anti-national, believer versus dissenter. Such framing ignores the possibility that one may deeply love one’s country yet express that love differently. A nation confident in its unity does not need to enforce uniformity.

Symbols derive their power from voluntary reverence, not enforced repetition. Compulsion weakens what persuasion strengthens. When citizens sing because they feel moved — not because they fear stigma — the song becomes authentic. When dissent is respected, patriotism becomes inclusive.

Vande Mataram need not be a fault line. It can instead be understood as one poetic articulation of a broader civilisational idea — that the land we inhabit is worthy of respect and gratitude. The real test of national maturity lies not in how loudly we demand uniform expressions, but in how generously we accommodate diverse ones.

India’s farmers remain among the most politically invoked yet economically vulnerable sections of society. They feed the nation, sustain rural employment, and anchor food security — yet when trade negotiations unfold in distant capitals, their anxieties often receive limited structured representation. The debate surrounding India’s evolving trade understanding with the United States has revived this concern with renewed intensity.

Agriculture in India is not merely an economic sector; it is a livelihood system supporting nearly half the population. In contrast, American agriculture is highly mechanised, capital-intensive, and heavily subsidised. When discussions of tariff reductions, market access, and sanitary standards surface in India–US negotiations, the asymmetry becomes evident. Lowering barriers for imported agricultural products may benefit urban consumers in the short term, but it risks exposing small and marginal Indian farmers to competition they are structurally ill-equipped to withstand.

One strong school of thought argues that agricultural imports should be entirely excluded from any comprehensive trade deal. The logic is straightforward: food security and farmer livelihoods are strategic interests, not negotiable commodities. If manufacturing or services sectors are opened reciprocally, agriculture must remain insulated due to its socio-economic sensitivity.

Recent discussions around expanded market access for US farm goods — including pulses, dairy, and processed food products — have raised critical questions. First, how will Indian farmers compete against American producers who benefit from advanced technology and federal farm subsidies? Second, will quality and phytosanitary norms become technical tools to pressure Indian exports while easing entry for US goods? Third, does India possess adequate domestic support mechanisms to cushion farmers if prices collapse due to import surges?

The memory of past farmer protests still lingers in national consciousness. While those agitations focused on domestic reforms, they underscored a deeper issue: the absence of trusted leadership articulating farmers’ long-term economic interests. In trade diplomacy, this gap becomes even more pronounced. Negotiations are driven by macroeconomic metrics — export volumes, strategic alignment, geopolitical signalling — whereas farmers measure survival in input costs, minimum support prices, and market stability.

At the same time, outright protectionism is not without consequences. Trade retaliation, reduced export access, and strained strategic relations are possible outcomes of blanket bans. India must therefore strike a careful balance: defend agricultural sovereignty without isolating itself from global commerce.

A credible path forward would involve transparent consultations with farmer unions, impact assessments before tariff commitments, and robust safeguard clauses allowing India to reimpose duties if imports harm domestic producers. Strategic partnership with the United States need not translate into agricultural vulnerability.

If trade agreements are to be sustainable, they must protect those who till the soil as firmly as they promote diplomatic ties. A nation aspiring for economic power cannot afford to let its farmers feel economically powerless.

• SAS Kirmani