Vikiho Kiba
Christmas, in its deepest theological and philosophical register, is not merely a festival of sentiment or cultural ritual. It is an ontological claim about reality itself: that being is grounded not in domination but in gift, not in coercive power but in vulnerable presence. The Christian proclamation of the Incarnation, that the eternal enters history as a child offers a radical vision of existence where dignity precedes utility and where the weakest life bears infinite worth. When Christmas in contemporary India is marked by allegations of injustice, abuse of power, and democratic erosion, the dissonance is not incidental. It exposes a profound tension between the moral grammar of the season and the lived structures of political and social life.
At the ontological level, Christmas challenges prevailing conceptions of power. Modern political systems, including democratic ones, often operate on an implicit ontology of strength: authority flows from numbers, control of institutions, or the capacity to command obedience. The Incarnation subverts this logic. It asserts that true authority arises from self-giving presence and accountability to the other. Democracy, when faithful to its own philosophical roots, echoes this insight. It presupposes that sovereignty ultimately belongs not to rulers or parties but to the people as moral agents endowed with equal worth. When power shields itself from scrutiny or marginalizes vulnerable bodies, democracy ceases to reflect this ontological humility and instead mirrors the very hierarchies it was meant to overcome.
The shadow that falls over Christmas in India today is therefore not simply moral or political; it is metaphysical. It signals a crisis of meaning in which human beings are increasingly valued instrumentally by their political utility, religious identity, or economic productivity rather than intrinsically.
Allegations of violence, particularly when they involve the vulnerable and the powerful, reveal how easily persons can be reduced to expendable lives within a system that prioritizes expediency over justice. Ontologically, such reduction is a denial of personhood; democratically, it is a betrayal of constitutional promise.
India’s Constitution stands as a moral text as much as a legal one. Its vision of equality before the law, protection of personal liberty, and commitment to social justice reflects a normative understanding of human dignity that transcends electoral arithmetic. B. R. Ambedkar’s insistence on constitutional morality was precisely an attempt to safeguard this deeper ethical foundation. For Ambedkar, democracy without moral restraint degenerates into tyranny of the majority, where legality masks injustice and procedure replaces conscience. Christmas, with its insistence on moral accountability beyond law, resonates strongly with this warning.
The socio-economic dimensions of this crisis further complicate the picture. India’s democracy operates within vast inequalities of class, caste, gender, and region. Political power does not exist in a vacuum; it is embedded within structures of economic advantage and social hierarchy. When allegations of abuse arise, the ability of victims to seek justice is often shaped by their socio-economic location. Poverty limits access to legal recourse; social marginality invites disbelief or silence; disability compounds vulnerability. In such contexts, injustice is rarely an isolated act, it is structural, sustained by asymmetries of power that render some voices inaudible.
Christmas confronts these structures not through abstract idealism but through concrete solidarity. The Nativity narrative situates hope among the poor, the displaced, and the politically insignificant. Shepherds, not elites, receive the first announcement.
This socio-economic inversion challenges democracies to evaluate themselves not by GDP growth or electoral victories alone, but by the lived security of their most vulnerable citizens. A democracy that celebrates prosperity while tolerating impunity for the powerful risks becoming ethically hollow, regardless of its institutional robustness.
From a democratic perspective, the gravest danger lies in the normalization of moral exhaustion. When citizens begin to accept that injustice is inevitable, that accountability is selective, or that outrage is futile, democracy erodes from within. Elections may continue, institutions may function, but the animating spirit of self-governance, trust, participation, and moral expectation slowly dissipates. This is not the dramatic collapse of democracy, but its quiet corrosion.
Christmas resists such resignation. Philosophically, it affirms that history is open that new beginnings are possible even within entrenched systems of domination. This hope is not escapist; it is ethical. It demands vigilance, courage, and sustained commitment to truth. In democratic terms, it translates into defending institutional independence, safeguarding due process, and insisting that no individual or group stands above the law. Accountability is not an act of hostility toward democracy; it is its lifeblood.
The philosophical convergence here is striking. Christian theology, Indian ethical traditions, and democratic theory all converge on a shared intuition: power is legitimate only when ordered toward justice. The concept of dharma binds rulers to moral duty; nyaya emphasizes substantive justice over mere procedure; ahimsa restrains the exercise of force; karuna demands compassion for the suffering. These ideas do not compete with democracy; they deepen it. When democratic practice detaches itself from such moral horizons, it risks devolving into a technocratic or majoritarian enterprise devoid of ethical depth.
The role of public institutions, particularly the judiciary, law enforcement, and the media, becomes decisive in such moments. Democracy depends not only on laws but on their credible and impartial application. When investigations are delayed, diluted, or perceived as partisan, public trust fractures. Similarly, the media’s responsibility is not merely to inform but to illuminate, to resist both sensationalism and selective silence. Truth-telling, especially in times of moral darkness, is a democratic virtue.
Religious communities also face a searching test. Faith traditions can either anesthetize conscience through ritualized distraction or awaken it through prophetic witness. Christmas faith that remains confined to liturgy while ignoring injustice risks betraying its own theological core. Yet when faith communities stand with victims, defend due process, and speak against abuse of power without fear or favor, they contribute to the moral ecology that democracy requires to survive.
Crucially, insisting on accountability does not negate the principles of fairness or presumption of innocence. On the contrary, it affirms them. Justice requires both compassion for victims and restraint against mob judgment. Democracy falters when either is abandoned, when power escapes scrutiny or when outrage replaces law. The challenge is not to choose between order and justice, but to hold them together within an ethical framework that honors human dignity.
A shadowed Christmas, then, becomes a moment of national introspection. It asks whether India’s democracy remains anchored in its founding moral vision or whether it is drifting toward a culture of impunity and instrumental reason. The answer does not lie in rhetoric alone, but in practices: transparent investigations, independent institutions, ethical leadership, and an engaged citizenry unwilling to surrender its moral claims.
Shadows, however, presuppose light. Christmas insists that darkness is not ultimate that truth, though fragile, endures. For India, allowing that light to shape democratic life means reaffirming that power is accountable, that the vulnerable are protected, and that justice is not a favor but a right. In choosing this path, India does more than honor a religious festival; it renews the ontological, socio-economic, and philosophical foundations of its democracy itself.
