The Cycle of Extremism

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

Yesterday, I had a conversation with a friend that left me thinking deeply about the state of the world. I had shared a disturbing video of two men openly advocating for the subjugation of women, even going so far as to say that women who refuse to conform should be burnt and killed. This was not some obscure, hidden conversation—it was being circulated on social media for anyone to see. Understandably, my friend, along with one of my nieces, was horrified. My niece reacted by saying, “This is a terrible country; we need to leave it.”

But I disagreed. Not because I don’t see the horrors around me, but because I have come to a stark realisation: leaving a country does not change the fundamental issues of humanity.

The Global Right-Wing Surge

In 2013, when the rise of right-wing ideology became evident in my own country, (the Supreme Court had criminalised gay sex) I understood that, as a gay man, I would never enjoy the rights and privileges that straight people take for granted. I contemplated leaving, thinking perhaps another country would offer a more progressive and accepting life.

But then 2014 happened. Then in 2016, Donald Trump’s rise in America signalled the same shift towards conservatism that I had seen at home. Russia had Vladimir Putin, who allegedly sent LGBTQ+ individuals to detention camps for “correction.” Horror stories from those camps surfaced, painting a grim picture of the global state of human rights.

In 2019, J.K. Rowling, a writer I had long admired, shattered my trust when she dismissed the trans movement with her comments about sex being real. And when Trump was re-elected, it became clear that the right-wing resurgence was not a fluke—it was a reflection of the people’s will. The agenda of moral policing, religious revivalism, and historical revisionism was not being imposed from the top down; it was being demanded by the public itself.

It’s Not Just Governments—It’s the People Who Elect Them

The problem isn’t just the leaders in power; it’s the people who vote for them. If there weren’t millions who shared their views, these leaders wouldn’t exist in the first place. The unfortunate reality is that large sections of society believe in patriarchy, misogyny, homophobia, and the rigid moral codes dictated by scripture. They don’t just tolerate these ideas—they actively champion them.

This is why changing countries does nothing to change the underlying problem. Extremist views exist everywhere, manifesting in different forms depending on the cultural and political landscape. The rise of the right in one place will eventually be mirrored by a rise in another.

The Death of Nuanced Thinking

What troubles me most is the lack of nuanced thinking in today’s world. Everything is reduced to binaries: right or wrong, good or evil, us versus them. The idea that one might be wrong, or that another perspective might hold some validity, is almost extinct. Instead, people seek validation for their existing beliefs, reinforcing echo chambers that fuel further division.

Social media only exacerbates this problem. It has become a tool not for discussion, but for ideological warfare. People don’t debate to understand; they argue to win. The absence of self-reflection, of walking in another’s shoes, has led to a society where dehumanisation is normalised.

The Cycle of Extremism

Looking back at history, this cycle is nothing new. There were always people who opposed war, but wars happened anyway. Humanity has never been ruled by collective goodwill—it has always been driven by power, self-interest, and ideological battles.

Right now, we are witnessing a global right-wing surge. But this, too, will change. Eventually, people will grow tired of oppression, and the left will rise again. And then, as history has shown us, the cycle will repeat itself. The tragedy is that in the midst of these power shifts, real people suffer. Some are marginalised, some lose their rights, and some even lose their lives.

Finding Strength in Allies

But amidst all this turmoil, there is one silver lining: times like these reveal who our true allies are. When society is divided, we learn who stands with us and who stands against us. We build our own families—not through blood, but through shared beliefs and values. We find the people who will fight alongside us, and we learn who to keep at a distance.

That, perhaps, is the only positive thing about these dark times.

So no, changing countries will not solve the problem. The issue is not geographical—it is deeply rooted in human nature. The only real way forward is to continue resisting, to keep advocating for a better world, and to never stop fighting for justice. Because while the cycle may continue, so will the fight for what is “right”.

Burn…Out

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There comes a moment in every long-term relationship where a quiet realisation sets in—one that feels less like a sudden heartbreak and more like a slow fading of colour from a once-vivid painting. Where does the passion go? Where do the small gestures that once seemed second nature—writing a letter, sending a spontaneous text, hugging without reason—disappear?

At the start, love is all-consuming. The fire is relentless, the desire insatiable. You want to touch them constantly, know their every thought, drown in their presence. But alongside this passion comes something else—fear. Fear of losing them, jealousy, possessiveness, trust issues. The insecurity fuels the intensity, making every touch electric, every glance loaded with meaning.

Then, as time passes, something shifts. Trust settles in. The love solidifies into something steady and reliable. The jealousy eases, the fights become less dramatic, the urgent need to be reassured fades. But so does something else—the madness of passion, the desperate craving, the reckless abandon. What once felt like a raging storm begins to resemble a quiet river. Steady, dependable, but no longer unpredictable.

The years bring familiarity. You learn their morning face, their quirks, their little habits that once felt endearing and now sometimes frustrate you. The way they take too long in the shower, the way they always forget to put the towel back, the way they make the same mistake over and over. And yet, somewhere in that frustration, there’s love too. A love that says, I know this about you, and I love you anyway. A love that knows they won’t change, and it’s okay because you have decided to accept them as they are.

But where does passion go? Even if love remains, where does the longing for their body, the thrill of making love, the spontaneity of touch disappear?

Perhaps love, over time, becomes a conscious choice rather than an instinct. A decision to reach out, to initiate, to rekindle. To say, I choose you today, and I will choose you again tomorrow. But how long can one person keep choosing when the other stops noticing? How long can you be the one to start the kisses, the hugs, the caresses when they no longer feel like a natural part of your connection, but simply something that’s done out of habit?

Is this the inevitable fate of all relationships—that what starts with fire cools into something warm but no longer burns? Or is passion something we must fight for, something that requires effort to keep alive?

Maybe love doesn’t disappear. Maybe it just changes shape, finding comfort in routine instead of urgency. But the question remains—can we live with this quieter love, or do we always find ourselves longing for the fire?

When Sinners Preach Sanctity

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Religious faith has long been considered a moral compass, guiding individuals on how to live righteous lives. Yet, history and modern reality prove that some of the most vocal defenders of religious purity are also the worst offenders of the very principles they claim to uphold.

From conservative Hindutva proponents who are secretly gay to Muslim men leading double lives, from Christian priests accused of sexual abuse to ultra-Orthodox Jewish leaders involved in scandals—this hypocrisy is not exclusive to any one faith. It is a pattern seen across religions, where individuals who should be champions of morality use their power and influence to condemn others while indulging in the very acts they claim to oppose.

As an openly gay man who values honesty—especially with those I love—I find this behaviour deeply reprehensible. Not because people struggle with faith and identity (many do), but because these individuals actively harm others to maintain their false facade of righteousness.

In India, the rise of right-wing Hindutva ideology has led to an aggressive push for so-called “traditional values,” often at the expense of LGBTQ+ rights. Ironically, many of the most vocal proponents of this ideology are themselves closeted gay men who weaponise religion to mask their own identity. Reports have surfaced of right-wing influencers and politicians using gay dating apps like Grindr while simultaneously advocating for laws and policies that suppress queer visibility. Instead of standing in solidarity with LGBTQ+ individuals, they become enforcers of homophobia, believing that condemning others will prevent scrutiny of their own lives.

In deeply conservative Muslim communities, homosexuality is often criminalised or considered a grave sin. Yet, time and again, stories emerge of married Muslim men engaging in same-sex relationships in secret while maintaining a facade of religious piety. Some of these men actively promote patriarchal religious norms, oppressing women and policing public morality while secretly violating the very rules they impose on others. Their hypocrisy is glaring—they demand the privilege of secrecy while ensuring that openly queer people face persecution.

Perhaps the most well-documented example of religious hypocrisy comes from Christianity, particularly within the Catholic Church. The Vatican has faced countless allegations of sexual abuse by priests, bishops, and even cardinals—men who preach celibacy and moral purity yet have used their positions of power to exploit the vulnerable. The systemic cover-up of these crimes, where the Church has moved abusive priests instead of holding them accountable, is a testament to how religious institutions prioritise image over integrity. Evangelical preachers in the U.S. have also been caught in scandals involving extramarital affairs, drug use, and financial fraud—all while condemning homosexuality and “immorality” in public sermons.

The ultra-Orthodox Jewish community, known for its rigid religious laws, has also had its share of hypocrisy. Reports have surfaced of rabbis involved in sexual abuse cases, often targeting young boys or vulnerable women within their own communities. Despite strict religious codes governing gender segregation, modesty, and sexual behaviour, some of these leaders have abused their positions while continuing to enforce these restrictive rules on others.

As someone who has chosen to live openly, I find this behaviour unacceptable. The issue isn’t that people struggle with faith and identity—many LGBTQ+ individuals grapple with religious teachings that condemn them. The problem arises when, firstly, They betray the communities they belong to. Instead of standing with other queer people who are fighting for acceptance, they work against them, reinforcing homophobic narratives to protect their own secrets. Secondly, when they uphold oppression while privately benefiting from the freedoms they deny others. Openly queer individuals must fight for their right to exist, while these hypocrites live their truth in secret and then turn around to punish those who do so openly. Finally, when they use religion as a tool of control rather than personal faith. Instead of questioning outdated doctrines, they weaponise them to maintain their power and influence.

Faith and identity do not have to be at odds. Many queer people find ways to reconcile their spirituality with their truth. But doing so requires honesty, not deception. The real moral failure is not in being gay, struggling with faith, or questioning religious doctrine—it is in preaching one thing while living another, in punishing others for sins you yourself commit, and in using religion as a shield for your own hypocrisy.

True morality is not about pretending to be virtuous—it is about having the courage to live authentically, even when it is difficult. Those who continue to live a lie while condemning others will eventually be exposed. And when they are, they will not be remembered for their faith, but for their betrayal.