His anonymity protected only by a surgical facemask – and fogged car windows on a frozen winter day – the young Afghan man was suddenly within arm’s reach of the gun-toting jihadists whose presence on the streets has trapped him behind closed doors for months.

It was the former bodyguard’s first extensive drive in Kabul since he went into hiding in August, after the Taliban toppled the American-backed government he used to serve.

Amid Kabul’s heavy traffic, clusters of bearded Taliban fighters wave the car through, unaware that its passenger is a wanted man.

Rows of white Taliban flags, and concrete blast walls newly painted with slogans that boast of the Islamist victory over the United States, signify at every turn control by the new regime.

They remind Mr. A – who asked that his name not be used, for his own security – why he remains in hiding, with no end in sight.

Friends in his former security services unit, which protected senior government officials, have been captured by the Taliban, he says, accused of being members of the rival Islamic State, and executed.

“It is very difficult. Every few minutes we think about what is going on, about what our future will be,” says Mr. A. “If I don’t leave Afghanistan, I am sure my final destination is death. They will kill me.”

Culture of hiding

Mr. A is just one among legions of Afghans who have been forced by the lightning Taliban victory into an underground existence.

Overnight in August, anyone connected to the former government – or who engaged in civil society by advocating for women’s rights, rule of law, or even girls' education – became a de facto enemy of the state and a target of the Taliban hunt for what it called “infidels.”

The former bodyguard, a rights activist, and a former reporter for Zan (or “Women’s”) TV, told the Monitor in Kabul about their experience coping with and surviving Afghanistan’s new culture of hiding.

It’s a culture in which people are living their entire personal and social lives in a state of sheltered anonymity, protecting not only their physical selves, but their deeply held beliefs and the people they once were.

In granular detail, they spoke about their upturned lives, and how the fear, uncertainty, and crushed dreams – all ballooning into their mental space, while they pursue ways to start new lives elsewhere – have been magnified by feeling trapped.

Often, they say, they don’t know what they are waiting for, or even how long they can sustain their seclusion.

The fact that Mr. A’s unit alone numbered 2,000 – with only the “top people” finding a way out during the chaotic American airlift last August, he says – and the variety of potential Taliban targets across Afghan society, indicates that tens of thousands of Afghans may now be in hiding, if not more.

Distrust of Taliban

The Taliban declared a general amnesty in August, but that vow appears to be respected more in the breach, amid reports of frequent killings and disappearances. According to Reuters, the U.N. Mission in Afghanistan is reporting that since Aug. 15, scores of former Afghan government officials, security force members, and people who worked with the international military contingent have been killed by the Taliban and their allies, despite the amnesty. "Human rights defenders and media workers continue to come under attack, intimidation, harassment, arbitrary arrest, ill treatment, and killings," Reuters quoted the U.N. report as saying.

“Those of us who are hiding can’t trust the promises of the Taliban,” says Mr. A.

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

Taliban fighters warm themselves by a fire, as they check vehicles and passengers at a security checkpoint on the road to Logar province, at the southern gate of Kabul, Afghanistan, Jan. 17, 2022.

One result is that Mr. A agreed to be interviewed only in the relative obscurity of a constantly moving car. Three of Kabul’s districts were off limits, due to a higher chance of his being recognized by the Taliban there.

Any visit by a foreigner – to look through his apartment’s one-way mirrored-glass windows onto the scene that fills Mr. A’s field of vision every day – could have jeopardized his family’s safety.

He laughs when asked how he whiles away the time. He sleeps all day, worries all night, plays games and cards, and says he can’t “mentally refresh,” despite television and internet.

Risky as the drive was through Kabul, he relished the change to his monotonous routine. A recent failed bid by a friend to apply for a passport for him – with the Taliban official insisting, “bring this person to us,” and keeping his original documents – made escape abroad even less likely.

“There is nothing making me happy,” says Mr. A, who then jokes: “I believe one day you will not recognize me, because I will be a silly boy, just sitting under a tree, laughing.”

A past life of purpose

Also grappling with the consequences of her previous life is Ms. Z, a recent college graduate who actively worked on issues of gender-based violence, youth empowerment, and peacemaking in a society riven by 40 years of war.

She has a new, ideologically neutral job, and tries not to change her wardrobe too much from what she wore before – despite new Taliban rules that demand conservative dress.

Ms. Z only leaves her home to work; her “hiding” has taken a different form, she says, to mask once “dreaming of having a good life.”

“I am completely hiding my past,” says Ms. Z, who spoke by phone to avoid visiting a foreigner in public. She has deleted her social media accounts, as well as online references to her previous activism.

“Most of these things are very strictly against the views of these [Taliban] people,” says Ms. Z. But she no longer raises her voice against the injustices she sees every day – a fact that causes deep frustration.

Recently, for example, she was accosted by a Taliban fighter at a checkpoint, who said her clothes meant she was “not allowed” to sit in the front seat of the van, where she had positioned herself to enjoy the falling snow on the way home from work.

“That night, I didn’t sleep, because this is a very crazy thing. I can’t describe, I can’t express how I was feeling that night … humiliated,” she says.

“If I were alone, I would have done many things, because I have studied and want to work in my society. But now, it’s not only me,” says Ms. Z, who gave up a chance to leave Afghanistan, so she could stay with her family.

“It’s very disappointing to want something, and to be able to do something, and physically and mentally have the education, but still you won’t be able to do [it], because a few people resist that,” she says. “That’s very painful. And those things are your life’s values.”

Scott Peterson/Getty Images/The Christian Science Monitor

Afghans bike past the wall of the Afghanistan Foreign Ministry, freshly painted with a Taliban declaration, in Kabul, Jan. 15, 2022. According to Reuters, a United Nations report says that in Afghanistan, "Human rights defenders and media workers continue to come under attack, intimidation, harassment, [and] arbitrary arrest."

Of Ms. Z’s friendship group of 13, only two young women remain in the country.

“Afghanistan is set back 20 years,” she says. “People who studied … most of them are out of the country. If they are not, still they are hiding.”

Applying for a passport

Among them is Ms. A, a former reporter for Zan TV in Kabul, who – before the Taliban’s return to power – produced hard-hitting news reports about Afghan government corruption.

“My mental health is getting worse and worse,” says Ms. A. “The first month after the Taliban arrived, every day I cried.” Dreams of getting a master’s degree are gone, along with other ambitions for the future – unless she can leave.

Her fears are enhanced because several women’s rights activists have disappeared. She blocks unknown callers immediately, aware from her investigative reporting training that phones can be hacked and traced.

“Now our bodies are alive, but mentally we are dying,” says Ms. A, who spoke by phone to avoid raising Taliban suspicions.

She has been out of the house just once since the Taliban takeover, she says, to apply for a passport two months ago. She had to borrow a long dress from neighbors for the journey – none of her own clothes are Taliban-suitable.

But she was shocked by the guards, who she says cursed as they threw her documents onto the rain-soaked ground.

“The Taliban were very bad people; they beat women and called them all infidels,” recalls Ms. A, of the passport office. “They said, ‘We should beat you. We should shoot you,’” for wanting to leave Afghanistan.

“It was very difficult for me, because I am a journalist and do not stand for that,” says Ms. A. “But I did not say anything.”

She tried to apply for scholarships in Uzbekistan, and Germany, but both required a passport number. The 140-member group of female journalists on WhatsApp “are just like me; we are getting bored, we are getting depressed,” says Ms. A. The five colleagues she knows best in the group “never go out.”

Meanwhile, she shares her house with six other family members, and is “always in my room.”

“If the situation continues even one or two more years, there will be no more youth in Afghanistan,” says Ms. A, whose patience may run out before then. When winter eases, she expects to travel illegally to Iran, without a passport.

Even the end of fighting in Afghanistan, she says, has not curtailed the desire to flee the Taliban: “People are now afraid of their ideas, not war.”

Tanks on the move somewhere in Europe. Headlines blare about “High-stakes talks!” between Moscow and Washington. Allies confer on the sidelines. A smaller country waits, stuck uneasily between big powers, as clocks tick and tension builds.

That’s the Ukraine situation today, as Russia amasses military force on its borders and threatens invasion. But blink, and it could be 1968, with Warsaw Pact armies preparing to roll into Czechoslovakia. Blink again, and it’s 1961 amid the Berlin crisis, as the Soviets try to muscle Western troops out of the divided German city.

In many ways Ukraine is a Cold War crisis that’s erupted in a post-Cold War world. It’s a reminder that the hard realities of geopolitical competition didn’t end with the fall of the Berlin Wall – and that patient containment pressure across a variety of fronts has served the West well in the past.

But Ukraine isn’t only a Cold War-style problem. Conflict areas have evolved over a half-century, moving into the realms of cyber- and disinformation war. Possible U.S. responses have evolved as well in a more interconnected world economy, to include blocking Moscow from financial transaction systems and cutting off its supply of crucial high-tech parts.

The developing conflict between Russia and the West “definitely won’t look like the Cold War,” says Hal Brands, the Henry Kissinger distinguished professor of global affairs at the Johns Hopkins University School of Advanced International Studies.

“But the basic challenge will be quite similar ... containing the malign influence of an authoritarian over many theaters over many years,” says Dr. Brands.

New age of great-power competition

It is “undeniable” that the United States is now involved in another era of great-power competition, says Dr. Brands, author of the recently published book “The Twilight Struggle: What the Cold War Teaches Us About Great-Power Rivalry Today.”

During the Cold War era, U.S. and allied officials struggled with a dangerous opponent for decades in an ambiguous space between peace and war, according to Dr. Brands. In the end, they triumphed.

The U.S. needs to approach its renewed confrontation with Russia in the same way.

“We are really going to have to think about this as a long-term problem,” says Dr. Brands.

Bill Auth/AP/File

Some of an estimated 7,000 marchers, most of Ukrainian descent, gather near the Soviet Embassy on Sept. 16, 1984, in Washington to protest what they called Moscow’s “cultural genocide” and ongoing attempts to “Russify” Ukraine.

So far, the Biden administration has handled the Ukraine crisis relatively well, he adds, by not giving a lot of ground, offering off-ramps for de-escalation, and advertising what penalties Russia might suffer if it undertakes military action.

The problem is that, unlike during the Cold War, the U.S. now faces conflict with two great powers: Russia and China. Washington would prefer to focus on dealing with the latter, instead of handling a Russian-induced crisis. 

That makes sense in that only Beijing has the comprehensive strength to change the rules of the international system, says Dr. Brands. Russian power is narrower and military-based.

“I’m not worried about Putin creating a Russo-centric world 20 years from now,” he says. “I do worry about them being a persistent source of instability.”

A messy end to empire

On one level the current Ukraine situation is perhaps the revival of unfinished business from the Cold War’s messy end.

As the Soviet Union careened toward breakup in the fall of 1991, final leader Mikhail Gorbachev worked hard to keep USSR republics together in some sort of political and economic union. Ukraine was the wild card in this effort, according to declassified U.S. documents posted by the nonprofit National Security Archive at George Washington University. 

Both Mr. Gorbachev and Russian President Boris Yeltsin felt that Ukraine had to stay in the new union for it to be successful, wrote national security adviser Brent Scowcroft in a memo for President George H.W. Bush. 

“It is a huge economy tightly integrated with Russia, and an abrupt separation would be disastrous,” wrote Mr. Scowcroft.

However, events had moved too far, too fast, to avoid that eventuality. Ukraine held a referendum on independence on Dec. 1, 1991, that passed overwhelmingly. At the end of that month the Soviet Union officially dissolved.  

For Europe the upshot was a new territorial settlement.

A key part of this new settlement was that all the countries on the Continent had the right to choose their own economic and security arrangements. There would be no more European spheres of influence – a development that didn’t sit well with Russia. 

For years Moscow was too weak to do anything about it. It watched helplessly as Eastern European nations that used to be part of its orbit – Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic – joined NATO. In 2008 NATO promised that Ukraine could eventually join too, though the alliance was careful to not lay out a hard timeline. 

But in military terms Moscow is weak no longer. Vladimir Putin in his time in power has – among other things – poured money into modernizing Russian forces, providing new weapons and better-trained troops. In 2014, Russia invaded and successfully annexed Crimea, the peninsula that dangles off Ukraine into the Black Sea, and fomented revolts in several eastern Ukraine regions. 

Now Mr. Putin has encircled Ukraine with enough troops to threaten invasion along either a northern, eastern, or southern route, writes Seth Jones, director of the International Security Program at the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), in an analysis of possible Russian actions. 

Ukrainian Defense Ministry Press Service/AP

A U.S. instructor trains Ukrainian soldiers in the use of M141 Bunker Defeat Munition (SMAW-D) missiles at the Yavoriv military training ground, close to Lviv in western Ukraine, Jan. 30, 2022.

In military terms, the Russians are positioned to either seize Ukraine’s eastern slice of separatist territory, cut off a slice of land in the south to link Russian territory to Crimea, or even take the country in total and install their own government, according to the CSIS analysis.

In geopolitical terms, a Russian invasion risks establishing a new Iron Curtain through and around Europe, according to Mr. Jones. It’s about rolling back the clock – even if Moscow is just using its military to threaten.

“In essence, this conflict is about whether 30 years after the demise of the Soviet Union, its former ethnic republics can live as independent, sovereign states or if they still must acknowledge Moscow as their de facto sovereign,” Mr. Jones writes.

Where Cold War framing falls short

On another level, there may be ways in which it is simplistic or misleading to frame the Ukraine troubles as Cold War redux.

Russia’s aggression contains elements that are as modern as the latest smartphones, for one thing. Any military move against Ukraine is sure to be preceded with cyberattacks and disinformation spread on social media, a sort of hybrid war in which Moscow is well practiced. 

U.S. and NATO responses likewise may include actions that would have been impossible, or incomprehensible, in past decades. Kicking Russian banks off the global electronic payment messaging system known as Swift could effectively cut the country’s economy off from much of the global financial system. Depriving Russia of access to U.S.-designed or -produced electronic components such as semiconductors might jam a stick in its high-tech manufacturing.

And draping the situation in a Cold War mantle could make it harder to understand Ukraine as an individual country and the nature of the conflict.

“Then you look at Ukraine as an oblast rather than a state with its own interests,” says Terrell Starr, a nonresident senior fellow at the Atlantic Council and host of the “Black Diplomats” podcast, which focuses on Eastern Europe.

Ukrainians are not passive participants in a game between great powers but people who have become increasingly afraid of Russia as it tries to reexert its regional power. The reason they wanted to join NATO in the first place was their fear of Moscow’s influence, Mr. Starr says.

Many Ukrainians have a darker view of their nation’s experience as a Soviet republic than do Russians. They remember the engineered famine of the Stalin years, when forced collectivization of agriculture devastated harvests and starvation killed upward of 3.9 million people – 13% of Ukraine’s population. And they remember well the Soviet repression of their national identity and the devastating release of radiation at the Soviet-run Chernobyl nuclear plant.

The reason Mr. Putin wants Ukraine back under his control is to re-create the “settler-colonial” model of the Soviet Union, says Mr. Starr, in which Moscow took colonies along its periphery, then settled them with émigrés from the country’s heartland to seed the area with a pro-Russian elite.

“It’s to Putin’s advantage to frame this as a Cold War issue, because he never felt like the Soviet Union should have ended anyway,” says Mr. Starr.

Christa Case Bryant/The Christian Science Monitor

Sameer Chaudhry of New York, who opposes proof-of-vaccination requirements, attends the Defeat the Mandates rally on the National Mall in Washington Jan. 23. He says his sign was inspired by George Orwell's classic book "1984," in which people are punished for "thought crimes."

Nestled along a corridor bustling with streetcars and restaurants 10 blocks from the U.S. Capitol, neighborhood eatery Fare Well was until recently best known for its vegan comfort food. Tired of sprouts? Try their buffalo wings, or award-winning cupcakes. 

But on Jan. 23, the restaurant became yet another battleground in the nation’s vaccine mandate wars. Owner Doron Petersan says a dozen-plus people showed up to protest their proof-of-vaccination requirement, calling the staff “Nazis” and “dictators.” She had instituted the policy in September, four months before Washington’s citywide mandate took effect, out of concern for the well-being of her employees – one of whom recently lost a parent to COVID-19. 

Just across the street – but a world apart – The Big Board, a burger joint, does not ask customers to show vaccine cards at the door but simply welcomes them in. The restaurant has been repeatedly warned, has been fined $2,000, and had its liquor license suspended last week for violating the city’s new vaccine requirement. Initially at least, its stance wasn’t bad for business. On a recent Friday night, the restaurant was packed, with some patrons saying they came out just to show solidarity. But by Tuesday, the city had ordered the restaurant to shut down until further notice.

Washington is one of 10 metro areas – along with New York, San Francisco, New Orleans, Los Angeles, Seattle-Bellevue-Redmond, Chicago, Philadelphia, Boston, and Minneapolis-St. Paul – that now require proof of vaccination for certain indoor public spaces. That has elicited cheers from their mainly liberal residents, who see vaccination as a civic duty to protect the broader community and help bring an end to the pandemic. Critics, on the other hand, see such requirements as onerous and an unjustified exercise of government control. 

On Jan. 23, thousands of protesters – some of whom traveled across the country – rallied on the National Mall against federal, local, and employer vaccine mandates. The rally featured a controversial list of speakers including Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and Dr. Robert Malone, who critics say are spreading misinformation about COVID-19 and vaccines.

One factor fueling the division is a lack of clarity around what the policies are actually meant to achieve. When New York City introduced its mandate in August, vaccines were widely believed to be the best tool in preventing the spread of COVID-19. But with a wave of breakthrough cases linked to the omicron variant, and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) now saying vaccinated individuals can transmit the virus, that’s left citizens and restaurateurs debating the merits and demerits of the requirements. Frustrated and exhausted by the extended disruption to “normal” life, proponents and opponents often blame the other for prolonging pandemic suffering. And when it comes to requirements that leave people literally in or out, it can be particularly hard to find common ground.

Impact on businesses, minorities 

Washington’s requirement is being phased in, with proof of partial vaccination required by Jan. 15 and full vaccination a month later. Those with religious and medical exemptions can show a negative test instead. 

“We all have a responsibility to keep our community safe,” said Mayor Muriel Bowser. “And it is true that we’re asking our businesses to do more, but we also think that this is a benefit to their business.”

Rory Richardson, assistant general manager at Pinstripes, an Italian bistro and bowling alley in the Georgetown neighborhood, says the requirement hasn’t been as hard to implement as he’d anticipated. Initially he or another manager stood at the front to check vaccine cards, but soon the hosts were able to take over the task. 

He’s less sure about the impact on business. While January and February are often a little slow, Mr. Richardson says, it’s seemed slower than usual – though much of that may be because of the recent surge in cases. Still, they had to cancel contracts with a company that brought 100 tour groups through last spring, due to unvaccinated students in the coming groups. 

Christa Case Bryant/The Christian Science Monitor

Caple Green, owner of Eclectic Cafe in Washington, D.C., has been trying to encourage his customers to get vaccinated by sharing information from public health officials like Dr. Anthony Fauci. The "Proud Black Vax Small Business" sign was given to him by a group trying to boost vaccination rates among the city's Black population.

Caple Green, owner of Eclectic Cafe in northeast D.C., also says business is down a bit. “It could be the vaccine, but it could be the climate,” he says, noting that it’s the coldest January he can remember since he moved here from Jamaica.  

On his storefront, Mr. Green has displayed a “Proud Black Vax Small Business” sign. It’s part of a broader effort to shift opinion among Washington’s 46% Black population; among Black residents under age 40, vaccination rates trail those of their white counterparts by double digits. 

At the Jan. 23 rally, a local white protester who works with public employees expressed concern that D.C.’s mandate is discriminatory because it will disproportionately impact Black residents.

Mr. Green says he doesn’t see it that way. 

“The citizens are resistant,” he says, as MSNBC plays in the background. “The city is doing their best.”

Outside, a woman waiting for a bus says that she was initially hesitant about the COVID-19 vaccines, because she worried they were developed too fast. 

“But I had to think real hard about my job,” she adds, explaining that she works in a school system and is not quite at retirement age. Now she’s waiting on her booster. Having just lost a brother to COVID-19, she has little sympathy for people who are shut out of restaurants. “If they don’t want to get vaccinated, they can eat at home,” she said, declining to give her name before boarding the bus.  

What’s best for business?

In nearby Virginia and Maryland, residents are watching D.C.’s implementation closely. Montgomery County, Maryland, where 95% of residents are at least partially vaccinated, is considering implementing a similar mandate but faced significant opposition from members of the business and Hispanic communities at a recent hearing.

Across the river in Arlington, Virginia, Lisa DiConsiglio wishes her community would implement a similar mandate – but it can’t do so without the state government’s permission. And newly elected GOP Gov. Glenn Youngkin campaigned against vaccine mandates. 

While opponents say the decision should be left up to individual businesses, Ms. DiConsiglio says that places an undue burden on the business. 

As founding board member and manager at Westover Farmers Market in Arlington, she says it wasn’t too hard to enforce the governor’s mask mandate, despite pushback from a minority of customers. But it got much harder when the governor lifted the mandate and the farmers market opted to continue it. “Although as a private enterprise we were fully in our right to require masks, I had no backup for enforcement,” she says.

Mary Josephine Generoso, a lifelong New Yorker who runs two cafes with her husband, says she complied with all regulations, including masks, social distancing, and temperature checks. But when the city implemented its vaccine mandate last summer, it was a step too far. She put up a sign that said, “We do not discriminate against ANY customer based on sex, gender, race, creed, age, vaccinated or unvaccinated.” While she worried it might hurt their business, she says there’s actually been an outpouring of support, from customers scrawling supportive notes on napkins to postcards and even donations from all over the country. 

There have been a handful of outbursts, she says, including from a longtime customer whose son is an EMT. “She said, ‘I love your place, but I can’t come now because you’re not keeping people safe,” recounts Ms. Generoso, who chose not to get vaccinated because she believes she has immunity after getting COVID-19 early on.

Gripping hand warmers as she walked back to her car after attending the Jan. 23 Defeat the Mandates rally in Washington, she compares the current acceptance of vaccine mandates to the adoption of the Patriot Act after 9/11. At that time, she believed it was necessary to give the government expanded powers and sacrifice some civil liberties in order to keep the nation safe. Now she sees that as a mistake, just like the mandates. 

Debate over the goals of mandates

One of the mandates’ implied rationales – stopping transmission in the community – has been complicated as new variants emerge.

A CDC online summary about the omicron variant says vaccines are expected to protect against severe illness, hospitalizations, and death, but breakthrough cases are likely among the vaccinated and vaccination does not stop transmission. “CDC expects that anyone with Omicron infection can spread the virus to others, even if they are vaccinated or don’t have symptoms,” it says. It adds that vaccines provide the best public health tool for protecting people against COVID-19, and recommends vaccinated people age 12 and older get a booster.

“I don’t know why you’d continue to hold up this ‘vaccinated vs. unvaccinated’ when we know that both can get [COVID-19] – and spread it as well,” says Angela, a federal employee attending the Jan. 23 rally who did not want to give her last name while the vaccine mandate for federal employees was still pending. And if vaccination is mainly about preventing hospitalization, then she feels that should be an individual choice, not the government’s. 

Ms. DiConsiglio of Westover Farmers Market says she and her husband, who are both fully vaccinated and boosted, tested positive in December after he had to visit a busy urgent care center where many people were unmasked. It wasn’t too bad; she learned to crochet.

Yet, knowing everyone has been vaccinated in a given venue “makes me feel safer,” says Ms. DiConsiglio.

Sameer Chaudhry of New York, another Jan. 23 rally participant, says he understands that those who support vaccine mandates are “doing what they think is right for themselves and their families.” 

“But I hope they come to see that the truth is somewhere in the middle – and be willing to look at data that contradicts what they think they know,” he says. He adds that he’s trying to do that, too. “We’re in this together.”

This story was updated at 8:20 p.m. on Tuesday, Feb. 1, 2022, to reflect the District of Columbia’s decision to order The Big Board to close until further notice. 

Mahesh Kumar A./AP

A woman looks at a statue of Mother Mary for sale at a stall during an annual feast at the Shrine of Our Lady of Health in Hyderabad, India, on Sept. 8, 2021. Just over 2% of India’s population is Christian.

Somu Avaradhi has led mass at a local prayer house in India’s southern state of Karnataka every weekend for the past several years. But one Sunday last October, as he parked his car in front of the small building, the pastor noticed something was off. A group of unfamiliar, agitated men had gathered outside. From within the building, he could hear others singing Hindu prayers and chanting “Jai Shri Ram” – a phrase that literally translates to “Victory to Lord Ram,” but has increasingly become a dog whistle for attacks against India’s religious minorities. 

As soon as he crossed the threshold, a mob of Hindu fundamentalists attacked Mr. Avaradhi with verbal abuse and allegations that he had forced people to convert to Christianity. He and some church members tried retreating to a police station, but a crowd waited there as well. A man whom Mr. Avaradhi denies knowing had filed an official complaint against the pastor for luring him to convert. Mr. Avaradhi was sent to the hospital for injuries sustained in the protest, and arrested soon after.

Similar stories have played out across India, where documented attacks against Christians jumped 81% from 2020 to 2021. Mobs have vandalized churches, attacked missionary schools, disrupted prayer meets, and assaulted pastors and practicing Christians, accusing them of forced conversions. Survivors and activists say authorities have failed to investigate these incidents, often filing charges against the victims themselves, turning a blind eye to the violence. 

“We step outside our homes with a lot of fear now. What wrong have we done to deserve this? We just pray, and people come of their own will. We aren’t forcing anyone,” says Mr. Avaradhi. “So why is the government not allowing this?”

Religious tolerance has long been a contentious issue in Hindu-majority India. Christians constitute just over 2% of India’s 1.4 billion population – a demographic that has not significantly changed over the decades – and Muslims make up roughly 15%. The violence against these minorities has increased as politicians from the ruling Hindu-nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) have pushed controversial anti-conversion laws. 

Altogether, these developments are raising alarm among experts, who say Hindutva – a political ideology that sees non-Hindu religions as a threat to Indian culture and identity – betrays the promise of a secular democracy made by India’s founders. 

“Hindu nationalism is relying on force, government force or state force, and simultaneous vigilante action to generate fear,” says Ashutosh Varshney, professor of international studies and social sciences at Brown University. “If it fully succeeds, it would reduce India’s [religious] minorities to second-class citizens.”

Rajesh Kumar Singh/AP

Christians attend a Good Friday service at St. Joseph's Cathedral in Prayagraj, India, on April 2, 2021.

A violent year

Last year saw 505 documented cases of attacks against Christians and their places of worship, according to the United Christian Forum. They describe these acts as “well-orchestrated and pre-planned” with the aim to “divide the country on the basis of religion.”

The persecution of Christians isn’t new, says A.C. Michael, national coordinator of the United Christian Forum, but it is becoming more political. 

Since 2017, six BJP-ruled states have passed or updated anti-conversion laws – sometimes known as freedom of religion acts – that prohibit religious conversion by force or deception. Nine Indian states have such laws today, with the oldest dating back to 1967. Mr. Michael says that no Christian has ever been convicted of forced conversion. 

“Those making these laws are failing to take into consideration … why people convert in the first place,” says Narender Kumar, chairperson of the Centre for Political Studies at Delhi’s Jawaharlal Nehru University. “There would probably be no need for such laws if they did.”

Surveys show Indian Christians disproportionately hail from lower castes, especially the Dalits, who were formerly known as “untouchables” under the traditional Hindu caste system and continue to face discrimination today. 

Critics say these laws are vague, ripe for abuse, and go against the Indian Constitution, which guarantees the right to profess, practice, and propagate one’s religion. A number of legal pleas challenging the laws’ constitutional validity remain pending in India’s courts. 

Hindutva rallying point

Although lacking evidence, anti-conversion rhetoric remains a powerful motivator for Hindutva groups. 

“For every action there is reaction. That is the case now,” says T.A.P. Shenoy, a leader with the Hindu right-wing organization Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP), whose members have carried out several attacks in Karnataka, including against Mr. Avaradhi. The pastor spent 10 days in prison before being released on bail.

“What about Christian atrocities on us? Conversion, cunning attempts to convert, prayers in houses,” says Mr. Shenoy. “That is the action. For that we have to react. People are reacting. VHP has no control in that.”

Similarly, in the central state of Chhattisgarh, several rallies in 2021 attended by the BJP and opposition leaders focused on the issue of forced religious conversions and promoted violence against Muslims and Christians. One speaker at a rally in Chhattisgarh’s capital instructed the audience to “stop them, warn them, and if it doesn’t work, shoot them.” 

“It’s not an attack, it’s reacting to an act,” repeats Amit Sahu, state president of the BJP youth wing in Chhattisgarh, in reference to rising attacks against Christians in the state. He claims that targeted conversions of Adivasis, or tribal communities, by Christians threaten Indian society, culture, and religion.

“We are creating awareness among our people,” he says. “For the protection of religion even our gods had picked up weapons. We will do everything to protect our religion.”

Finding community

Even when they are not being accused of forced conversions, members of religious minorities face serious consequences for openly practicing their faith.

In one Chhattisgarh village, a large group assaulted several fellow villagers for refusing to renounce their Christian faith. The families were threatened, locked out of their homes, and pressured to leave the village. They have since been living with well-wishers next to the police station, waiting for officers and village council to act on their complaint. 

“I accepted Christianity of my own will. It is not wrong to do so,” says one of the assaulted villagers, ​​Ramchandran, who asked to be identified only by his first name in order to protect his identity. Although daunted by the possibility of having to rebuild his life somewhere new, Ramchandran says the attack did not shake his faith. 

“I resolved that even if I die, I’ll stand for Christianity,” he says.

Akhilesh Edgar, coordinator of the Chhattisgarh Citizens Joint Action Committee, says instances of social boycotts – the act of ignoring a group or individual and refusing to include them in typical social or economic activities – have worsened in the last few years. In many villages, Christians and other non-Hindus were barred from collecting water from community wells, denied government food rations, and ostracized from the community. The police and local administrations often did not take adequate action against perpetrators, Mr. Edgar says.

“The only kind of relief we can get is from the courts. Sometimes even for small cases we have to go to the high courts but it takes time; it takes money,” he adds.

In the meantime, advocates find hope in those who embrace India’s religious pluralism. 

“There are a number of Hindu religious leaders and civil society advocates from the majority community who are taking initiatives to bring people together and trying to speak up against the hatred agenda,” says Mr. Michael. “That is why we are able to survive this.” 

Moving forward, he says it’s crucial to elect leaders who won’t exploit religious differences for political ends. “Mindsets have to be changed,” he says. 

AP

Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer announces his retirement at the White House Jan. 27 as President Joe Biden looks on.

American democracy has enjoyed long periods of lawmakers in Washington being bound by a shared norm: Each party understood that tactics it used while in the majority would be used by the other when power changed hands. Recent decades of rising polarization, however, have eroded that stabilizing restraint and, along with it, much civic regard for minority interests. A continuous cycle of escalation, Brookings Institution scholar Benjamin Wittes told a federal panel last year, has given each party “a significant incentive to violate the current norms when it has the chance.”

Could the coming Senate consideration of a Supreme Court nominee to replace retiring Justice Stephen Breyer alter this slide – or perhaps rekindle some political warmth on Capitol Hill?

Given recent precedents of unrestrained battles in filling a vacancy on the court, that idea may seem far-fetched. Lawmakers, and special interest groups behind them, are squaring off as President Joe Biden searches for a candidate to nominate in coming weeks.

The Senate’s voting trend in past confirmations has shown a steady decline in cross-party support for nominees. In 1994 Justice Breyer received 87 votes in a 100-seat Senate. The last justice to join the court, Amy Coney Barrett, was confirmed in 2020 without a single Democratic vote. That difference reflects how politicized Supreme Court confirmations have become.

Yet conditions favor a thaw. The last three openings represented opportunities to shift the ideological balance of the court. Not this time. Justice Breyer has reliably sided with the liberal bloc, and his replacement likely will too. Democrats control the White House as well as the Senate Judiciary Committee. Other factors may help restore civility as well. Mr. Biden chaired that committee for eight years. He has deep ties with many senators and respect for the institution’s gentler deliberative norms.

Perhaps most importantly, many Americans are tired of scorched-earth politics. A report by the organization Public Agenda found last fall that 8 in 10 Americans thought partisan hostility was a “serious problem.” At the same time, roughly 75% of those surveyed agreed that different political viewpoints should be accommodated and that they could learn by talking with people with whom they disagreed.

That desire for civility and listening can be a powerful influence on political behavior. As Justice Breyer noted in a conversation at the Edward M. Kennedy Institute for the U.S. Senate in 2020, senators at a confirmation hearing “by and large will ask the questions that they think their constituents want asked.”

To a large extent, the deepening hostility in Supreme Court confirmations reflects lasting grievances that both parties harbor over what they see as personal attacks against nominees from across the aisle. Breaking that cycle requires small gestures and sustained effort.

Mr. Biden has promised to nominate a Black woman. In a “Face the Nation” interview, Lindsey Graham, the Republican senator from South Carolina who chaired three contentious confirmations during the Trump administration, called one potential Biden nominee from his state “one of the most decent people I’ve ever met.” His comment surely reflects his own political considerations. It would be politically risky for him to oppose a widely admired jurist with strong support among his own constituents. But it is worth not dismissing what he said.

That kind of acknowledgment across the aisle is rare in Washington these days – and a kernel of hope that political patterns, however entrenched and embittered, can be reset.