Devarshi wrote on Anshu’s post that the shakhas teach you how to side with the oppressor. I disagree. That gives them far too much credit. They don’t teach ideology. They don’t teach policy. And they most certainly don’t teach resistance. What they teach, across every uniformed morning parade and shouted slogan, is obedience. What they teach is the choreography of submission.
You see, for all their macho “martial” training and high-sounding notions of “cultural nationalism” and sacrifice, the shakhas don’t teach courage. They teach theatre. Generations of men trained to march in step, salute a portrait, obey without question, and mistake their cowardice for discipline. The RSS has never been about fighting for justice. It has always been about sniffing the wind and falling at the feet of whoever smells most powerful.
This is why they could once worship Hitler and Mussolini, two men they didn’t understand but desperately wanted to become, and now pant after Israel, not for its ideals, but for its brutality. They don’t care who wields the whip, as long as they can kneel near it and call themselves loyal. That they idolise both the Holocaust and its modern echo tells you everything. There is no contradiction in their minds, because there is no ideology. Only arousal.
And this isn’t just Hindutva. This is the right wing everywhere. Muslim, white Christian, Zionist, Buddhist. The same psychology. The same trembling core. Scratch the surface and you’ll find the same frightened child performing masculinity in borrowed armour. The same submissive energy: deferential to the strong, bloodthirsty toward the weak. Watch how quickly they bare their teeth when outnumbering the helpless, and how just as quickly they drop their gaze and lower their pants the moment real power enters the room.
They call it nationalism. It’s a daddy kink.
Because here’s the thing. Most of these men are stuck in unresolved Oedipal fantasies. Their entire worldview orbits around a mythical ‘strict father’, a figure to obey, to please, to never question. Their politics is just displaced longing. Their rage is a toddler’s tantrum, dressed up in epaulettes. They are sexually frustrated, emotionally infantile, and spiritually hollow.
That’s why they rail so violently against what they call ‘deviance.’ Queerness, feminism, liberalism, anything that threatens their brittle sense of order becomes an existential threat. But look closer. Their rants are confessions. Their disgust is desire. These are men whose inner lives are so knotted with unprocessed shame that the only way they can survive it is to scream it into the bodies of others.
They are not protecting society from perversion. They are projecting their own. Their entire performance is one long attempt to hide from themselves. And when the dom finally enters, calm, silent, undeniable, they do not resist. They do not argue. They simply obey. They are happy to, in fact. They drop their pants and underwear (if they are wearing any), go down to their knees, turn around, push their tongues out, smile broadly, and arch their backs on command, exposing their genitals and other orifices invitingly. They know the word. The dom does not need to raise a hand. He simply says, “Present.” And they do. Instantly. Obediently. Desperately. And rather proudly.
They are lapdogs. Not revolutionaries. Just subs, waiting for their next dom to enter the room and unzip his fly.
Because beneath the chants and the chest-thumping, that is all they ever wanted. To be told what to do. And to be seen doing it.
P.S.: Before my communist friends smile at the analogy, let me tell you that you aren’t any different. You just have a different daddy. All extremists are the same. Everywhere.
