Injustice is corrosive. It doesn’t just deny opportunity; it eats away at the very soul of a society. I learned this not from theory, but from bitter, repeated experiences.

Fresh out of my M.Tech, I walked into an interview room with four strangers on the panel. They asked for a lecture, fired a few questions, and ended with the customary, “We’ll let you know.” A month later, the results were out. My name wasn’t there. Disappointed but determined, I moved on—until, during my higher studies, I met some of the same panel members again. One of them, admitted the truth: the list had been finalised before interviews even began. Gifts—shawls, among other “tokens”—had secured seats for the chosen. Merit was never in the equation.
Years later, armed with higher qualifications, I applied for an assistant professor post at a reputed university. But the same script played out. The chairman—well-known for his religious devotion—selected candidates not on merit, but on piety. His close neighbour, with weaker credentials, was rewarded with the job.
This happened not once, not twice, but three times in my career. And the tragedy is this: we live in a society where religious symbols are worn proudly, verses are recited fluently, and rituals are observed meticulously—but justice, the very core of morality, is abandoned without hesitation.
I remember a devout friend who once approached a scholar for guidance. He asked if it would be permissible to work in a company’s accounts department where the figures were deliberately manipulated. The scholar replied, “It is better to avoid placing yourself in the path of wrongdoing. If you must work there, choose a department where your hands will remain clean, for even silent participation in injustice can weigh heavily on one’s conscience.”
Religion without justice is nothing but theatre. And a society built on such theatre is doomed to rot from within.
This reminds me of Leo Tolstoy’s words: “Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it.”
The quote reminds us that morality and truth are not determined by popular opinion or by the actions of a crowd. Even if many people participate in it or support something unethical, it remains wrong. It highlights the need for individual conscience and moral judgment, rather than blindly following the majority.
Yet, when we look around us, what do we see? The restaurant that serves stale food, the pharmacist who sells counterfeit medicines, the milkman who waters down the milk, and the transporter who charges commuters double the fare. Should we then conclude that we are a people without conscience, or is it something else?
When wrongdoing becomes common, two things happen:
1. Moral numbness sets in. People stop noticing the wrong because it has become a part of everyday life — normalized and accepted.
2. Collective convenience overrides conscience. Speaking out is uncomfortable, risky, and often inconvenient, so it becomes easier to go along with “how things work.”
We may still know these acts are wrong, but over time, repeated acceptance of small wrongs corrodes our moral courage. Conscience becomes quiet — not absent.
The bigger problem lies not only in individual morality, but in systems that fail to punish wrongdoing and reward honesty. In such an environment, those who uphold integrity feel alone and disadvantaged, while those who bend the rules seem to prosper.
In the offices, there’s a sacred ritual. You walk in, the official leans back with a warm smile and says, “ath thaw hez chai seth.” The file will enjoy a long holiday on my desk—unless, of course, it’s travelling with its dear friend, the valuable green paper. Only then does the magic happen, and bureaucratic glaciers start melting at lightning speed.
What life has taught me is that no wrong is ever committed by a single individual—it always takes the silent help, active support, or convenient blindness of many others. As the proverb goes " no one does the wrong alone, it is always a crowd behind the curtain".
A ruler may dream of ruling for eternity, but his reign will endure only if it rests on the foundation of justice. A just king will stand under the shade of God on the Day of Resurrection. History bears witness—take the example of the rulers of India, such as the Mughals, who held power for centuries. Yet, what brought their empire to an end was not the sword of an enemy, but the poison of injustice. Time has shown: those who seek to rule forever must first rule justly.
I remember one Sunday when I was alone at home. Someone outside shouted that if I had anything rotten—old newspapers, iron scraps, electric items—they’d take it and pay me as per rates. I obliged, and while I went up to the attic to fetch the stuff, they performed their own little magic trick—haath ki safai. By the time I came down, they had “cleaned” everything, including the taps in the courtyard and half the stuff from the ground floor.
When we talk about justice, it must apply equally to the poorest of the poor and the richest of the rich—from the scrap collector on the street to the ruler of the nation.
The irony is that we condemn others as sinners and manipulators, while absolving ourselves as saints.
As blunt as it may sound:
Wrong survives not merely because bad people commit it, but because good people learn to live with it.

Email:------------------------sajad_08phd12@nitsri.ac.in