Where Is My Conscience?

Sometimes I wonder whether history remembers only those who won, or whether it quietly remembers those who had the courage to stand when everyone else remained silent.

These past few days, one question has refused to leave my heart: Where are we? Not as Christians. Not as Jesuits. Not as members of one religion or another. But as human beings.

Everywhere I look, I see people carrying burdens. Some are grieving, some are hungry, some are anxious about their future, and some feel unheard. Whether they are Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian, Buddhist, or belong to no religion at all, their pain remains human before it becomes anything else. And I keep asking myself: What does my faith ask of me in moments like these?

Dr. B. R. Ambedkar reminded us that rights survive only when people have the courage to protect justice. He urged people to educate, agitate, and organize—not merely as slogans, but as responsibilities rooted in dignity and equality. Those words continue to challenge every generation.

Recently, I heard an activist make a remark that disturbed me deeply. The question was simple: "When difficult moments come, where are the Christians?" Whether one agrees with that statement or not, I could not ignore the discomfort it created within me. It forced me to examine my own conscience.

What does it really mean to follow Christ? Is it merely attending Mass, praying, or protecting institutions? Or is it something deeper?

When I read the Gospels, I do not meet a man who remained comfortable. I meet someone who walked toward suffering rather than away from it. Jesus consistently stood beside those who were excluded, forgotten, and wounded. His witness was never about preserving power; it was about remaining faithful to love.

What Ambedkar said. What the activist said. What are we doing as Jesuits or as Christians?

I would say that we have to take risks, sacrifice, Die for the cause. Give our lives for a future that will be better and start asking questions.

Why are we protecting institutions or our Church which is made of bricks? We are the Church. We are the people who make these institutions what they are. So why should we remain silent?

In the present situation, people from every community are standing together—Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, and many more. Yet there is one cry in my heart and everyone's heart: Where are the Christians in all this?

When the need is there, why should we remain behind? Is it just because those children who committed suicide were not your children? Or because those people who are on hunger strike are not your own?

Mark my words: soon the time may come when we will need others, and they may ask us, "Why should we stand for you?" Then we will blame humanity.

If Jesus were here today, I believe He would have been ready to die for people, because it is not about Christians or any one religion. It is about values. It is about a cause. It is not about politics; it is about witness.

I know I may be a student, but I am not afraid to challenge the Prime Minister or the education minister. Let whatever happens, happen. I know I have a Vocation to be faithful to, so why should I simply stay back, watch, and observe?

We do not have to be social workers to care about people. If we keep saying, "It is not our job," then one day we may realize, it's too late, that we should have acted when we had the opportunity.

To prevent catastrophe, we have to come together. We have time to organize youth activities and many other events. We speak about Magis. We speak about justice. We speak about Ambedkar's call to "Educate, Agitate, Organize." We speak about Christian values. Yet I keep asking myself: why are we silent?

I always remember that the Church remains a church because of its people, not merely because its buildings remain. What will we do with buildings if people are gone? Our ancestors struggled and died for great causes, including many Jesuits who dedicated their lives to serving others.

One thing that deeply moved me was seeing a grandmother from Sangli, Maharashtra travelled all the way to Jantar Mantar in Delhi. She stood there fearlessly and said, "I want accountability because my grandchildren are suffering." She said, "Mark my words. Let whatever happens, happen. Even if I do not get a place to sit, stand, or sleep, I will remain here until my grandchildren are given their rights, enough of patience I had"

I know that many people may not want to involve themselves in these matters. I also know that Christians themselves are often divided. But I keep asking: how long will we remain divided? Years have passed, and I am tired of seeing the same divisions continue. At some point, we must remember our common humanity.

As a student of philosophy, I often wonder what many of the philosophers we study would have thought if they witnessed the condition of our society today. Would they have remained silent? Or would they have continued asking uncomfortable questions?

In the end, I return to one conviction: let our values be seen through our actions and let our actions speak louder than our words.

Values are not proved by speeches. They are proved by the way we live. If our faith teaches love, then our love should become visible. If it teaches justice, then justice should become visible. If it teaches compassion, then compassion should become visible. Otherwise, our words remain louder than our witness.

I know we often say, "Someone should do something." But history has always changed because ordinary people first asked themselves a different question: "What is my responsibility?" That question continues to echo within me. Maybe that is where every meaningful journey begins—not with certainty, not with ideology, but with conscience.

This article is not written out of anger toward any individual or any community. It is written out of concern for the values that make us human.

Perhaps we all need to pause and ask ourselves: Are we becoming spectators when life asks us to become neighbours? Are we protecting our comfort more carefully than our compassion? Have we become so divided by identities that we forget the person standing in front of us?

If Christ walked among us today, whom would He stand beside?

And perhaps the most uncomfortable question of all: When history remembers this generation, will it remember that we merely spoke about our values—or that we lived them?

Student of Philosophy - Rohan Brahmane SJ