Author: Abu Umair

Projection and Power: The Psychology of US Empire

When Sigmund Freud reportedly described America as “a gigantic mistake,” he was not analyzing politics or foreign policies. He was responding to a culture that appeared to him unusually optimistic, pragmatic, self-confident, and resistant to acknowledging tragedy, aggression, and the unconscious conflicts that shape human life. Freud had built his theory on the premise that human beings are not governed primarily by reason or goodness, but by unconscious conflict like aggression, repression, and ambivalence.

What unsettled him was not democracy or the political setup but denial.

Freud’s central claim in Civilization and Its Discontents was simple and devastating: civilization rests on the repression of aggression. Human beings harbor destructive impulses toward domination, rivalry, and control, and societies survive only by containing them. But repression, which remains unattained, has consequences. What cannot be acknowledged internally returns externally.

When a nation constructs its identity around freedom, moral righteousness, and exceptional virtue, it creates a powerful collective superego, an internal voice that insists: we are the defenders of liberty. This superego does not tolerate doubt easily. It cannot easily admit self-interest or aggression without destabilizing the narrative of innocence.

And so aggression must be projected. Projection, in psychoanalytic terms, occurs when a subject disowns an impulse and attributes it to another. The hostility one cannot bear in oneself becomes the threat one sees in others.

In geopolitics, projection looks like this:

“We do not dominate; we stabilize.”

“We do not invade; we liberate.”

“We do not seek control; we ensure security.”

The language shifts, but the structure remains.

Consider the historical record. In 1953, the CIA helped orchestrate the overthrow of Iran’s Prime Minister after oil nationalization threatened Western energy interests. The intervention was framed as a defense against communism. In 1973, U.S. involvement preceded the Chilean coup that installed Pinochet. In 2003, Iraq was invaded under the assertion of weapons of mass destruction; these claims were later discredited. Afghanistan endured two decades of occupation. Sanctions regimes targeting Iran and Venezuela are described as moral pressure while contributing to civilian economic collapse.

These are not random errors. They reflect a recurring dynamic: strategic and economic objectives pursued under moral justification. Freud would not have reduced this to greed alone. He would have asked: What unconscious anxiety sustains this pattern? A nation founded on the myth of limitless freedom must constantly defend that myth. Freedom becomes not only a principle but an identity. To question it is to threaten the self.

This produces what Freud called narcissism; not vanity, but overinvestment in self-image. The United States, through decades of global dominance — military, financial, institutional — developed a self-concept of indispensability. Dollar hegemony, NATO alliances, control over global financial institutions, and unmatched military reach reinforce this identity.

But narcissism is fragile.

The stronger the self-image, the more intolerable the contradiction becomes. When alternative powers rise, when oil markets fluctuate, when regional actors assert autonomy, anxiety intensifies. That anxiety can manifest as preemptive force.

Donald Trump did not create this structure; he stripped it of subtlety. His withdrawal from the Iran nuclear deal, aggressive sanction regimes, and rhetorical normalization of unilateral action were not deviations from history. They were accelerations. He gave voice to impulses that had long operated beneath diplomatic language. In psychoanalytic terms, Trump functioned as the id unleashed within a structure that had long maintained a moral superego. He spoke about the aggression openly. The system allowed it because the system had always contained it.

But projection does not eliminate aggression. It externalizes it. And when aggression is consistently externalized, instability spreads. Oil politics reveal the intersection of economics and unconscious fear. Energy control is not merely material; it symbolizes sovereignty. To lose leverage over energy markets is to lose dominance. And dominance, once normalized, becomes inseparable from security.

Freud also wrote of the death drive, which is a human tendency toward repetition, destruction, and compulsion beyond rational self-interest. Civilizations, like individuals, can become trapped in repetitive cycles of domination even when those cycles produce long-term instability. War begets insecurity. Insecurity justifies further militarization. Militarization breeds resentment. Resentment feeds conflict.

The cycle continues.

This analysis does not absolve other regimes of repression or violence. Authoritarianism exists across regions. Nuclear ambitions are real concerns. But psychoanalysis insists on symmetry: the aggression one condemns externally must be recognized internally.

Moral language does not neutralize power. It sanctifies it.

The anger many feel toward American interventionism is not mere ideology. It is a response to perceived hypocrisy and the gap between professed universal values and selective application. One nation’s weapons are deterrence; another’s are an existential threat. One nation’s sanctions are justice; another’s are coercion.

Projection allows this contradiction to persist without the collapse of self-image.

Freud warned that civilization demands self-restraint. Aggression cannot be eliminated, but it can be acknowledged and contained. When a nation denies its aggressive impulses while institutionalizing them globally, containment fails. The world we inhabit now is marked by proxy wars, sanction regimes, energy crises, and ecological collapse reflect not only geopolitical strategy but psychological structure.

No state is purely villain or hero. But disproportionate power demands disproportionate introspection. The greater the dominance, the greater the ethical burden. If freedom becomes untethered from relational accountability, it transforms into the extraction of oil, labor, land, and atmosphere. The planet cannot survive unlimited expansion justified by moral exceptionalism.

Freud’s unease was not about democracy and the political system. It was about denial. A culture that refuses to confront its unconscious aggression risks enacting it repeatedly, each time in the name of virtue.

Anger at the empire is understandable. But the deeper task is recognition. Until power can admit its own shadow, it will continue to project it. And projection, left unchecked, always returns.

Epstein and the Moral Collapse of Masculinity: Shame without Measure

I was holding discomfort until I saw the photograph of Noam Chomsky with Jeffrey Epstein.

It was not shock alone that unsettled me, but a deeper disorientation. Chomsky, of all people. A thinker whose work trained generations to recognise how power manufactures consent, how violence is normalised through ideology, how systems protect themselves through moral fog. And yet here he was—proximate, present, untroubled enough to remain.

What followed was familiar. The defence arrived swiftly: he had been “ensnared,” he was naive.

Naive.

A word so often used to infantilise women, to discredit their perceptions, to explain why they failed to “know better.” Now, strikingly, it is repurposed to defend men whose lives were dedicated to refusing naivete. The claim felt less like an explanation than a manoeuvre.

The language of naivety does important work. Not because it convinces, but because it stabilises. If they were misled, then the world remains complex rather than cruel. If they were ensnared, then proximity to harm does not demand moral reckoning. If even the most critically trained minds can be duped, then perhaps none of us need to interrogate how violence embeds itself into ordinary social life.

Naivete, here, is not ignorance. It is a moral technology. It transforms implication into accident, intimacy into coincidence, and accountability into misfortune. It offers the public an exit.

But to dwell too long on naivete risks missing the deeper structure that the Epstein archive exposes. What we are confronting is not merely moral blindness, but a particular masculine relationship to shame.

Masculinity and the Regulation of Shame

Masculinity, in modern social life, operates less as identity and more as a system for regulating vulnerability. It teaches men not simply to avoid shame, but to experience it without proportion. Shame is rarely held, metabolised, or worked through. Instead, it appears at the extremes; either overwhelming the self entirely or vanishing altogether.

When shame saturates the self, it produces paralysis, self-contempt, and psychic collapse. When shame is evacuated, it produces something far more dangerous: entitlement without friction, power without inhibition, action without moral hesitation.

The Epstein files make visible a world in which shame does not disappear because harm is unknown, but because masculinity renders its acknowledgement intolerable. What cannot be borne is not wrongdoing alone, but vulnerability itself. To admit moral disturbance would require a collapse of the masculine self that power has been built to prevent.

This is why proximity matters more than knowledge. The question is not merely who knew what, but what could be tolerated. Masculinity structured around mastery cannot survive sustained proximity to its own violence. It must either deny, displace, or normalise it.

Shame without Measure

Across radically unequal social worlds, men appear to oscillate between two psychic poles. In conditions of precarity, shame becomes total; experienced as a daily erosion of selfhood, dignity, and moral worth. In conditions of power, shame evaporates and is replaced by exemption, insulation, and moral distance.

These poles are not opposites; they are structurally related responses to the same masculine demand: do not appear weak.

In precarious lives, shame crushes inward. In powerful lives, shame is routed outward or neutralised altogether. In both cases, it fails to do ethical work.

The Epstein network reveals the latter pole with horrifying clarity. Here, masculinity does not collapse under shame; it expands around it. Harm becomes ambient. Responsibility diffuses. Violence hides not in secrecy, but in normalcy.

This is why the revelations feel world-shattering for many. It is not only the acts themselves, but the realisation that cruelty can coexist so comfortably with intellect, culture, and refinement. The world that emerges is not monstrous, but chillingly ordinary.

Exposure without Reckoning

One of the most disturbing aspects of the Epstein revelations is not merely the scale of harm, but the absence of transformation in their aftermath. Exposure does not seem to produce moral rupture. It produces clarification, debate, repositioning, but rarely reckoning.

Masculinity, as a psychic structure, is remarkably adept at surviving exposure. Where shame is held, exposure can lead to accountability, repair, or even mourning. Where shame is refused, exposure becomes something to manage rather than absorb. It becomes an administrative problem, a reputational inconvenience, a legal or discursive challenge.

Masculinity can tolerate being seen, but not being shaken.

This helps explain how proximity to Epstein could be acknowledged without disintegration. The danger was never association itself, but the demand to feel what that association might mean. Masculinity organised around control survives by remaining intact.

Complexity as Defence

Public responses to Epstein’s world have followed a familiar rhythm: outrage, followed by fatigue; horror, followed by abstraction. The language of complexity returns quickly, insisting that matters are not so simple, that judgments must be cautious, that intentions remain unknowable. 

Complexity here does not deepen understanding; it stabilises discomfort. It allows spectators to remain observers rather than witnesses. To witness is to be altered by what one sees. To observe is merely to register.

The appeal to complexity thus functions as a collective defence. If the world is endlessly complex, then no moral position is fully available. If no position is available, then no responsibility need be assumed. Masculinity once again survives by refusing implication.

The public does not fail to recognise cruelty. What fails is our capacity to remain with it long enough for it to reorganise moral life.

Moral Collapse, Not Moral Failure

What the Epstein archive reveals is not a series of individual moral failures, but a systemic moral collapse. Masculinity organised around the refusal of vulnerability cannot regulate itself. When shame cannot be held, it does not disappear; it mutates. It becomes domination, denial, or destruction.

The repeated appeals to misunderstanding, entrapment, or naïveté are not neutral explanations. They are techniques of psychic survival within a masculine order unable to face its own reflection.

This collapse extends beyond perpetrators and accomplices. It corrodes the possibility of trust itself. When institutions, intellect, and intimacy coexist so easily with harm, faith in moral coherence erodes. The world no longer feels merely unjust; it feels unsafe to interpret.

After Epstein

The Epstein files leave us with an uncomfortable task. Not simply to condemn, but to interrogate the psychic arrangements that make such worlds possible and livable for those within them. If we accept naïveté too easily, we preserve our faith in complexity. But we lose the courage to name cruelty where it has already been normalised.

The problem is not shame itself. Shame, when held in measure, can be ethical. It signals limits, relationality, and care. The catastrophe emerges when shame loses proportion; when it annihilates some lives and absolves others.

Masculinity at its most dangerous is not cruel because it lacks intelligence or awareness. It is cruel because it refuses to be undone.

That refusal—quiet, organised, and enduring—is the moral collapse Epstein leaves behind.

Unseen, Unloved, Unhealed: What Hypermasculinity Conceals in India’s Homeless Men

Behind the Curtain: Policing, Authority, and the Erasure of Homeless Lives in Delhi

Every day on my way to work at a homeless recovery shelter in Delhi, I walk past the same stretch of road under the Kashmere Gate–Shahdara bridge. It’s a place of small routines: men huddled in circles playing cards, a few sharing jokes, others lying flat on worn blankets, faces turned away from the world. Some sit quietly, their expressions heavy — the kind of heavy that comes from carrying too much for too long.

By my count, there are 100–150 people who call this area home. But home here is temporary — not because they want to leave, but because they are never allowed to stay still for long.

The Everyday Eviction

In Delhi, I’ve seen this scene play out hundreds of times: a policeman shouts, people scatter. Those who hesitate or move too slowly feel the sting of a lathi. Sometimes this happens once a day. Sometimes two or three times. The people who live here know the drill. When they hear the order, they grab what they can and disappear into nearby lanes or underpasses.

Why? Because a VIP convoy is coming through — a Chief Minister, a Lieutenant Governor, some other dignitary. And just as shopkeepers sweep their floors before a customer arrives, the city “sweeps” its streets of visible poverty. Once the motorcade passes, the homeless return to their spots, as if nothing happened — until the next time.

One man showed me a scar along his arm from a beating. Another pulled up his shirt to reveal bruises on his ribs. Some spoke bitterly about this ritual. Others seemed resigned, telling me: “Yeh toh roz ka hai”— this is just daily life.

When the City Turns Its Back

When I’ve asked police about this, most have brushed me off. A few, more willing to engage, say it’s for “security. ” But if security was truly the concern, why aren’t all people along the route moved? Why only the homeless? That’s when the other explanation comes: “This population is more likely to commit crimes.” In other words — they are already seen as dangerous, untrustworthy, and undeserving of public space.

This is what Pierre Bourdieu would call symbolic violence — not just physical harm, but the repeated, unspoken message that your existence is a problem. And it’s a form of governance. Political scientist James C. Scott famously described how states “see” their populations in order to control them. Here, the reverse applies: to not see — to hide and erase — is also a form of control.

The Curtain Has Always Been There

During Donald Trump’s 2020 visit and again for the G-20 summit, Delhi made international news for covering informal settlements with green cloth so foreign dignitaries wouldn’t see them. Many saw itas an extraordinary act. But in truth, that curtain has always been there. Sometimes it’s literal — fabric stretched across a fence. Sometimes it’s concrete. Often, it’s the police themselves.

Erving Goffman, in his work on social performance, described the front stage — the curated image wepresent — and the backstage, where the less palatable truths live. In Delhi, the front stage is the clean road for the VIP. The backstage is hidden under bridges, behind markets, and inside shelters like mine.

One police officer, more candid than the rest, told me quietly: “They don’t want to see them. Looking at them reminds them of how bad things are, and how much work is left. So they would rather not look.

” That sentence has stayed with me. It’s not just about inconvenience. It’s about the psychological refusal to face inequality.

Erased from the Picture

The daily eviction of homeless people from public view is not simply about tidiness or order. It’s a form of politics of invisibility. It tells those with homes that the city is fine, that poverty is elsewhere— and it tells the poor that they are better unseen.

It’s also about shame — not the shame of the people living on the street, but the shame of a society that doesn’t want to acknowledge them. During these “clearing” moments, the city acts like a host embarrassed by an untidy room, frantically pushing everything into a closet before guests arrive. The difference is, here, the “clutter” is human lives.

Why This Matters

Homelessness in Delhi is not a fringe issue. It’s tied to internal migration, caste discrimination, precarious work, and the erosion of social safety nets. Hiding it doesn’t solve it. It just keeps it comfortably out of sight for those with the power to change it.

In the shelter where I work, I see every day how structural precarity shapes not only survival but also identity. Outside, I see how the same people are pushed, beaten, and made invisible in service of the city’s image. The curtain — whether made of cloth, concrete, or police presence — will remain until we confront the deeper truth: we can’t build a just city if its most vulnerable residents are only visible when no one important is looking

The Burden of Shame: How It Shapes Men’s Lives and Emotional Worlds

Introduction: The Invisible Weight of Shame

Shame is one of the most powerful yet least spoken-about emotions in men’s lives. Unlike guilt, which is tied to a specific action (“I did something bad”), shame is far more pervasive and internalized (“I am bad”). It is an identity wound that runs deep, shaping how men see themselves, how they relate to others, and how they navigate the world. Shame is not just an individual experience but a deeply relational and social one, reinforced by cultural expectations of masculinity.

For many men, shame becomes so intolerable that they develop compensatory strategies to escape it. These strategies often include aggression, hyper-independence, emotional withdrawal, or overcompensating displays of masculinity. The inability to express vulnerability turns into a survival mechanism, leading to emotional disconnection and isolation. To understand why shame holds such a powerful grip on men, it is necessary to examine how it is instilled in them from an early age through socialization.

Socialization: How Men Learn to Carry Shame

From childhood, boys are conditioned to associate their worth with performance, strength, and control. The message is clear: to be a “real man” means being emotionally stoic, self-sufficient, and dominant. Boys quickly learn that emotions such as sadness or fear are unacceptable, as they are often met with ridicule or admonition. A young boy who cries is frequently told to “man up” or “stop acting like a girl,” reinforcing the idea that emotional expression is a sign of weakness. In school and among peers, boys are placed in environments where social status is linked to success, dominance, and competence. Those who struggle academically, socially, or athletically often internalize a deep sense of inadequacy, which later manifests as shame.

Rigid gender roles further shape this emotional landscape. Men are expected to be protectors and providers, roles that leave little room for emotional struggles. When they fail to meet these expectations—whether through financial hardship, unemployment, or relationship difficulties—the resulting shame can be overwhelming. Sexual performance is another area where masculinity is tightly bound to self-worth, leading men to feel deep shame if they experience struggles with intimacy or confidence. These lessons form the foundation of male identity, creating an emotional world where shame is ever-present but vulnerability remains a forbidden language.

Shame and the Fear of Vulnerability

Vulnerability is often perceived as a direct threat to masculinity. To express emotional struggles, failures, or fears is to admit weakness—something that contradicts the rigid ideals of traditional masculinity. This creates a paradox: the more shame men feel, the more they avoid vulnerability, yet avoiding vulnerability only deepens the shame. Without safe spaces to express emotions such as fear, sadness, or self-doubt, these feelings often get redirected into other behaviors. Shame frequently manifests as anger and aggression, as externalizing emotions can feel safer than acknowledging internal pain. When men feel small, weak, or powerless, aggression can become a way to reassert control and dominance.

For some, emotional detachment becomes a primary defense mechanism, leading to numbness and avoidance of deep relationships. Others channel their feelings into workaholism and perfectionism, attempting to compensate for a deep-seated sense of inadequacy through constant achievement. In other cases, shame drives men toward substance use and risk-taking behaviors as a means of escape. These coping mechanisms, while temporarily effective, ultimately reinforce isolation and emotional suppression, preventing men from addressing the underlying shame that drives their actions.

The Shame of Unmet Expectations: When Men “Fail” at Their Roles

Society places an enormous burden on men to be providers and protectors. When they are unable to fulfill these roles, they often experience profound shame. Men who struggle financially, lose their jobs, or fail to provide for their families often feel a deep sense of inadequacy, even when external circumstances are beyond their control. Fathers who perceive themselves as falling short of societal or personal expectations may withdraw emotionally, believing that their failures make them unworthy of connection. Similarly, men who struggle with romantic relationships or sexual confidence often internalize shame, feeling as though their worth as men is diminished.

Poverty, Vulnerability, and the Exaggeration of Shame

Economic hardship amplifies shame in profound ways. Poverty is not just about financial lack; it is a social condition that strips individuals of dignity, autonomy, and a sense of worth. For men, poverty is often intertwined with masculine identity, creating additional layers of emotional distress. Financial instability undermines the traditional masculine ideal of being in control, leading to feelings of powerlessness and failure. In an attempt to counteract the shame of poverty, some men resort to hyper-masculine behaviors, including aggression, criminal activity, or risk-taking, as a means to reassert their sense of masculinity.

The social stigma surrounding poverty reinforces cycles of isolation. Men who struggle financially often withdraw from relationships and social support due to the shame of not being able to “provide.” This withdrawal leads to further emotional and psychological distress, reinforcing feelings of depression and hopelessness. Shame not only keeps men trapped in emotional distress but also perpetuates systemic inequality, making it harder for them to seek help or break free from damaging social expectations.

Breaking the Cycle: Moving Toward Emotional Liberation

Healing from shame requires challenging the cultural narratives that men have internalized. This is not solely an individual process but a relational one—men need spaces where they can be vulnerable without fear of judgment or emasculation. Developing emotional literacy, where men learn to name and express emotions beyond anger, is a crucial step toward healing. Finding safe relationships with friends, partners, or therapists who allow for vulnerability without reinforcing shame is equally important.

Redefining masculinity to embrace a more flexible and human-centered identity can help dismantle the rigid expectations that keep men trapped in cycles of shame. Community support is also essential—men need more spaces where they can openly discuss their struggles without fear of rejection or humiliation. By fostering environments that prioritize emotional well-being over rigid gender norms, men can begin to break free from the shame that has shaped their lives for too long.

Conclusion: From Shame to Connection

Shame is not an emotion that men can simply suppress or “power through.” It is a relational wound that requires relational healing. When men are taught that vulnerability is weakness, they are denied the very thing that could set them free. Redefining masculinity in a way that allows for full emotional expression is crucial to fostering healthier, more connected lives. True strength lies not in emotional suppression but in the courage to connect, to be seen, and to embrace one’s full emotional range. Only then can men begin to unburden themselves from the shame that has weighed them down for far too long.

The Supreme Court’s ‘Parasites’ Remark for Homeless Is an Injustice Beyond Measure

A Statement That Shames the Nation

In a recent hearing regarding night shelters, the Supreme Court of India made a statement that has left many shocked and outraged. The court, while discussing the government’s responsibility toward the homeless, remarked that providing them with freebies turns them into ‘parasites.’ This statement, brutal and dehumanizing, reflects an insensitivity that is intolerable in a country where millions struggle daily to survive.

The idea that free food and night shelters make the homeless dependent is not just misguided but deeply detached from reality. The Supreme Court, the very institution meant to uphold justice and protect the vulnerable, has instead chosen to shame them. The remark raises serious concerns about how the judiciary perceives economically marginalized populations and whether it truly understands the depth of their struggles.

The Harsh Reality of Homeless Shelters: Alienation and Mental Health Struggles

Having worked in a homeless shelter, I can attest that the experience is shattering. The people living there are not ‘parasites’; they are victims of a system that has failed them at every turn. There exists a deep alienation within these shelters—a sense of being abandoned by society, of being reduced to mere numbers rather than human beings with dignity and aspirations.

The psychological toll of homelessness is immense. Many individuals suffer from severe depression, anxiety, and trauma due to years of neglect and hardship. A life of uncertainty, hunger, and rejection from mainstream society often leads to deteriorating mental health. Rather than acknowledging this reality, the Supreme Court’s statement further stigmatizes an already vulnerable population, reinforcing the idea that they are undeserving of compassion or support.

Many individuals I met were desperate to earn money, not because they were unwilling to work, but because work was scarce and exploitative. Some were even willing to sell their kidneys just to get by. Others took on any labor work they could find, despite being paid minimal wages. The Supreme Court’s claim that freebies prevent these individuals from working ignores this harsh reality. It paints them as lazy and unmotivated when, in truth, they are among the hardest-working people in our society, struggling to survive under unimaginable conditions.

A Flawed Understanding of Poverty

The Supreme Court’s statement echoes a common belief among many privileged individuals—that giving money or food to the poor makes them dependent. I have heard countless laypeople say, “Don’t give them money; they will just spend it on alcohol.” Now, the highest court in the country is making a similar argument, only magnified in its cruelty by referring to these people as ‘parasites.’

This flawed perspective fails to recognize that the homeless are not in their situation by choice. They are victims of systemic inequalities, economic downturns, and policy failures. Instead of questioning why people need these ‘freebies’ in the first place, the court has chosen to degrade them, shifting the blame onto the poor rather than addressing the structural issues that perpetuate homelessness.

Selective Outrage: Why Are Industrialists Not Called ‘Parasites’?

While the Supreme Court condemns the homeless for relying on minimal government assistance, it remains silent when it comes to wealthy industrialists and capitalists who have exploited public resources and evaded accountability. Industrialists are granted debt waivers worth thousands of crores. Business tycoons flee the country after taking massive loans from Indian banks, and yet, no one dares to call them ‘parasites.’ Instead, they are celebrated as entrepreneurs, even as they drain national resources and leave taxpayers to bear the burden of their unpaid debts.

Government policies often favor the wealthy, offering tax cuts, land grants, and financial incentives under the guise of ‘economic growth.’ These same industrialists lobby for policies that suppress workers’ rights, keeping wages low while accumulating enormous wealth. Meanwhile, the homeless—who receive nothing more than the bare minimum for survival—are vilified for supposedly draining national resources.

But when a destitute person eats low-quality food at a night shelter—food that no one would consume willingly—they are suddenly labeled a parasite? This hypocrisy is disgraceful.

The Absurdity of the ‘Mainstreaming’ Argument

The Supreme Court’s argument that homeless individuals should be brought into the mainstream of society is, on the surface, correct. But what is the proposed road map for achieving this? Is the court suggesting that taking away free food will miraculously integrate them into the workforce? If so, this is not just naïve but deeply irresponsible.

These individuals already work—most of them as daily wage laborers, earning meager amounts that barely sustain them. Some days they find work; other days they don’t. Many send whatever little they earn to their families. The court suggests that the government should focus on giving them jobs, but is this a joke? The government has failed to provide employment even to educated university graduates. How, then, can we expect it to suddenly provide stable jobs to the homeless?

Ignoring the Systemic Causes of Homelessness

No government, regardless of its political affiliation, truly cares about the homeless. They exist in the blind spots of society, ignored until election time when politicians suddenly remember them as potential voters. Instead of addressing the root causes of homelessness—lack of affordable housing, inadequate wages, and insufficient social security—governments offer temporary relief in the form of night shelters and food programs. And even these minimal services are now being condemned as ‘freebies.’

It is not the homeless who are parasites; it is the system that has parasitically fed on their labor while offering nothing in return. The real question should not be whether these individuals deserve free food but why they need it in the first place.

What Can the Supreme Court Do?

Rather than shaming the homeless, the Supreme Court should use its power to force the government to take real action.

• Can the court demand an increase in funding for organizations that provide shelter and rehabilitation?
• Can it push for stronger labor protections to ensure fair wages for daily workers?
• Can it call for an investigation into why government schemes meant for the poor are often riddled with corruption and inefficiency?
• Can it demand that tax benefits and debt waivers for industrialists be scrutinized with the same intensity as welfare programs for the poor?

The judiciary has immense power to influence policy and hold the government accountable. But instead of advocating for real change, it has chosen to degrade the most vulnerable members of our society.

A Call for Dignity and Justice

The Supreme Court’s statement is not just an insult; it is a reflection of a broader societal indifference toward the poor. Homelessness is not a moral failing or a sign of laziness—it is a crisis born out of economic inequality and systemic neglect. Instead of shaming those who are already suffering, we must work toward restoring their dignity and providing them with real opportunities to rebuild their lives.

Justice is not just about punishing criminals; it is also about protecting the marginalized. If the Supreme Court cannot recognize this fundamental truth, then what hope do we have for a just and equitable society?

War, Power, and the Wounded Psyche: The Truth Behind Global Conflicts

When we look at wars and conflicts throughout history, they often seem like a material phenomenon—powerful nations and their leaders waging war to conquer lands, control natural resources, and establish economic supremacy. The long history of colonization, imperialism, and military invasions appears to be driven by greed, the hunger for money, land, and assets. However, to see war only as a battle for material gain is to tell only half the story. The truth is far deeper, rooted not just in politics and economics but in human psychology, particularly in the psyche of the leaders who drive these wars.

The Hidden Motivations of Conflict

While external factors such as resources, territory, and political ideologies provide the justification for war, they are often a facade that masks the true internal conflicts of leaders. Many wars have been fueled by an obsessive pursuit of honor, respect, and dignity—concepts that override everything else, even logic and morality. History has witnessed countless treacherous leaders who have inflicted devastation on the world not merely because of economic ambitions, but because of deeply rooted psychological wounds.

Treacherous leaders are not born; they are made. They are shaped in environments where love, emotional security, and a sense of self-worth are absent. In the absence of these fundamental emotional needs, such individuals develop a desperate need to compensate. They begin to seek validation in dominance, power, and control. This psychological void, what psychoanalysts often refer to as the ‘narcissistic wound,’ pushes them toward extreme actions—actions that rewrite history in blood and destruction.

From the conquest-driven madness of Alexander the Great and the imperial ambitions of Napoleon Bonaparte to the genocidal reigns of Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin, history is rife with leaders who compensated for their internal wounds through war and destruction. Each of these leaders justified their actions as being for the greater good, but their true motivations lay elsewhere.

More recent manifestations of such psychological compensation can be seen in figures like Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and former U.S. President Donald Trump. Their political decisions often go beyond strategic governance, driven by personal insecurities, wounded egos, and a deep need to assert dominance. Netanyahu’s relentless military aggression and Trump’s erratic foreign policies are not merely political maneuvers; they are extensions of their psychological need to compensate for personal inadequacies, using entire nations as tools for their own validation.

Obedience and the Machinery of War

The question then arises: If war is often driven by the wounded psyche of a few leaders, why do masses follow them? Why do soldiers obey orders to kill, destroy, and sacrifice their own humanity? The answer lies in obedience and the structure of military institutions. Psychological research, particularly Stanley Milgram’s famous experiments on obedience, has shown that humans are wired to follow authority figures, even when it goes against their moral compass. The hierarchy within military structures reinforces this obedience, ensuring that individuals become mere cogs in the machine of war.

But obedience is not the only factor. There are soldiers who genuinely find pleasure in killing, who channel their own psychological wounds into the act of war. War, for them, is not just duty—it is a form of personal compensation, a way to reclaim a sense of power they never had in their personal lives. Just as leaders seek validation through conquest, some soldiers seek it through bloodshed.

The Role of Historians: Changing the Narrative

When wars and conflicts are analyzed, history books often focus on tangible causes—resource control, strategic military advantages, or ideological differences. But by doing so, we are doing a great disservice to ourselves. The history of war needs to be rewritten with a psychological lens, one that turns inward and exposes the deeply personal motivations of those who wield power. Until we begin to recognize that war is not merely about land, oil, and political ideologies but about mental illness and psychological compensation, we will continue to be trapped in an endless cycle of destruction.

Understanding war through this perspective does not justify the actions of these leaders, but it does allow us to anticipate and counteract future conflicts. Perhaps the most dangerous thing about treacherous leaders is not their ambition, but their ability to articulate and justify their actions in a way that manipulates the masses. The most powerful leaders are not just warriors; they are skilled storytellers, capable of making destruction seem noble.

In the end, war is not just a failure of diplomacy or economics—it is a failure of human psychology. Until we address the wounded psyches that drive leaders to war, the world will continue to pay the price for their unhealed scars.

Kumbh Mela and the Militant of Science, Logic and Psychology: A Reflection on Belief and Rationality

The Kumbh Mela, one of the largest religious gatherings in the world, has once again drawn millions of devotees to Prayagraj. With its grandeur comes an influx of videos and clips showcasing the various babas and sadhus who have gathered to seek and share spiritual experiences. However, in the age of social media and an increasingly rationalistic worldview, these figures are facing an unprecedented wave of scrutiny and criticism.

People armed with science and logic are questioning the babas at Kumbh, dissecting their beliefs and practices through the lens of empirical reasoning. If a baba makes a statement that appears illogical or absurd by modern standards, they are quickly dismissed as frauds. Some have even gone so far as to diagnose them with mental health disorders, calling for their treatment rather than allowing them to continue their spiritual pursuits. Psychologists are eager to categorize them, diagnosing them with conditions ranging from schizophrenia to delusional disorder.

The irony here is stark. Those questioning the babas with relentless logic fail to recognize that religion and belief have always been rooted in something beyond reason. They operate in a domain where faith, cultural tradition, and collective experience hold more weight than scientific validation. If figures like Jesus Christ or Prophet Muhammad were to emerge in today’s world, their extraordinary experiences and claims might very well be dismissed as symptoms of psychosis. This highlights a fundamental issue: our inability to coexist with perspectives that do not conform to the rigid frameworks of science and logic.

The Nature of Belief and Cultural Identity

Belief, by its very definition, does not require empirical proof. It thrives on personal and collective experiences, stories passed down through generations, and the psychological need for meaning and purpose. The devotees who throng the Kumbh Mela are not necessarily looking for scientific explanations; they are seeking spiritual solace, a connection to something larger than themselves.

Consider the recent controversy surrounding the so-called “IITian Baba,” who claims to blend science with spirituality. Some critics were quick to mock his statements, while others were intrigued by his attempt to find a middle ground between the two worlds. Whether his claims hold any scientific validity is beside the point. What matters is the faith people place in him and the comfort they derive from his words. Belief systems are not meant to be universally rational; they serve emotional, cultural, and existential purposes.

The Limitations of Science and Logic

While science has undoubtedly transformed our world, it has its own limitations. The Enlightenment era, which sought to counter religious dogmas with logic and empirical evidence, succeeded in many areas but also failed in others. Modernity brought with it advancements in technology and medicine, yet it also contributed to alienation, environmental destruction, and ethical dilemmas that science alone cannot resolve.

Science has its share of shortcomings and unintended consequences. The industrial revolution, rooted in scientific advancement, led to environmental degradation. The pursuit of nuclear energy brought both progress and catastrophic destruction. The COVID-19 pandemic showcased how even the most advanced scientific frameworks could be riddled with uncertainty and evolving hypotheses.

On the other hand, religion and cultural practices offer a sense of community, moral compass, and emotional fulfillment that logic often struggles to provide. The need to eradicate all religious and cultural beliefs with science is a form of intellectual arrogance that disregards the complexity of human experience.

A More Nuanced Approach

Rather than ridiculing those who engage in religious and cultural practices, a more nuanced approach is required. Understanding that belief systems operate on different principles than science allows for mutual respect and coexistence. We must recognize that people derive meaning in diverse ways—some through empirical inquiry, others through spiritual experiences.

Instead of approaching religious practices with a debunking mindset, we should strive to understand their cultural significance. Why do millions gather at the Kumbh Mela? What psychological and emotional needs are being fulfilled? These questions open the door for dialogue rather than conflict.

Conclusion

The relentless pursuit of logic and science as the ultimate arbiters of truth can be as dogmatic as the religious beliefs it seeks to challenge. The Kumbh Mela is a testament to the enduring power of faith, culture, and collective human experience. Rather than dismissing it outright, we should seek to understand and appreciate the multifaceted nature of belief.

In a world where both science and religion have their respective strengths and limitations, wisdom lies in balance. It is neither scientific progress nor religious tradition alone that will guide us forward, but a synthesis of both—rooted in humility, curiosity, and mutual respect.

Living in Survival Mode: How Modern Age Reshapes Our Minds and Relationships?

In today’s fast-paced, hyper-competitive world, our bodies and minds are constantly subjected to the relentless demands of capitalism. The modern age forces our nervous system to navigate a world where rest is seen as laziness, productivity is the sole measure of worth, and scarcity is an ever-present reality. Under such pressures, our mental well-being is compromised, and our relationships suffer, leaving us feeling isolated and disconnected. From a relational and psychoanalytic perspective, it becomes clear that our psychological distress is deeply rooted in the societal structures that shape our daily existence.

The Modern Age Grip on Our Nervous System

Our nervous system, biologically wired for connection, safety, and homeostasis, is now entrapped in a perpetual state of survival. The demands of capitalism—deadlines, bills, unpaid labor, and the omnipresent hustle culture—push our bodies to their limits while constantly demanding more. This relentless pace forces individuals into hypervigilance, keeping their nervous system in a chronic state of fight-or-flight.

Consider how often you check your emails first thing in the morning, your heart racing with anticipation of missed deadlines. Or the way your stomach knots at the thought of an unexpected expense. These are not isolated experiences but rather symptoms of a system designed to keep you on edge, always preparing for the next challenge.

Recent comments from corporate leaders, such as L&T chairman advocating for a 90-hour workweek and Narayana Murthy suggesting a 70-hour workweek, reflect the deep-seated obsession with overwork. These statements reinforce the toxic cultural norm that equates long hours with dedication and success, despite the detrimental impact on mental and physical health. The capitalist framework infiltrates our psyche, shaping our internal narratives around self-worth and adequacy. The unconscious message embedded within these societal structures is clear: “You are only as good as your productivity.” As a result, individuals struggle with feelings of guilt and shame whenever they attempt to step back, rest, or prioritize their emotional needs.

The Impact on Relationships and the Self

In relational psychoanalysis, the therapeutic relationship itself is seen as a primary agent of healing. However, within a capitalist framework, relationships often become transactional rather than meaningful, driven by efficiency rather than genuine connection. When people are caught in the cycle of overwork and survival, the ability to engage in deep, emotionally nourishing relationships diminishes.

For example, a friend’s message asking to meet might feel like another task to squeeze into your packed schedule, rather than an opportunity for genuine connection. Conversations with loved ones may revolve around work stress, financial concerns, or future plans—leaving little space for emotional presence and authenticity.

Attachment theories suggest that our earliest relational experiences shape our sense of self and capacity for connection. Capitalism, by prioritizing individualism and competition, disrupts these attachment bonds and fosters a sense of isolation. In this way, our basic human need for connection and intimacy is deprioritized, leaving us in an emotional desert, longing for meaningful engagement but unable to access it due to exhaustion and stress.

The Illusion of Control and the Internalization of Capitalist Ideals

Capitalism thrives on the illusion of control. It convinces individuals that if they just work harder, plan better, or stay constantly “on,” they can achieve security and fulfillment. This belief aligns with psychoanalytic concepts of the superego—the internalized voice of societal expectations and pressures. The capitalist superego is unforgiving, pushing individuals toward unattainable ideals of success and productivity. It fosters an internal critic that constantly questions, “Am I doing enough?” leading to pervasive self-doubt and an ever-present sense of failure.

The internalization of these capitalist ideals creates a split within the self. One part strives for rest and connection, while the other feels guilty for not being productive enough. This internal conflict often manifests as anxiety, depression, and somatic symptoms such as chronic fatigue, headaches, and digestive issues.

Shame and the Need to Prove Worth

One of the most profound effects of capitalism on the psyche is the creation of shame—a deeply felt sense of not being enough. Psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott emphasized the importance of the “true self” and “false self.” Under capitalism, individuals often adopt a false self that aligns with societal expectations while suppressing their true desires, needs, and vulnerabilities. This results in a profound disconnection from the self and others, as individuals are forced to perform a role that keeps them alienated from their authentic selves.

Shame often arises when individuals cannot meet the unrealistic standards set by capitalism. They feel inadequate, not because they lack capability, but because the system is designed to foster feelings of insufficiency. This experience of shame becomes internalized, further entrenching the belief that self-worth is tied solely to output and external validation.

Breaking Free: Reclaiming Rest and Connection

Healing from the psychological impact of capitalism requires a conscious effort to reclaim rest, connection, and self-compassion. From a relational perspective, healing can occur through relationships that validate one’s intrinsic worth beyond productivity. Seeking therapy, engaging in meaningful conversations, and building communities that prioritize mutual support over competition can help individuals reframe their narratives around success and self-worth.

Consider setting boundaries with work, reclaiming time for activities that nourish your soul, and seeking relationships where you feel valued for who you are, not what you achieve.

Psychoanalytic therapy offers a space to explore and dismantle the unconscious internalization of capitalist values. Through this process, individuals can begin to recognize how societal pressures have shaped their self-perceptions and work toward reclaiming their autonomy and authenticity.

Moving Toward a Sustainable Future

As we navigate this modern world, it is crucial to challenge the pervasive belief that exhaustion is a prerequisite for success. We must advocate for systemic changes that prioritize human well-being over profit, recognizing that true mental health thrives in environments that honor rest, emotional expression, and relational depth.

By understanding the profound impact of capitalism on our nervous system through a relational and psychoanalytic lens, we can begin to foster healthier ways of living, working, and relating—ones that prioritize authenticity, connection, and true well-being.

The Socio-Psychogenesis of Suicide in Kota: A Psychologist’s Reflections

As a psychologist working in Kota, I am deeply immersed in the lives of students who come to this city, carrying the weight of countless expectations. These young individuals, often between the ages of 15 and 23, leave their families and familiar surroundings to prepare for some of India’s most competitive entrance exams, such as JEE and NEET. While some of their stories are inspiring, they are also profoundly tragic, as many buckle under immense pressure. The alarming rate of student suicides in Kota is a manifestation of a complex web of social, familial, systemic, and individual factors.

Sitting across from these students in counselling and therapy sessions, I often hear narratives tinged with anxiety, despair, and hopelessness. The emotional toll they endure is palpable, and while their pain is immediate, the causes of their struggles run deep into the structures of our education system, societal values, and familial expectations.

The Burden of Student Responsibility

It is easy for people to point fingers at students themselves, blaming their inability to cope or labelling them as too fragile to handle challenges. However, such simplifications only serve to absolve others of their responsibility. These adolescents, still developing emotionally and psychologically, are thrust into an unforgiving environment where their worth is measured solely by ranks and results.

In counselling sessions, I have often reflected on a fundamental issue: many students do not know why they are here. They come to Kota with dreams of clearing the JEE or NEET exams, not because they genuinely aspire to be engineers or doctors, but because societal and familial pressures have convinced them that these professions are the only path to a prosperous and meaningful life. But is this “knowing” genuine? True knowing involves an internal sense of purpose and clarity, not the blind acceptance of external expectations. Without this inner sense of direction, their journey becomes one of constant self-doubt and despair, compounding the pressures they already face.

As much as I try to help them reframe these thoughts, I cannot ignore the systemic and societal factors that reinforce these beliefs. It is not the students who fail but the environment around them that sets them up for such profound despair.

Families and the Unyielding Weight of Expectations

In many cases, parents and other family members play a critical role in shaping the pressures their children feel. Kota is not just a city for these families; it is a beacon of hope and aspiration. Parents often see the city as a means to secure their children’s futures, investing substantial financial resources to enroll them in renowned coaching institutes. This investment is not merely monetary but also emotional.

Many parents approach this journey with good intentions, wanting the best for their children. Yet, these intentions often morph into overwhelming expectations. In my conversations with students, I hear them speak about their parents’ sacrifices—selling land, taking loans, or foregoing personal comforts—all to fund their education in Kota. These sacrifices, while commendable, place an unbearable burden on the child to succeed.

Students often mention, “I feel like I am living my parents’ dream, not mine. If I fail, I will ruin their lives.” These words stayed with me, highlighting how the pressure to succeed is often about fulfilling familial aspirations rather than personal ambitions.

In many families, there is also an emotional disconnect. Parents, preoccupied with the financial and logistical demands of this journey, may not recognize the psychological struggles their children face. Mental health is still a taboo topic in many Indian households, and students are often discouraged from expressing vulnerability. When they do speak up, they may be met with dismissive comments like “Just focus on your studies” or “Everyone else is managing, why can’t you?”

Society’s Unyielding Standards

Beyond the family, societal expectations amplify the pressure students feel. In India, success is narrowly defined by a few prestigious professions, particularly in engineering and medicine. Society places an almost mythical value on securing admission to institutions like IITs and AIIMS, equating this achievement with intelligence, respectability, and upward mobility.

The societal obsession with these professions creates a culture of hyper-competitiveness, where students are judged not only by their results but also by their ability to surpass their peers. This relentless comparison erodes their self-esteem and fosters a toxic environment where failure is stigmatized.

In my work, I have seen how societal judgment seeps into the psyche of students. They fear not only their own disappointment but also the shame they believe their families will endure if they fail. Students said, “If I don’t get a good rank, my neighbours will say my parents wasted their money. I can’t let that happen.” This external judgment adds an unbearable layer of stress to an already overwhelming situation.

The Role of the Coaching Industry and Education System

The education system and coaching industry are central to the pressures students face. Kota’s reputation as a coaching hub is both its greatest strength and its greatest weakness. On one hand, the city offers unparalleled resources and expertise for competitive exam preparation. On the other hand, it fosters a culture that prioritizes results over well-being.

Coaching institutes operate like factories, churning out toppers to enhance their reputations. Students are subjected to gruelling schedules, often studying for 12–14 hours a day. The emphasis is solely on academic performance, with little attention paid to their mental or emotional health.

I have visited these institutes and spoken with faculty members, and while many express concern for their students, the structure of the system leaves little room for compassion. Mock tests, rankings, and cutthroat competition dominate the landscape, creating an environment where students feel like mere numbers.

The education system also bears responsibility. India’s focus on high-stakes exams creates an atmosphere of scarcity, where securing a limited number of seats in prestigious institutions becomes a do-or-die situation. This scarcity fuels the coaching industry’s growth while neglecting the broader question of how education should serve the holistic development of individuals.

The State’s Apathy

The role of the state in this crisis is both glaring and appalling. Despite the well-documented pressures faced by students in Kota, there is a severe lack of mental health infrastructure in the city. There are too few counselors and psychologists to address the needs of the tens of thousands of students who come here every year.

Moreover, the state’s failure to regulate coaching institutes allows these organizations to prioritize profits over student welfare. There is little accountability for how these institutes operate or the impact they have on students’ mental health.

Government initiatives to promote mental health awareness often remain superficial, failing to address the systemic issues that drive students to despair. As a psychologist, I often feel like I am working in isolation, trying to put out fires in an environment that constantly fans the flames.

A Culture of Silence

One of the most heartbreaking aspects of this crisis is the culture of silence surrounding it. Families, coaching institutes, and society at large often avoid addressing the issue of student suicides, treating them as isolated incidents rather than symptoms of a systemic problem.

When suicides do occur, the narrative often shifts to blame the individual student for their perceived weakness, ignoring the broader structures that contributed to their despair. This refusal to engage with the root causes perpetuates the cycle of pressure and tragedy.

Personal Reflections

As a psychologist, I carry the weight of these stories with me long after the counseling sessions end. I have seen students break down, sharing their fears and vulnerabilities in ways they cannot with their families or peers. Each story is a reminder of the immense challenges they face and the urgent need for systemic change.

There have been moments of hope, too—instances where a student begins to see their worth beyond academic results, or where a parent starts to understand the importance of emotional support. These moments keep me going, but they also highlight how much work remains to be done.

In Kota, the lives of students hang in a delicate balance between hope and despair. They come here with dreams, but too many leave as cautionary tales. This city, and the systems that support it, must reckon with the human cost of its success. Only then can we hope to create an environment where students can thrive not just academically but as whole, resilient individuals.

This issue is deeply personal to me, not only because of the work I do but because I see in these students a reflection of our collective values and priorities. Their struggles are a mirror to our society, urging us to confront uncomfortable truths and take responsibility for the environments we create. It is not just their dreams that are at stake but their lives—and that demands nothing less than our full attention and commitment.