Rajagopal P.V. at the International Civil Society Week (ICSW2025) in Bangkok. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

By Zofeen Ebrahim
BANGKOK, Nov 4 2025 (IPS)

“If nations can have defense ministries, why not peace ministries?” asks Rajagopal PV, the soft-spoken yet formidable founder of Ekta Parishad. “We are told to see issues through a gender lens—why not a peace lens? Why can’t we imagine a business model rooted in non-violence or an education system that teaches peace?”

Founded in 1989, Ekta Parishad—literally Forum for Unity—is a vast people’s movement of more than 250,000 landless poor, now recognized as one of India’s largest and most disciplined grassroots forces for justice.

To Rajagopal, these aren’t utopian dreams—they’re blueprints for a possible world.

Over the decades, Ekta Parishad has secured land rights for nearly half a million families, trained over 10,000 grassroots leaders, protected forests and water bodies, and helped shape key land reform laws and policies in India.

All this has been achieved not through anger, but through disciplined, nonviolent marches that stretch across hundreds of kilometers. Along the way, many leaders have walked beside him—among them, the current Prime Minister of Armenia.

In an age marked by deep disorder—where wealth concentrates in few hands, poverty spreads, and the planet itself trembles under human greed—the 77-year-old Gandhian remains unshaken in his belief that peace alone can redeem humanity.

“We must rescue peace from the clutches of poverty and all its evils,” he told IPS on the sidelines of the International Civil Society Week, standing on the football ground of Bangkok’s Thammasat University.

“And it can be done,” he insists—and his life is proof. In 1969, the centenary year of Mahatma Gandhi’s birth, the Government of India launched a unique exhibition on wheels, a ten-coach train carrying Gandhi’s life and message across the nation. Rajagopal was part of the team that curated and travelled with it.

“For an entire year, we journeyed from state to state. Thousands of schoolchildren would gather at railway platforms, their faces lit with curiosity, waiting to meet Gandhi through our displays,” he recalls.

Yet somewhere along those long railway tracks, Rajagopal began to feel that displaying Gandhi’s ideals wasn’t enough. “The exhibition was beautiful,” he says, “but what was the use of preaching non-violence if we couldn’t live it, breathe it, and bring it to life?”

That realization led him to one of the most daring experiments in peacebuilding India had ever seen—negotiating with the feared bandits of the Chambal valley. “It was 1970,” he recalls. “We moved cautiously, first meeting villagers on the periphery to build trust. Once we had their confidence, we sent word to the dacoits: we wanted to talk. With the government’s consent, we ventured into what we called a ‘peace zone’—often by night, walking for hours through deep ravines—to meet men the world only knew as outlaws.”

The dialogues continued for four years. Eventually, as many as 570 bandits laid down their arms before a photograph of Mahatma Gandhi—a sight India had never seen before. The government, in turn, promised they would not face the death penalty and would receive land and livestock to rebuild their lives. Rehabilitation took another four painstaking years, but it was a victory of conscience over fear.

“They didn’t just surrender their weapons—they surrendered their anger,” Rajagopal says quietly. “There was real repentance, and that takes time—but it lasts.” His commitment came at a cost. At his ashram—a spiritual retreat he had founded—he was threatened, beaten, and ordered to abandon his peace efforts. He talked them through to accepting his presence.

“Today that same region is heaven,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling with memory. “Fifty years ago, people trembled at sunset—terrified of the bandits. Today, you can travel at 2:00 pm in the night, where fear ruled once.”

The mass surrender may have looked like a triumph for the state, but Rajagopal urges people to look deeper. “It’s the invisible violence—poverty, injustice, and oppression—that breeds the visible one: dacoities, kidnappings, and killings,” he explains.

Though Rajagopal and his companions had ended one form of violence, the deeper, quieter kind—born of poverty and neglect—still festered. Until that was confronted, he knew, peace would remain incomplete.

Years of working alongside the poor had taught him one truth: non-violence needs structure. If India’s Indigenous and landless communities were to be heard, they had to be organized.

“We began training young people from dozens of villages,” he says. “They went door to door, teaching others not only about their rights—especially the right to land—but also how to claim them peacefully.”

With that foundation, a five-year plan took shape. Each village home chose one member to take part. Every day, the family set aside one rupee and a fistful of rice—a humble but powerful act of commitment.

They even created a “playbook” of possible scenarios—how to stay calm under provocation, how to respond to setbacks, and how to practice non-violence in thought and action. “In one of our marches, a truck ran over three of our people, killing them,” he recalls softly. “There was grief, but no retaliation. Instead, they sat in silence and meditated. That was our true test.”

In 2006, 500 marchers walked 350 kilometers from Gwalior to Delhi, demanding land rights. Nothing changed. But they didn’t stop.

A year later, in 2007, 25,000 people—many barefoot—set out again on the national highway. “Imagine that sight,” Rajagopal says, eyes gleaming. “Twenty-five thousand people walking for a month, powered only by hope.”

The march displayed not just India’s poverty but also its power—the quiet power of the poor united. It was among the most disciplined mobilizations the country had ever seen. “There was one leader for every hundred people,” Rajagopal explains. “We walked by day and slept on the highway by night. Those in charge of cooking went ahead each morning so that by sundown, a single meal was ready for all.”

In a later march, Rajagopal recalls, the government sent a large police force. “I was worried,” he admits. “I called the authorities to tell them this was a non-violent protest—we didn’t need protection. The officer replied, ‘They’re not there for you; they’re here to learn how disciplined movements should be.’”

Along the route, villages greeted them like family—offering bags of rice, water, and prayers. “There was never a shortage of food,” Rajagopal smiles. “When your cause is just, the world feeds you.”

By the time the march reached Delhi, the government announced a new land reform policy and housing rights and agreed to enact the Forest Rights Act.

The government dispersed the marchers with hollow promises and the reforms never happened.

So Ekta Parishad planned an even larger march—a Jan Satyagraha of 100,000 people in 2012.

“Halfway through, the government came running.”

Rajagopal’s face lights up as he recalls the event. “They agreed to our ten-point agenda and signed it in front of the people. That moment was historic—governments almost never do that; the Indian government certainly never does it!”

The agreement included land and housing rights, a national task force on land reform, the prime minister’s oversight of policy implementation, and fast-track courts to resolve land disputes.

Today, because of these long, barefoot marches, more than three million Indigenous people in India now have legal rights to land and housing. The struggle also gave birth to India’s Land Acquisition, Rehabilitation, and Resettlement Act—a landmark in people’s movements.

“The Act also safeguards fertile land,” Rajagopal explains. “Before the government can acquire any area, a social impact study must be done. And if farmland is taken, the owners receive four times its value in compensation.”

“The purpose of our marches,” Rajagopal says, “is not to fight the government, but to win it over. The government is not the enemy; injustice is. We must stand on the same side of the problem.”

For Rajagopal, peace is not a sentiment but a system—something that must be built, brick by brick, through dialogue and respect. “Non-violence,” he says, “isn’t passive. It’s active patience—listening, accepting differences, never policing thought.” The same principle, he believes, can heal families, neighborhoods, nations—and the world itself.

His next mission is to create a Youth Peace Force, ready to enter conflict zones and resolve disputes through dialogue. He has also launched the Peace Builders Forum, or Peace7, uniting seven countries—South Africa, Japan, Costa Rica, Switzerland, Canada, India, and Armenia. His dream is to expand it to Peace20, where, as he smiles, “wealth will never be a criterion for membership.”

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“Never was there a greater need than now for all the religions to combine, to pull their wisdom and to give the benefit of that combined, huge repository of wisdom to international law and to the world.”

The words are those of Christopher Weeramantry, former judge at the International Court of Justice (ICJ) and its vice-president from 1997 to 2000, who was addressing a session on faiths united against nuclear weapons at the civil society forum organised by the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN) on Dec. 6 and 7 in the Austrian capital.

Former ICJ judge Christopher Weeramantry. Credit: Henning Blatt, Wikimedia

Weeramantry strongly criticised the argument of those who claim that nuclear weapons have saved the world from another world war in the last 50 years.

He pointed to the ever-present danger represented by these weapons and said that on many occasions it had been luck that had prevented catastrophic nuclear accidents or the breaking out of a devastating nuclear war.

Noting that nuclear weapons “offend every single principle of religion,” Weeramantry was joined on the panel by a number of different religious leaders, including Mustafa Ceric, Grand Mufti of Bosnia and Herzegovina, Ela Gandhi, granddaughter of Mahatma Gandhi and peace activist, as well as Akemi Bailey-Haynie, national women’s leader of the Buddhist organisation Soka Gakkai International-USA.

Although there often seems to be a gap between the positions of different faith communities concerning different issues, all panellists were very clear in pushing the moral imperative and declaring the similar values that are inherent to all religions.“The atom bomb mentality is immoral, unethical, addictive and only evil can come from it” – Mahatma Gandhi

According to Mustafa Ceric, it “is not the question of whether you believe, it is the question of whether we are going to wait and see the destruction of our planet.”

Ceric also stressed that the goals and values of humanity are defined by common moral and ethical standards and that the role of religious communities today is greater than ever. Faced with fear and mistrust in society, he said, they also have the responsibility to care for peace and security in the world.

Akemi Bailey-Haynie continued with an emotional statement from first-hand experience – her own mother was a survivor of the Hiroshima bombing in 1945.

“When nuclear weapons are considered a deterrent or viable option in warfare, it seems from a mind-set that fundamentally denies that all people possess infinite potential. No one has the right to take away a precious life of another human being.”

Akemi Bailey-Haynie, national women’s leader of the Buddhist organisation Soka Gakkai International-USA. Credit: SGI

For Bailey-Haynie, nuclear weapons serve no purpose other than mass destruction. They have devastating effects on human beings and the environment, and the possibility of nuclear accidents or potential terrorism cannot be ruled out, she said, adding that dialogue between people of different or opposing opinions is the beginning to achieve change regarding this issue.

“As a second generation survivor, I deeply feel the sorrow, as well as the outrage, born of not being able to yet live in a time when the most inhumane of weapons, nuclear weapons, have been banned,“ she concluded.

Desmond Tutu, Nobel Peace Laureate and former Anglican Bishop, sent a video message to participants to express his deep solidarity and support for ICAN’s civil society forum initiative.

He argued that the best way to honour the victims of the incidents in Hiroshima and Nagasaki was to negotiate a total ban on nuclear weapons to ensure that nothing comparable could ever happen again.

Two of the session’s speakers, Ela Gandhi and Mustafa Ceric, also attended the Dec. 8-9 Vienna Conference on the Humanitarian Impact of Nuclear Weapons.

There, Ela Gandhi delivered a speech in the spirit of her grandfather who, she said, would have joined the movement to abolish nuclear weapons if still alive.

As Gandhi had dedicated his life to teaching humanity that there is a non-violent way of dealing with conflict, he even condemned nuclear weapons himself in 1946 when he said: “The atom bomb mentality is immoral, unethical, addictive and only evil can come from it.”

Pointing out that the mere existence of nuclear weapons leads to similar armament of rival countries, Ela Gandhi warned that these nuclear arsenals could destroy a chance for future generations to survive and have a prosperous life.

The Conference on the Humanitarian Impact of Nuclear Weapons was the scene of intense and often emotional discussions among official representatives from over 160 countries, victims and civil society participants. Notably, both the United States and the United Kingdom were officially represented for the first time at a conference where their nuclear arsenals were subject to debate and criticism.

Religion played an important role at the conference, where many lobbying groups had religious backgrounds, and the opening ceremony was addressed by Pope Francis.

“I am convinced that the desire for peace and fraternity, planted deep in the human heart, will bear fruit in concrete ways to ensure that nuclear weapons are banned once and for all, to the benefit of our common home,” aid Pope Francis, expressing his hope that “a world without nuclear weapons is truly possibly.”

In a statement on behalf of faith communities to the final session, Kimiaki Kawai, Program Director for Peace Affairs at Soka Gakkai International (SGI), said: “The elimination of nuclear weapons is not only a moral imperative; it is the ultimate measure of our worth as a species, as human beings.”

He said that “acceptance of the continued existence of nuclear weapons stifles our capacity to think more broadly and more compassionately about who we are as human beings, and what our potential is. Humanity must find alternative ways of dealing with conflict.”

(Edited by Phil Harris)