The tragic death of Patnibin Maxwell, a 31-year-old Indian national from Kerala, in an anti-tank missile attack by Hezbollah in northern Israel, forces us to reflect on an unsettling question. Maxwell, an innocent man, was simply trying to make an honest living to provide for his pregnant wife and 5-year-old daughter back in Kerala. On March 4, while working as a foreign agricultural worker in Moshav Margaliot, Israel, he became a victim of a war that was never his.
Maxwell had been in Israel for just two months when he fell prey to Hezbollah’s violent offensive from Lebanon. The attack also injured seven other Indian workers—two critically. These workers, far removed from the political intricacies of the Middle East, found themselves in the crossfire of a conflict they had no part in. It’s a sobering reminder that no matter where we are in the world, no one is immune from the horrors of war and terrorism.
Yet, I cannot help but notice the selective outrage surrounding such tragedies. Mehbooba Mufti, as a political leader, you have frequently spoken out on international matters, particularly those concerning the Muslim world. You’ve voiced opinions on global conflicts, condemned perceived injustices, and rallied for the marginalized. But I ask you, where is your voice for Patnibin Maxwell?
Maxwell was an Indian citizen, a man whose sole focus was providing for his family. His life was tragically cut short by a terrorist group that you have, in the past, appeared to have sympathies for, or at least, have avoided condemning as strongly as one would expect. While you have publicly mourned the death of Hezbollah’s leader, Hassan Nasrallah—a man responsible for orchestrating violence and terror—your silence on Maxwell’s death is conspicuous. Does this silence reflect a bias in which lives are deemed worthy of outrage?
Maxwell’s death should have stirred a national outcry, especially from those who claim to stand for justice and human rights. His death should have been acknowledged, condemned, and mourned with the same fervor as any other loss of life. But I wonder: Is it because he was not a Muslim that his death doesn’t resonate with you? Is it because his demise at the hands of Hezbollah doesn’t fit a political narrative that you find convenient?
Mehbooba Mufti, if your activism is rooted in principles of justice, equality, and humanity, then it must be consistent. You cannot pick and choose whose lives are worth mourning based on political affiliations, religious sentiments, or public sentiment. Every life lost to terror—whether it be an Indian worker in Israel or a victim of violence in Kashmir—deserves the same respect and justice. Yet, your selective silence on Maxwell’s tragic death speaks volumes about where your priorities lie.
Your alignment with the Shia community, particularly in your public statements about Hezbollah and its leader, raises uncomfortable questions. How can you mourn the death of a man responsible for so much bloodshed and not speak up for an Indian citizen killed by the very group he led? Maxwell’s family in Kerala deserves to know that their leaders stand with them in demanding justice for his murder. They deserve to hear a unified voice of condemnation against Hezbollah for this unprovoked attack.
True leadership is about standing up for all people, not just those who align with your political or religious beliefs. If you are genuinely committed to the cause of justice, you will demand accountability from Hezbollah for the murder of Patnibin Maxwell. You will show his family that his life, like any other, mattered.
So, Mehbooba Mufti, I pose this question to you: Does the life of Hassan Nasrallah matter more than that of Patnibin Maxwell? If not, why have you not condemned Hezbollah for this heinous act? Why have you not demanded justice for Maxwell and his family? It’s time to show that your commitment to justice is universal and not selective.
