A nation does not collapse in a single night. It erodes slowly – like a riverbank eaten away by invisible currents. First, language becomes poisoned. Then neighbours begin to fear one another. Finally, silence becomes the loudest sound in society. In contemporary India, particularly under the ideological rise of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) since 2014, many scholars, rights groups, and observers argue that this silent erosion has increasingly affected the country’s Muslim minority. India was once celebrated as a mosaic of pluralism – a land where temples, mosques, churches, and gurudwaras stood like different flowers in the same garden. Yet today, critics warn that the fragrance of coexistence is being replaced by the smoke of suspicion. The rise of majoritarian politics has transformed religion from a spiritual identity into a political weapon. The tragedy is not merely political; it is civilisational.
Since Prime Minister Narendra Modi and the BJP came to power in 2014, reports of anti-Muslim violence, hate speech, mob lynching, discriminatory laws, and targeted demolitions have drawn international concern. According to multiple human rights reports, Muslims have increasingly become victims of cow-vigilante attacks, communal riots, arbitrary arrests, property demolitions, and online hate campaigns. Reuters reported that documented anti-Muslim hate speech incidents rose sharply in recent years, with many occurring in BJP-ruled states.
The numbers themselves are chilling. Data cited by researchers and watchdog groups suggest that hundreds of communal incidents and lynchings have taken place since 2014. Reports indicate that Muslims constituted the overwhelming majority of victims in cow-related mob lynching cases. Between 2017 and 2022 alone, Indian authorities reportedly recorded around 2,900 incidents of communal violence. Yet many observers argue that official statistics often under-represent the real scale because categories such as ‘mob lynching’ and ‘hate crime’ were later removed or inconsistently recorded in national crime databases.
The nature of persecution has also evolved. Earlier communal violence often took the form of riots between communities. Today, scholars increasingly describe a pattern of targeted intimidation. Muslim homes have reportedly been demolished under the label of ‘illegal structures.’ Muslim students wearing hijab have faced restrictions in some regions. The controversial Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) criticised by many international observers as discriminatory, intensified fears among Indian Muslims about exclusion and marginalisation.
In states like West Bengal, where political rivalry between the BJP and regional parties has sharpened communal rhetoric, religion has increasingly become an electoral battlefield. The BJP’s growth in Bengal is often linked to a broader strategy of consolidating Hindu nationalist sentiment. Critics argue that portraying Muslims as demographic, cultural, or political threats helps create a sense of majoritarian unity among Hindu voters. Whether this strategy is an ideological conviction or an electoral calculation remains debated. But the social consequences are undeniable.
The deeper question, however, is not merely how Muslims are being targeted, but why? What message does such politics seek to send? To many analysts, the answer lies in the ideology of Hindutva – the belief that India should primarily reflect Hindu civilisational identity. In this framework, minorities are often expected to prove loyalty repeatedly, as though citizenship itself has become conditional. The objective, critics argue, is not always physical elimination, but psychological subordination: to make Muslims feel politically weak, culturally insecure, and socially isolated.
The famous Urdu poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz once wrote, “Bol, ke lab azaad hain tere” (Speak, for your lips are free.) Yet fear thrives where people stop speaking. When journalists, activists, and academics raising concerns about minority rights face intimidation or arrest, democracy itself begins to lose oxygen.
This situation inevitably affects neighbouring Bangladesh. South Asia is emotionally interconnected; communal tension in one country quickly spills across borders like wildfire crossing dry grass. If Muslims in India are persecuted, anger and emotional reactions may intensify among some communities in Bangladesh. Likewise, attacks on Hindus in Bangladesh, often carried out by opportunistic extremists, further deepen mistrust on both sides. Hatred travels faster than diplomacy. Bangladesh must therefore act with wisdom, not emotional vengeance. The country’s strength lies in its tradition of coexistence. If India’s communal polarisation inspires retaliatory extremism in Bangladesh, then both nations will lose the moral battle. Poison cannot cure poison.
The solution requires courage from all sides. First, India must return to its constitutional spirit of secularism envisioned by leaders like Jawaharlal Nehru and Mahatma Gandhi. Democracy cannot survive if citizenship is measured by religion. The state must ensure equal protection, prosecute hate crimes impartially, and stop the politics of demonisation. Second, Muslim communities should resist provocation and reject extremism entirely. Rage may feel powerful for a moment, but wisdom builds nations. Education, economic empowerment, civic engagement, interfaith dialogue, and legal activism remain the strongest weapons against marginalisation. Third, the international community, including the United Nations, should consistently advocate religious freedom and minority rights everywhere – whether in India, Myanmar, Palestine, or elsewhere. Human rights lose credibility when applied selectively. Finally, intellectuals, writers, teachers, and journalists must speak the truth without becoming prisoners of propaganda. Literature has always been the conscience of civilisation. Rabindranath Tagore warned against ‘narrow domestic walls.’ Today, South Asia desperately needs that warning again.
History teaches a painful lesson: when politics turns neighbours into enemies, everyone eventually bleeds. A society built on fear may win elections, but it cannot win peace. Nations flourish not when one community dominates another, but when all citizens breathe under the same sky without fear. For hatred is like acid, it ultimately burns the very vessel that carries it.
The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author
The writer is an Assistant Professor, English at IUBAT and a PhD candidate at UPM, Malaysia
