A Republic Cannot Deport, Humiliate or ā€œOutbreedā€ Its Own People

ā€œWe are not from Bangladesh. We are Indian. Why did they do this to us?ā€

That question should shame the Indian state. On the facts as currently established, Sunali Khatun, a pregnant Indian woman, her husband, and their child were detained in Delhi, deported across an international border without due process, imprisoned in a foreign country, separated, and left to survive on charity and court orders. Their crime was not illegal entry. It was speaking Bengali, being Muslim, and being poor. This was not a mistake or overreach. It was state violence carried out through paperwork and silence.

India has procedures for suspected illegal migrants

They exist to prevent this outcome. They were ignored. There was no verification with the home state, no due process, no public record, and no accountability. A family was pushed across a border, reportedly beaten when they tried to return, and abandoned. That is not law enforcement. It is expulsion by force. When a state confuses language with nationality and religion with foreignness, it stops governing and starts hunting.

Citizenship is not a favour

It is a legal fact. India is not meant to be a blood, language, or religious state. Citizenship is defined by law, not accent or poverty. When the weakest are forced to prove citizenship under duress while the powerful are never asked, law collapses into power. This is how republics rot: not through coups, but through habits.

This is not an isolated lapse of manners towards the Muslim minority

It is the same logic in a smaller, more public form. When a Chief Minister can pull down a Muslim woman’s veil at a government appointment ceremony, and senior ministers can defend it as ā€œshow your faceā€ patriotism, the message is clear: Muslim dignity is conditional, and visibility is enforced, not consented to. The argument is always the same. It is dressed up as procedure, security, or ā€œrule of law,ā€ but it operates as dominance.

Muslim Identity is seen as a National Threat

Today it is a veil tugged down in a room of officials. Yesterday it was a Bengali-speaking family pushed across a border. In both cases, the state treats Muslim identity as an offence to be corrected in public, and citizenship as something that can be suspended by suspicion. This is how discrimination becomes policy: first through humiliation, then through paperwork, then through expulsion.

Bengal, like Kashmir, is not a border zone to be cleansed Continue reading A Republic Cannot Deport, Humiliate or ā€œOutbreedā€ Its Own People

Red Fort Attack and Aftermath: Initial Thoughts by Manav S.

 

Red Fort Attack and Aftermath: Initial Thoughts by Manav S.

Last evening’s devastating car-explosion near the Red Fort in Delhi is not only a cruel assault on innocent lives but an assault on the very symbolism of our nation. According to early reports, a vehicle detonated close to the busy metro zone at the historic Red Fort complex, killing at least eight people and injuring more than twenty. ļæ¼ The government has invoked anti-terror legislation and launched a full probe under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA). ļæ¼

First, we must recognise the human tragedy behind the headlines. Lives shattered, families devastated, fear spreading in a city already grappling with chronic insecurity. For those of us of South Asian heritage who carry memories of communal strife, of migration and displacement, this attack touches a deeper chord of vulnerability and of collective memory. Hospitals have reported frantic cries, missing persons, relatives screaming for loved ones. ļæ¼

Second, the choice of location amplifies the message. The Red Fort is not just another landmark: it is an emblem of India’s sovereignty, its layered history, its identity. To strike here is to strike at the heart of public confidence and to send a message of audacious defiance. As scholars writing on ā€œbrown diasporic publicsā€ know, our public spaces carry meaning not just for those inside India, but for those of us abroad who anchor our identity in ā€˜homeland’ narratives. This attack disrupts that anchor.

Third, we must resist both fear and simplistic narratives. The invocation of terror laws suggests the state is treating this as a planned act of violence, not an accident. ļæ¼ But let us guard against quick binaries: Us vs Them, Hindus vs Muslims, India vs Outsiders. In a plural society like ours, sweeping communal attributions too often deepen fault-lines rather than heal them. Our commentary must demand both justice and wisdom: meticulous investigation, transparent process, and safeguarding civil rights in the process.

Fourth, what does this mean for our shared public culture? For someone born in Punjab and now living across borders, the explosion challenges our sense of movement, of belonging, of normalcy. We think of carrying family across continents, of re-configuring identity in Washington–DC and Delhi , how do such apparently random acts of terror recalibrate the psychic cost of migration and the distance between home and homeland? The answer is: they make the cost higher, the emotional freight heavier.

Finally, the path forward must hold three imperatives: one, empathy – for all victims, irrespective of religion, class or residence; two, accountability – for whoever plotted, financed or enabled this attack; and three, renewal – of the public realm, the shouting panic, the fear-laden sighs, with something stronger: resilient civic culture, public institutions we trust, cross-community solidarity.

As a brown pundit, I urge our readership to see beyond the flashes of violence, beyond the political spin, and to ask the deeper questions: What kind of society are we building? What kind of public spaces do we imagine, and what cost are we willing to pay for them? For if we shrug now, the symbolic scar will grow — far after the immediate blast damage is repaired.

In that moment of stillness after the blast, we owe to our fellow citizens not just sorrow, but vigilant hope.

🧵 Open Thread: Hate Speech, Travel Notes, and Diplomatic Surprises

I just saw a comment that genuinely crossed the line; not just a misstep, but something hateful, dehumanizing, and deeply communal. It invoked Partition violence in a way that glorified massacre. That’s not just a dogwhistle, that’s a foghorn.

As most of you know, I’m a light-touch moderator. I tolerate a lot. I believe in messy dialogue. I’ve been fair on my WhatsApp groups, fair on BP, and generally try to err on the side of letting things play out. But this? This wasn’t a close call. It was a clear failure of moral language.

Even if the commenter didn’t ā€œmean it,ā€ this kind of rhetoric has consequences. When you’re speaking about events like 1947, where entire families were destroyed, you need to speak with care, not contempt. There’s no room for casual violence, coded language, or historical gloating. None. Zero.

Before this commenter contributes further to the blog, he will need to fully retract and apologise for the communal language he used. Criticism is fair game. But hate speech is not. Kabir can be theatrical, yes but he does not traffic in dehumanization. The standards must be consistent, and that comment clearly crossed the line.

Please observe this on the thread. I’m traveling, and this is an open post. I’ll be back with more soon. I’ve written a bit in my newsletter but I will expand on those.

In the meantime:

āž”ļø Yes, it appears Pakistan is running smart diplomacy — both with Iran and the U.S.

āž”ļø  I don’t have time to share the links (plane about to take off); they’re all Google-able.

āž”ļø But credit where it’s due. There is no infallibility in foreign affairs. But when someone cannot stand to see Pakistan get anything right, it reveals more about their own biases than about geopolitics.

This isn’t about defending states or “sides”; it’s about defending basic decency in discourse.

Brown Pundits