There is a particular sleight of hand that recurs in subcontinental political discourse whenever minority rights are raised across the India-Bangladesh axis. The moment temple attacks in Bangladesh enter the conversation, they are deployed not as a humanitarian concern demanding accountability but as a rhetorical instrument a way of deflecting scrutiny from what Muslims in India have been living through. Equivalence is asserted. The conversation is neutralized. And both minorities are quietly abandoned in the process.
The equivalence does not survive contact with evidence.
The most elementary problem is one of scale, and it is so large that it should give any serious analyst pause before the comparison is even attempted. India’s Muslim population exceeds 220 million, a figure larger than Bangladesh’s entire population. The Hindu community in Bangladesh numbers somewhere between 14 and 15 million, constituting roughly 7% of the country. To invoke these two communities as symmetrical minorities, equally persecuted, equally deserving of parallel condemnation, is not comparative analysis. It is arithmetic evasion.
But the more consequential asymmetry is not numerical. It is structural.
Hindus in Bangladesh occupy a position within the state’s institutional architecture that is, by most available measures, stronger than their demographic share would predict. Estimates of their representation across the civil service, judiciary, and learned professions place them significantly above that 7% baseline, in some sectors, between 20 and 25%. Durga Puja is not a quietly tolerated observance; it is a nationally visible celebration, covered extensively by state and private media alike, supported by administrative security arrangements. More tellingly, no legislative or judicial process in Bangladesh has ever placed a Hindu citizen’s right to belong, their fundamental claim to nationality, under formal contestation. Whatever vulnerabilities the community faces, and they are real, they exist within a framework that does not interrogate their citizenship.
In India, that framework has itself become the problem.
The Citizenship Amendment Act and the proposed National Register of Citizens did not emerge from a vacuum. They arrived in a political climate already shaped by years of documented hostility toward Muslim identity in public space, harassment over dietary practice, coercion around religious expression, the long shadow of Babri Masjid’s demolition and the judicial and political treatment that followed. What the CAA-NRC framework added was something categorically more serious: the legislative possibility that Muslim citizenship could be made conditional in ways that the citizenship of no other community could. The scale of the response; Shaheen Bagh, mass mobilizations across every major Indian city, was not disproportionate. It was a rational reaction to a structural threat.
The institutional data reinforces what the political record suggests. Muslim representation in India’s elite administrative and police services has remained stubbornly between 3 and 5%, against a population share of 15%. This disproportion has persisted across decades and across governments of varying ideological orientations. It is not an anomaly or an oversight. It is a pattern and patterns of this duration reflect something embedded in the architecture of the state itself.
To raise these facts is not to argue that Hindus in Bangladesh face no hardship. Attacks on temples have occurred and been documented. Land appropriation, social intimidation, and episodes of communal violence are part of the community’s lived experience, and the Bangladeshi state’s obligation to protect its minority citizens is a serious one that admits no equivocation. Acknowledging this is not a concession to the deflection argument, it is what intellectual honesty requires.
What intellectual honesty equally requires is the refusal to treat these two situations as morally or structurally equivalent. One community confronts vulnerability of a social and physical kind, within a constitutional order that does not dispute its belonging. The other confronts that vulnerability and, increasingly, the more corrosive anxiety of wondering whether the state itself regards it as fully, unambiguously a part of the nation it inhabits.
That is not the same predicament. Insisting that it is does not protect either minority. It produces a symmetry of rhetoric that serves only those who prefer that neither question be answered.
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