¶¶Òõ¾«Æ·

BANGLADESH stands at a crossroads, thick with tension and uncertainty. A nation that has long prided itself on the embroidery of religious and cultural coexistence is now wrestling with the cracks in its communal harmony. The timing could not be worse. Political transition is inherently unstable and in such moments of flux, the consequences of division, particularly communal, can be catastrophic.

Recent events have painted an unsettling picture. The arrest of Chinmoy Krishna Das Brahmachari has sparked a controversy. His arrest was not an isolated act. It came amid broader demands from minority groups for dignity, protection and representation. While some saw his rally at Laldighi Maidan as an assertion of minority rights, others labelled it as incendiary, with accusations of sedition following close behind.

This incident is, however, just one thread in a larger fabric of rising tension. Temples were vandalised, houses were attacked and a sense of fear gripped minority communities in Sunamganj. All this reflects a brewing storm. As always, fingers are point in all directions. One party blames ‘external forces’ and other parties for stoking communal discord. Meanwhile, some claim that it is a deliberate ploy to distract attention from other issues. In this blame game, the people who suffer most are those who have little voice and even less power — the ordinary people, regardless of religion.

Bangladesh is no stranger to communal friction. But what is alarming is how such tension is weaponised during this political transition. After the fall of Sheikh Hasina’s government, minority communities have reported increasing incidents of violence. The Hindu Buddhist and Christian Unity Council reported attacks in 29 districts. The irony here is bitter: the alleged attacks often coincide with moments when the nation should be celebrating its diversity. So, those are more political than religious.

Political transition creates vacuum and vacuum invites opportunists. It is not surprising that during such time, various groups — political, ideological, even foreign — see an opening to sow division.

For Bangladesh’s minority communities, particularly the Hindus, the fear is not abstract. It is lived. They see Chinmoy Krishna Das’s arrest as symbolic of their disappointment and alienation. From their point of view, he demanded straightforward things — protection for temples, better legal safeguards for minority rights and a voice for his community. Yet, his rally is also labelled as a conspiracy against the state.

Such responses only deepen the crisis. When minorities see their leaders arrested, their demands dismissed and their safety compromised, it is quite hard for them to believe that they are equal stakeholders. This is particularly dangerous for Bangladesh, where minorities have for long been woven into the social and cultural fabric.

It is not just the minorities who are on edge. Mistrust seeps into the majority Muslim community as well, fuelled by narratives that minorities are aligned with foreign interests or political agendas. The narratives are not new, but they gain traction during uncertain times. Each incident, even scattered and whether a vandalised temple or a provocative speech, gets magnified, feeding a cycle of suspicion and retaliation.

The result is a society that feels increasingly fragmented. Where neighbours once celebrated each other’s festivals, there is now unease. Where disagreements could be resolved through dialogues, there is now a readiness to accuse.

What makes this moment particularly volatile is the role of overthrown political actors. Political transitions are often messy, but in Bangladesh, they have taken on an almost theatrical quality, with each party scrambling to control the narrative. In this scramble, communal tension become a convenient tool. A temple attack becomes a headline to discredit the interim government. A rally for minority rights becomes a ‘foreign-backed conspiracy.’ The real issues — state reforms, education reforms and election reforms — are pushed aside as sectarian fires are stoked.

Even more worrying is how quickly tension spills over borders. India has not taken recent incidents lightly. Statements from Indian political leaders, protests along the border and diplomatic back-and-forth have added an international dimension to what should be an internal matter.

For Bangladesh, this external spotlight is a curse. It invites foreign interference, complicating an already delicate situation.

The cost of this division is not abstract. It is immediate and concrete. There could be economic disruptions as businesses tied to minority communities may face boycotts or attacks. There could be social fragmentation as trust between communities erodes. And, there could be human cost — families being displaced, lives lost and a generation growing up with more hatred than hope.

It is also a cost to Bangladesh’s identity. This is a nation born out of a struggle for unity and self-determination, a struggle that drew strength from all its people, regardless of religion. To let that unity fracture now, in the name of political expediency or ideological purity, would be a betrayal of that legacy.

Political transitions are supposed to be about renewal, about charting a new course for the future. But that future cannot be built on the rubble of communal discord. Bangladesh’s strength has always been its resilience and its ability to come together in the face of adversity. That resilience is being tested now.

Communal harmony is not just a moral imperative. It is practical. At a time when the nation is struggling with economic challenges, political uncertainty and international scrutiny, division weakens the collective strength needed to face the issues. It is like trying to row a boat with half the crew refusing to paddle.

Moreover, the world is watching. Bangladesh has for long been a model of a Muslim-majority nation where minorities have a voice and a place. To lose that reputation now, amid rising global Islamophobia and regional tension, would be a tragedy, not just for the nation but also for the example it sets.

This is a moment of reckoning for Bangladesh. The choices made now will shape not just the immediate future but the kind of nation it wants to be. Will it succumb to forces of division, or will it rise above, showing that unity is not just a slogan but a lived reality?

For those who see the tension and wonder if they matter, the answer is simple: they matter because they strike at the heart of what Bangladesh is. A nation born out of a dream of inclusivity cannot afford to let that dream turn into a nightmare of division.

The road ahead is uncertain. But, one thing is clear. Bangladesh needs its people to come together, not as Hindus or Muslims, but as Bangladeshis. Only then can it navigate this storm and emerge stronger on the other side.

Ìý

HM Nazmul Alam ([email protected]) is a lecturer in English and modern languages in the International University of Business, Agriculture and Technology.