Between Pride and Prejudice: The Dilemmas of Bengal’s Cultural Populism

 

Bengal’s resistance to Hindutva has taken the shape of a proud cultural revival. But can a politics based on symbols, affect, and regional identity offer a real alternative—or does it risk becoming a mirror of the populism it opposes?

 

Asis Mistry

When Mamata Banerjee launched the ‘Bhasha Andolan’ from Bolpur, she signalled more than just solidarity with Bengali-speaking migrant workers allegedly harassed in BJP-ruled states. Her words—“Bengali is our pride, our asset, the backbone of our identity”—framed language as a rallying cry, elevating cultural belonging into a political imperative. This was not merely a reaction to isolated incidents, but the intensification of a broader narrative: that Bengali identity is under siege in an increasingly centralised and culturally homogenised republic. Yet beneath this fervent defence lies an unresolved dilemma: Can a populism anchored in regional pride and affective symbolism meaningfully respond to the everyday vulnerabilities of those very Bengalis—migrant workers, linguistic minorities, economically precarious citizens—whose struggles remain largely outside the spotlight of symbolic politics?

In the politically charged aftermath of the 2021 West Bengal Assembly elections, this narrative had already begun to take shape. The Trinamool Congress (TMC), under Banerjee’s leadership, triumphed not just electorally but symbolically—projecting itself as the custodian of Bengal’s cultural soul against what it portrayed as the homogenising thrust of the Bharatiya Janata Party’s (BJP) Hindutva. Three years on, the cultural idioms of that resistance—Durga, matri-bhasha, Biswa Bangla, and the image of “Banglar Meye”—continue to resonate. But so too does a central question: is this a genuine expression of pluralist regionalism, or merely a regionalised variant of affective populism?

This is a moment that demands reflection more than celebration. The renewed articulation of Bengali identity may offer a language of resistance, but it also raises uncomfortable questions about its limits. Can symbolic sub-nationalism address the structural realities of migration, marginalisation, and inequality? Or is it destined to remain a politics of performance—emotionally potent but materially inadequate?

Culture as Resistance

The TMC’s campaign in 2021 was striking in its strategic repurposing of Bengali culture. Facing a BJP that sought to export its Hindi-Hindu-Ram template to Bengal, the TMC countered with a rich tapestry of local idioms—celebrating Durga over Ram, invoking Jagannath as an eastern deity, and grounding its appeal in mother-tongue politics. This was not a rejection of Hindu identity but a reconfiguration—positioning Bengal’s spiritual traditions as plural, feminised, and distinct.

In doing so, the TMC engaged in what political theorists call “vernacular populism”—a mobilisation strategy that connects deeply with local emotion, memory, and identity. From slogans like “Bangla nijer meyekei chay” (Bengal wants her own daughter) to campaign posters evoking goddess Durga, it created a moral geography where Bengal was framed as under threat, and its salvation lay in defending its cultural soul.

To its credit, this symbolic resistance created a powerful electoral shield against Hindutva’s centralising appeal. It reaffirmed that Indian federalism is not just about administrative devolution, but also about cultural sovereignty.

Populism’s Pitfalls

And yet, the reliance on cultural symbolism has its dangers. Populism, by its nature, draws boundaries—between “us” and “them,” “authentic” and “foreign,” “insiders” and “outsiders.” In Bengal’s case, this logic has often turned inward: defining non-Bengali speakers, Hindi-speaking migrants, or even political dissenters as culturally alien.

The BJP’s weaponisation of the “infiltrator” trope, particularly targeting Bengali-speaking Muslims from border districts, is well documented. But what receives less attention is how the TMC’s regional populism can sometimes echo this logic—defining belonging through language, emotion, and nativist pride. The politics of “Bangaliana” (Bengaliness), if unexamined, can become a vehicle not for inclusion but for soft exclusion.

Moreover, when identity becomes the primary terrain of politics, questions of inequality, mobility, and justice often take a backseat. The emotional charge of culture masks the material contradictions of everyday life.

The Silence Around Migrant Labour

Nowhere is this contradiction more visible than in the plight of Bengali migrant workers. Every year, lakhs of workers from districts like Malda, Murshidabad, and Cooch Behar travel to Gujarat, Maharashtra, Karnataka, and Delhi for informal, low-wage work. They are the invisible engine of India’s economy—yet their Bengali identity, far from being a shield, often becomes a source of profiling and vulnerability.

In states ruled by the BJP, these migrants are routinely harassed, labelled as illegal, or subject to sudden evictions. The lines between “Bengali” and “Bangladeshi” are deliberately blurred, turning internal migrants into internal outsiders.

And what of the TMC? While it celebrates Bengali pride within the state, it remains conspicuously silent about the challenges Bengali workers face beyond its borders. There is little interstate advocacy, no robust legal assistance, and virtually no pan-Indian coalition-building around migrant rights.

This reveals a fundamental limit of symbolic sub-nationalism: it rarely travels. Rooted in territory and election cycles, it often fails to protect those who move—economically, socially, and physically.

Towards a Politics Beyond Symbols

Bengal’s current cultural mobilisation stands at a crossroads. It can either deepen into a genuinely pluralist regionalism—one that embraces linguistic diversity, safeguards migrant rights, and links subnational pride with social justice—or it can remain a decorative populism, rich in aesthetics but thin in substance.

To move forward, we must ask: what kind of federalism does Bengal really need? One that is merely defensive, drawing tight boundaries of identity and pride? Or one that is expansive—asserting cultural dignity while also building solidarity across class, caste, and linguistic lines?

There is precedent. The Left Front era in Bengal, for all its flaws, grounded Bengali identity in questions of redistribution, land rights, and anti-centrist governance. It fused regional pride with structural critique. Today’s politics could learn from that balance—replacing affective binaries with relational belonging.

The Role of the Centre

Of course, the burden does not lie with Bengal alone. The Centre’s current trajectory—marked by linguistic imposition, religious homogenisation, and a narrowing of democratic space—has compelled many regions to assert themselves. In this sense, Bengal’s cultural pushback is not exceptional but symptomatic of a deeper federal unease across India.

From Tamil Nadu’s resistance to NEET and Hindi, to Punjab’s reassertion of Sikh identity, or even Maharashtra’s Marathi pride campaigns, regional assertion has become a language of federal survival. But for this language to flourish democratically, it must remain open, plural, and inclusive—not fall into the trap of majoritarian mimicry.

Between Resistance and Renewal

Bengal’s cultural populism reflects both strength and anxiety. It is a refusal to be culturally colonised—but also a struggle to define itself in the shadow of an assertive national project. The danger lies in confusing resistance with reversal—in thinking that Hindutva’s grammar can be countered merely by inverting its symbols.

The real task ahead is not just symbolic but structural: to link the pride of identity with the politics of dignity. To make sure that Bengali workers in Bengaluru, Ahmedabad, or Surat feel as politically protected as voters in Murshidabad or Bankura. And to ensure that Bengal’s cultural soul is not narrowed into an aesthetic performance but expanded into a democratic promise.

The future of Indian federalism may, therefore, well depend on whether its regions can speak not just for themselves, but also for each other.

@ Author is Assistant Professor of Political Science at the University of Calcutta, email- asismistry.cu@gmail.com.