As Hindutva seeks to
recast India in a singular image, Bengal pushes back with its vernacular
populism—blending pride, religion, and politics into a volatile new sub-nationalism.
When Mamata Banerjee’s
Trinamool Congress (TMC) decisively defeated the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP)
in the 2021 West Bengal assembly elections, it was more than a regional
political victory. It marked the return of sub-nationalism in Indian
politics—not in the form of secessionist rhetoric, but as a cultural and
affective resistance to the centralising thrust of Hindutva. At the heart of
this new assertion is not just the defence of federal rights or administrative
autonomy, but a symbolic re-articulation of Bengali identity as distinct,
plural, and electorally mobilisable.
Unlike the linguistic
regionalism of the 1960s or the ideological sub-nationalism of the Left era,
the current wave is rooted in a populist vernacular grammar. It speaks through
symbols—Durga, Jagannath, matri-bhasha (mother tongue), “Banglar meye”
(Bengal’s daughter)—that turn cultural pride into political loyalty. But does
this counter-populism offer a real alternative to Hindutva’s majoritarianism,
or merely replicate its affective logics under a different banner?
Cultural Belonging vs
Political Uniformity
The BJP’s expansion into
Bengal was never simply an electoral project. It was—and remains—a cultural
offensive. By advancing a Ram-centric Hindu nationalism, the party sought to
discipline Bengal’s historically plural religiosity and vernacular spiritual
traditions. Public chanting of “Jai Shri Ram,” the promotion of Hindi over
Bengali, and the stigmatisation of Bengali-speaking Muslims as “infiltrators”
formed part of a broader attempt to recast Bengal as a frontier to be
ideologically aligned with the Hindi-Hindu-Hindustan triad.
In response, the TMC
developed an emotionally charged symbolic repertoire rooted in Bengali
tradition. Durga became not just a goddess, but the maternal guardian of
Bengali civilisation. Jagannath—a deity with deep roots in Eastern India—was
invoked as a regional counter-icon to Ram. Campaign slogans like “Bangla
nijer meyekei chay” reframed Banerjee herself as the embodiment of Bengali
resistance—a leader who is not only local, but familial.
This is not a mere
cultural performance. It is a form of political belonging that seeks to retain
Hindu voters without surrendering to Hindutva. It affirms that one can be
Hindu, Bengali, plural, and Indian—all at once.
A Double-Edged Sword
Yet, the TMC’s resistance
is fraught with contradictions. On one hand, it reclaims Bengali cultural pride
from nationalist homogenisation. On the other hand, it risks re-inscribing
exclusionary binaries: Bengali vs outsider, matri-bhasha vs Hindi
imposition, daughter vs invader. Much like the BJP’s populism, it constructs a
moral majority by emotionally charging identity and drawing boundaries around
cultural authenticity.
This mirroring is not
incidental—it is structural. Both Hindutva and Bengal’s vernacular populism
operate through affect, symbolism, and the construction of internal enemies.
The key difference lies in the scale: one is national, the other regional. But both
rely on emotional majorities rather than institutional pluralism.
This is where sub-nationalism
becomes slippery. It can either push India toward a more plural federalism or
collapse into a regional variant of majoritarianism.
The Migration Blind Spot
Nowhere are these
contradictions more visible than in the TMC’s treatment of Bengali migrant
labour. While the party celebrates Bengali culture within the state, it has
been largely silent about the rising harassment and profiling of
Bengali-speaking workers in other parts of India—particularly in Gujarat,
Karnataka, and Maharashtra. For many of these migrants, “Bengali” becomes a
stand-in for “Bangladeshi,” turning Indian citizens into internal foreigners.
These workers—mostly from
economically distressed districts like Malda, Murshidabad, and North 24
Parganas—labour in precarious jobs across India’s informal economy. Their
disposability is not cultural alone, but economic. Yet, even as the TMC invokes
their symbolic value during elections, it offers little in terms of concrete
protection or interstate advocacy. Subnational pride, in this sense, becomes bound
by territory, blind to the classed geographies of Indian federalism.
This raises a fundamental
question: can a politics that claims to defend Bengali identity ignore the
vulnerabilities of Bengali bodies on the move?
Towards a Pluralist
Federalism
The rise of sub-nationalism
in Bengal must not be dismissed as parochialism or cultural chauvinism. In a
centralising republic, it speaks to a legitimate need for recognition, parity,
and dignity within the Indian Union. It challenges the idea that cultural
uniformity is a prerequisite for national belonging. But this challenge must be
deepened, not just dramatised.
If subnational assertions
are to play a constructive role in India’s federal future, they must move
beyond symbolic binaries. They must stand not only for cultural memory but for
mobility rights, linguistic justice, and economic dignity. This requires extending
solidarity to migrants, resisting caste invisibilisation, and acknowledging the
internal hierarchies within Bengal itself—including between urban and rural,
upper caste and Dalit, Hindu and Muslim.
Populist
counter-narratives alone will not suffice. What is needed is a robust
rethinking of federalism—one that is not imposed from above, but imagined from
below through everyday struggles for recognition, shelter, and voice.
The Stakes of Belonging
At stake is not merely
the electoral future of Bengal or the cultural integrity of Bengali identity.
What is at stake is the very grammar of citizenship in India. Will it be
defined by a
centralised authority and homogenising nationalism? Or can it be
shaped by a genuinely plural imagination—where regions speak not from the
margins, but as equal participants in a shared democratic experiment?
The return of sub-nationalism
offers a moment of opportunity—but only if it can transcend its populist form
and speak to the deeper crises of belonging in today’s India.
@ The author is Assistant Professor of Political
Science, University of Calcutta
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