Dhaka–Delhi relations, long marked by uneasy cooperation and periodic flare‑ups, have entered a dangerous new phase. Cricket has become the latest casualty. The BCCI’s directive to release Mustafizur Rahman from the Kolkata Knight Riders ahead of the 2026 IPL is not a routine sporting matter; it is a political signal, carrying bilateral tensions into everyday perceptions and straining people‑to‑people ties.
This episode underscores a troubling shift: sport is being repurposed as an instrument of political messaging. Cricket, once celebrated as South Asia’s common language of fraternity, now risks becoming a stage for moral judgment, nationalist assertion, and selective indignation. The question, then, goes far beyond cricket itself: will sport remain a bridge for democratic coexistence and regional diplomacy, or will it be reduced to yet another arena where politics deepens division and mistrust?
Cricket is often described as a game of rules, patience, and restraint— and this is precisely what gives it civic meaning. Like democracy, cricket does not eliminate conflict; it disciplines it. Rivalry is intense, but legitimacy is mutual. Victory matters, but fairness matters more. Disagreement is expected, yet exclusion is not.
This is why cricket has historically served as a soft diplomatic channel in South Asia. Matches between rival nations have allowed symbolic engagement even when formal dialogue was frozen. When nations meet on the field, they enact a form of regulated confrontation— one that affirms competition without denying dignity.
Politicizing participation itself— by making eligibility contingent on selective moral judgments about a player’s country— undermines this ethical foundation. It transforms cricket from a space of regulated rivalry into one of collective punishment. In doing so, it erodes the very civic lesson that sport offers: that difference need not imply exclusion.
Rabindranath Tagore’s observation that “sport is the joy of life made visible” carries a deeper ethical meaning. It suggests that play, governed by fairness, allows societies to encounter one another without fear or suspicion. When sport is burdened with political sanction, that joy— and its civic function— begins to disappear.
The BCCI’s justification for its decision cited recent violence in Bangladesh, including the killing of Dipu Das, a young Hindu man in Mymensingh. The killing is undeniably tragic and deserves unequivocal condemnation. The strength of a democracy lies in safeguarding minorities. Bangladesh acted swiftly, arresting suspects, and must now follow through with transparent investigation and firm accountability.
In India, the tragedy was swiftly politicized, transforming genuine grief into nationalist spectacle. Kolkata Knight Riders quickly complied with the directive, noting that they would be allowed to sign a replacement player. But the public discourse that followed— especially among political figures and sections of the media— went far beyond concern for minority rights. Shah Rukh Khan, the team’s co-owner, was publicly labeled a “traitor” by senior BJP leaders for signing a Bangladeshi player. Social media amplified this rhetoric, turning a professional sporting issue into a nationalist spectacle.
This shift matters. When moral concern mutates into political theatre, its credibility erodes. What emerged was less a principled defense of minority rights and more a performative assertion of national and religious loyalty. Cricket became a proxy battleground for anxieties about identity, belonging, and political allegiance. In this process, the language of human rights risked being instrumentalized— not to advance justice, but to reinforce domestic political narratives.
Cricket, at its best, has been a shared moral space— where rivalry is disciplined and competition rehearses coexistence. Leaders, institutions, and citizens must resist the temptation to weaponize sport for political gain. They must confront their own failures honestly and preserve cricket as a space of fraternity rather than exclusion. The maturity of nations is measured not by how selectively they moralize, but by how consistently they uphold dignity— at home and abroad. The true measure of neighborliness is not how nations quarrel, but how they play.
The killing of Dipu Das must be acknowledged and mourned. But ethical seriousness requires consistency. India itself has faced repeated communal violence— from Gujarat to Delhi— exposing similar failures of protection and accountability. India itself has witnessed repeated episodes of communal violence over the past two decades: Gujarat in 2002, Muzaffarnagar in 2013, Delhi in 2020, and persistent incidents of mob lynching targeting Muslims and Dalits. These events exposed not only social prejudice but also institutional failures in prevention, policing, and accountability.
These are not isolated national anomalies. They reflect a broader regional pattern in South Asia, where communal identities are politicized, majoritarian narratives gain electoral traction, and democratic institutions struggle to restrain polarization. To single out Bangladesh for moral censure while overlooking India’s own record is to engage in selective morality.
As Hannah Arendt warned, selective indignation— condemning injustice abroad while normalizing it at home— undermines the ethical force of moral claims. It does not strengthen minority protection; it weakens it by turning justice into a geopolitical instrument. When morality is applied asymmetrically, it ceases to be universal and becomes strategic.
At its core, democracy is not only about electoral competition or constitutional form. It is also about ethical discipline: the ability to exercise power without abandoning fairness, empathy, and self-critique. Democratic leadership begins with inward accountability, not outward blame.
Excluding a Bangladeshi cricketer because of crimes committed in Bangladesh violates a basic democratic principle: individual moral agency. Mustafizur Rahman is not a representative of state violence or social prejudice. He is an athlete operating within a transnational professional system. To treat him as morally liable for events beyond his control is to substitute collective blame for individual responsibility.
History shows that sport heals precisely when politics divides. To weaponize cricket now is to squander one of the few spaces where trust can be rebuilt. Despite deep political hostility, India–Pakistan cricket has often softened public attitudes, most notably during the 2004 series widely described as “cricket diplomacy.” Beyond South Asia, Nelson Mandela’s embrace of South Africa’s rugby team during the 1995 World Cup helped heal a deeply divided post-apartheid society. Earlier still, “ping-pong diplomacy” reopened communication between the USA and China during the Cold War. In none of these cases was sport reserved for morally perfect societies; it was deployed precisely because societies were imperfect.
India has long promoted its Neighborhood First Policy, presenting itself as a regional leader committed to stability, cooperation, and mutual respect. In principle, this policy is meant to reassure smaller neighbors that India’s power will be exercised with fairness and reciprocity.
But a credible neighborhood policy cannot rest on moral unilateralism. It must be built on restraint, consistency, and recognition of shared vulnerabilities. Communal violence is not Bangladesh’s problem alone, nor India’s alone; it is a regional affliction shaped by history, inequality, and political opportunism.
When cricket is weaponized against Bangladesh while India’s own internal challenges are overlooked, the message is unmistakable: power, not principle, is guiding moral judgment. This undermines the very spirit of Neighbourhood First, which depends on trust and even-handedness.
Over time, such practices erode confidence, deepen asymmetry, and weaken the foundations of cooperation. What was intended as a policy of friendship risks being reduced to selective indignation — a posture that alienates neighbors rather than binding them together.
The intrusion of Bangladesh–India political tensions into cricket is both unnecessary and damaging. The killing of Dipu Das is a tragedy. So are the many tragedies that have unfolded in India. Elevating one set of wounds while erasing another is not justice; it is hypocrisy.
Cricket, at its best, has been a shared moral space— where rivalry is disciplined and competition rehearses coexistence. Leaders, institutions, and citizens must resist the temptation to weaponize sport for political gain. They must confront their own failures honestly and preserve cricket as a space of fraternity rather than exclusion.
The maturity of nations is measured not by how selectively they moralize, but by how consistently they uphold dignity— at home and abroad. The true measure of neighborliness is not how nations quarrel, but how they play.
