The relationship between modern nation-states and their minority populations is often tense. Majoritarian states tend to consciously privilege dominant groups in nearly every domain of political and social life, while minorities frequently face systemic challenges. 

These challenges are not limited to securing equal rights and representation, but also their struggle for social acceptance, dignity, and full inclusion as citizens.

Nowhere is this dynamic more visible than in India, especially in the treatment of its Muslim population in the wake of terror attacks.

Regrettably, the Pahalgam terror attack in April has, once again, exposed the fragility of Indianness and the contested sense of belonging. Public anger across India surged after 26 people, all except one of them Hindu tourists, were killed in the massacre of civilians.

However, instead of uniting in mourning, the country has once again fractured along communal lines. Within hours, Muslim citizens, especially those from Kashmir, were subjected to suspicion, threats, and even violence. Muslims of India were compelled to prove their loyalty to the Indian state and the Hindu majoritarian public, who were clamoring for revenge and retribution.

Deeper intent

The state’s recurring impulse to place Muslims under suspicion following terrorist attacks is not something new. For instance, in the aftermath of the 2006 Mumbai train bombing, a suspect named Wahid Sheikh was arrested on charges of being a terror operative along with five others, but was acquitted of all charges after a decade of trial and trauma. Cases like his highlight how suspicion can become systemic, with long-lasting personal and political consequences.

This atmosphere of mistrust towards Indian Muslims, especially driven by some right-wing groups, reveals more than just prejudice. Beneath this pattern lies a deeper intent to erode their sense of belonging and diminish their confidence in being constitutionally guaranteed equal citizens of the country. 

This performative demand, imposed by both society and the state, points to a deep-rooted problem: a majoritarian view of nationalism that equates Indian identity almost exclusively with Hindu identity, casting Muslims as the perpetual 'other'.

These questions resonate even today, after the Pahalgam attack, shaping ideological orientation, fueling political mobilisation, and straining the already tenuous social relations between the Hindus and Muslims in India. 

Like in the past, such tragic incidents become flashpoints, not only for mourning and national unity but also for renewed cycles of suspicion, scapegoating, and violence against Muslims. In 2006, nine of the accused Muslims in the Malegaon blasts in the western state of Maharashtra were acquitted with the Special National Investigation Agency Court observing that they became “scapegoats” at the hands of the Anti-Terror Squad. 

But now, years later, a similar pattern of retaliatory violence and misplaced blame has resurfaced, with tensions flaring across different parts of India. In Uttar Pradesh, a young Muslim restaurant worker was shot dead by individuals claiming affiliation with a Hindu nationalist group. The killers released a video glorifying their act as vengeance for the Pahalgam victims, vowing to kill “2,600 for the 26.” 

Disturbingly, state police dismissed the incident as a dispute over food, sidestepping the clear ideological motivations.

Beyond physical violence and intimidation, Muslims are also facing exclusion from basic services. In one such incident in the state of West Bengal, a pregnant Muslim woman was denied treatment by a Hindu doctor. 

There have been calls for the boycott of Muslims by hardline Hindu right-wing outfits. This political culture reinforces Muslim Indians’ fears of marginalisation that outrightly strips them of their sense of belonging, while at the same time unleashing mob violence. While this trend of suspecting Muslims is not a new phenomenon, the past decade, under the ruling Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) that first assumed power in 2014, has seen a troubling shift in frequency, brutality, and scale of violence that accompanies it. 

Street violence has been enabled by public discourse. Across social media, hashtags calling for Muslim boycotts have been trending, and doctored videos painting Muslims as threats have circulated widely.

Mainstream media

Several sections of the Indian media, like the daily prime-time television discussions, have played an instrumental role in amplifying divisive rhetoric and encouraging a culture where Muslims are expected to prove their nationalism more vocally than any other group. This atmosphere of hostility has also been fuelled by content outside traditional media. Inflammatory audio soundtracks glorifying violence began circulating widely, targeting Muslims.

According to a Washington-based think tank, India Hate Lab, there has been a surge in hate speeches against Muslims since the Pahalgam attack, reporting a total of 64 incidents of anti-Muslim hate speech since. 

What makes this cycle of violence and suspicion particularly insidious is its institutional reinforcement by the state machinery. Political leaders often respond to terror attacks either with veiled references or outright insinuations linking Muslims to extremism and reinforcing a dangerous stereotype. In several states ruled by Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s BJP, local officials used the crisis to crack down and harass the so-called “illegal Bangladeshis” and Rohingya Muslim minorities. 

Even terms like “Pakistani” are weaponised in everyday discourse, hurled as slurs to delegitimise the Indian Muslim’s belonging. This dangerous conflation of Indian Muslims with foreign ‘enemies’ has taken deep root, reshaping the way citizenship itself is imagined in the country.

Fragile citizenship

The political history of India shows that the lived experiences of Muslims are shaped by marginalisation that deepens further in moments of national crisis. In such times, the line between citizen and suspect is redrawn by dominant narratives with the compulsion for Muslims to continuously affirm their patriotism.

This trend reflects the broader anxiety in the larger Indian national imagination, where loyalty is often understood, shaped, and expressed through a majoritarian lens. This makes citizenship conditional and belonging fragile. 

In times of crisis, the Indian state has often reproduced a hierarchy of belonging with questions of inclusion and exclusion shaping discourses and practices of the state. While inclusion, as a process of state formation, is inherently violent, it is conditional inclusion that makes it even more brutal, denying ‘others’ their rightful place in the nation. 

The Pahalgam attacks and the events that unfolded, once again, cast Muslims not as fellow victims or grieving citizens standing in solidarity, but as potential sympathisers and suspects. The burden of condemnation is disproportionately placed on the shoulders of Muslims - to be loud, visible, and most of all, performative.

If India is to remain a truly democratic, secular republic, it must confront the majoritarian impulses that reduce Muslim citizenship to a conditional status. A tragedy like Pahalgam should be a moment for national solidarity, not scapegoating. It’s time we stop asking Indian Muslims to prove their love for a country that is already theirs.