The cosmopolitan legacy of Bengal, once the bastion of the Bhadralok and a centre for intellectual and cultural thought, is being systematically dismantled. This dismantling, far from being a slow process, has been accelerated by a series of political skirmishes and controversies that have provided fertile ground for a new, strident sub-nationalism. A recent, potent example of this is the controversy surrounding a Delhi Police letter that referred to the Bengali language as the “Bangladeshi national language”. Immediately, it was weaponised by Mamata Banerjee and her party.
They framed it not as a mistake but as a “calculated insult” and a deliberate attempt to strip a constitutionally recognised Indian language of its identity, thereby painting millions of Bengali-speaking Indians as “outsiders”. Banerjee even called the act “scandalous, insulting, anti-national, and unconstitutional”.
This controversy did not emerge in a vacuum. It is a continuation of earlier anxieties, particularly the harassment of Bengali-speaking migrant workers in other BJP-ruled states. For months, Banerjee has been raising this issue, creating a narrative that Bengalis were being targeted and treated as foreigners. The Delhi Police letter, therefore, served as a powerful, tangible piece of “proof” for this existing narrative. First, the late reaction from the BJP and the subsequent slamming of Banerjee for spreading “misinformation” for “vote-bank politics” has further strengthened her position. The BJP’s attempts to deflect by emphasising illegal immigration only reinforced the very connection the TMC was making: The BJP sees all Bengali-speaking people as potential infiltrators. The BJP has repeatedly stumbled in Bengal, failing to grasp the deeply ingrained sub-nationalist sentiment. By giving Mamata Banerjee these opportunities — first through the harassment of migrant workers and then with the police letter—the BJP is, in effect, handing her the political ammunition to consolidate her position as the sole protector of Bengali identity.
This dynamic is not new. The ideological groundwork for this current political climate was laid by organisations like Banglapokkho, fronted by its prominent ideologue, Garga Chatterjee. Emerging in the mid-2010s, Banglapokkho weaponised a narrative of Bengali grievance, focusing on the perceived “imposition” of Hindi and the economic dominance of “non-Bengali” communities. Through aggressive social media campaigns and on-ground activism, Banglapokkho successfully cultivated a sense of cultural and economic victimhood. They provided the emotional vocabulary to the political mainstream, shaping the contour of identity politics. The organisation’s rhetoric framed a stark binary: The native, exploited Bengali versus the culturally alien “outsider” (bohiragoto).
Banglapokkho’s rise signifies a strategic re-articulation of group boundaries, defining who is “in” (the authentic Bengali) and who is “out” (the bohiragoto, or outsider), based on linguistic, cultural, and perceived economic markers. This construction of an external threat, even if based on perception, is a powerful tool in mobilising group solidarity. Historically, communities like the Marwaris have played a significant role in trade and commerce in Bengal, dating back to the British colonial period, and their economic prominence is a documented aspect of Kolkata’s commercial history. This long-standing economic presence has, at times, fuelled local anxieties and provided a target for identity-based grievances.
The 2021 West Bengal Assembly election became the watershed moment where this simmering sub-nationalism was exploited by the TMC. The BJP, with its top campaigners — Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Home Minister Amit Shah — being from Gujarat, and its heavy reliance on the “Jai Shri Ram” slogan, was easily cast as the bohiragoto. This strategy was crystallised in the slogan: “Bangla Nijer Meyekei Chay” (Bengal wants its own daughter). This was a stroke of political genius, positioning Mamata Banerjee not just as a chief minister but as the daughter-protector of Bengal’s honour and culture.
The BJP, for its part, was caught in a cultural and political bind. It found its usual playbook ineffective in Bengal’s unique political milieu. The party’s attempt to counter the TMC’s narrative was to engage in a form of competitive appropriation. It sought to rebrand Bengal’s cultural and spiritual icons in its own image. Suddenly, Swami Vivekananda’s assertive Hinduism was emphasised over his universalist teachings. Subhas Chandra Bose was recast as a nationalist figure whom the Congress had wronged, fitting neatly into the BJP’s anti-Congress narrative. Even Rabindranath Tagore, the ultimate icon of cosmopolitanism, was subject to selective interpretation, with the BJP organising events at Santiniketan to claim his legacy. This attempt at cultural appropriation was often clumsy and perceived as inauthentic. For instance, BJP leaders’ mispronunciation of Bengali names and their unfamiliarity with local customs were mercilessly mocked, further cementing their “outsider” status. Forced to compete on the terrain of Bengali identity, the BJP inadvertently validated the very premise of the TMC’s campaign. The party that seems to champion “One Nation, One Culture” found itself having to prove its “Bengali-ness”.
The fallout from this political contest is the alarming erosion of the liberal, cosmopolitan space that once defined Bengal. The inclusive spirit of Calcutta, a city built by migrants and thriving on its diversity, is increasingly being replaced by a parochial sentiment that views “others” with suspicion. Public discourse is now saturated with identity-based anxieties. Debates on industrial policy, education, or urban decay are increasingly framed through the lens of “who benefits —Bengalis or non-Bengalis?” This represents a profound intellectual decline. The spirit of adda — a free-wheeling, open-ended debate — is giving way to the toxic certitude of social media echo chambers, where loyalty to one’s identity group trumps critical inquiry. The tragic irony is that this parochial turn offers no real solutions to Bengal’s deep-seated problems of de-industrialisation and unemployment. Bengal has faced significant industrial decline since the post-independence period, a trend attributed to various factors, including policy issues and political interference. By championing a narrow, exclusionary identity, Bengal’s political class is sacrificing the state’s greatest asset: Its history as a melting pot of peoples and ideas.
Bengal, which once imagined the world as its home, is now being taught to see enemies at its gates. The long-term cost of this parochial turn — for its economy, its social fabric, and its very soul — is a price Bengal cannot afford to pay.
The writer is a political anthropologist and teaches at Dr APJ Abdul Kalam Government College, Kolkata
