For roughly a decade after statehood, Telangana sustained a baseline of everyday peace. Incidents did occur, but policing was generally swift and predictable. Absence of overt conflict helps understand Telangana’s earlier stability. We say this with modest appreciation for the BRS years: Communal entrepreneurship was kept at the margins, and the state projected a relatively firmer grip on law and order.
The recent shift signifies an erosion of that equilibrium. Despite no spectacular riots, the concern is about frequency, speed, and spread —how quickly “small” triggers scale up, how often they recur, and how widely they are now distributed across districts that were not typical hotspots earlier. This pattern can be analysed through the frameworks of state capacity and communalism. It has long been argued that communal violence in India is less spontaneous and more a function of institutional incentives, political communication and state responsiveness. Where governments expect electoral rewards for peace, riot is prevented; where polarisation pays, they seem to look the other way. In Telangana, the question is whether the state’s capacity to deter communalisation has weakened, or whether there is a shift in political dividends around identity conflict.
Equally important is the choreography through which small frictions harden into communal frames. In December 2024, a scuffle between students in a Shamsheergunj college drew in outside groups; in September 2024, a flag-erection disagreement in Vikarabad set off tensions. What once looked like localised trouble now feels like a state-wide vulnerability, with smaller towns learning the script of escalation that big cities already know. Where are the district-level early-warning grids, the pre-negotiated protocols around processions and sound, the mapped perimeter zones around temples, mosques, and graveyards, and the publicly posted “do-and-don’t” orders that reduce ambiguity for both citizens and constables? A long-standing local demand — for a proper graveyard — was finally met in October 2025 when the Congress government allotted Waqf land in Erragadda. What should have been settled long ago as routine administration was allowed to linger.
From a Weberian perspective, the state’s claim to monopoly over legitimate violence is precisely what is under contest. It illustrates not only administrative lapses but a deeper sovereign retreat. Where police response is swift and neutral, mischief rarely scales. But if it is hesitant or second-guessed, fringe actors test limits. Now, the Chief Minister, Revanth Reddy, himself holds the Home portfolio. When the flashpoint cases are rising, the absence of a full-time Home Minister has practical costs: Slower directives, and fuzzier accountability. Should the most time-sensitive function in a polarised environment continue without a dedicated political head? If field officers anticipate political pushback, they will hesitate precisely when speed and neutrality matter most.
One can also look into this through “Institutionalised Riot System”: Routine communalisation through brokers (who frame), enforcers (who mobilise), and amplifiers (who spread). Telangana’s recent incidents fit this logic — a college scuffle (Shamsheergunj), a flag dispute (Vikarabad), loud music near a mosque (Cherlapally), cattle-related confrontations (Medak), and vehicle attacks (Ranga Reddy/Alapur/Jalpally) become stages for identity-based moblisation. This pattern also witnesses a digital twist, where social media amplifies these sentiments.
When the rule of law frays, vulnerable communities pay first. For many Muslim localities, the immediate concern is the safety of people and the sanctity of religious spaces, including burial grounds. The fear is not abstract; it is tied to everyday rituals — burial, prayer, movement — and to the knowledge that a “children’s quarrel” can be turned communal by outsiders within hours. Are grievance channels visible, fast, and trusted enough that people choose the state over the street?
We are not arguing that any single party “causes” communalism. It would be analytically lazy. But the government of the day owns the job of lowering the heat, case by case, week after week. Under BRS, the baseline of everyday peace held more steadily; that is a record worth acknowledging — a clear chain of command, faster crowd-control playbooks, pre-emptive community engagement. These can be standardised now, without partisan baggage.
The fixes are practical: Appointing a full-time Home Minister to centralise accountability; publishing time-bound police protocols for sensitive disputes; reviewing adherence monthly; drawing a line against vigilante action; setting up early-warning grids with civil society in districts that have seen repeated incidents, mapping dates, venues, recurring actors, and known flashpoints and treating online hate as a public-order risk.
Democracy’s resilience is determined not only by elections but also by the everyday functioning of the state. When law enforcement is politicised, citizens’ trust in procedural justice fades. Telangana, today, faces the challenge, not only of order but of upholding democratic trust. The course correction is not partisan; it is administrative. If the administration can act firmly, fairly, Telangana can recover its hard-won normal.
Alam is professor and head, Department of Political Science, Maulana Azad National Urdu University, Hyderabad and Srivastava is policy and governance fellow, Billion Connect
