India has tended to treat each episode as a bilateral matter, protest, and move on.

On April 10, 2026, China’s Ministry of Civil Affairs unveiled its sixth round of “standardised” place names for what it calls “southern Tibet”—a reference to India’s Arunachal Pradesh—adding 23 new entries to its expanding list. This latest exercise continues a pattern that began in 2017, taking the cumulative number of renamed locations to over 110.

Before 2017, such efforts were limited, with just 16 names officially retained between 2009 and 2017. However, the pace has accelerated significantly in recent years, with successive batches introduced in 2017 (6 names), 2021 (15), 2023 (11), 2024 (30), 2025 (27), and now 2026 (23), reflecting a sustained and deliberate push.

Notably, the 2026 list is overwhelmingly focused on geographical features rather than inhabited areas. Only two names—Chaku and Xinjing (Shincheon)—refer to settlements, both located in zones of historical or strategic relevance dating back to the Sino-Indian War. The remaining 21 names are assigned to mountains, peaks, and slopes, many situated around the Yarlung Tsangpo basin and its adjoining valleys, underscoring a targeted approach to cartographic assertion in sensitive terrain.

Three Fronts, One Target

Arunachal Pradesh is only one corner of a much larger game. In Nepal’s northern districts — Humla, Rasuwa, Sindhupalchowk — there have been documented encroachments over the last several years: border pillars moved, Chinese infrastructure appearing on areas Nepal’s own maps show as Nepali territory, grazing land that Himalayan communities have used for generations quietly absorbed into what Beijing treats as administered Chinese space. The renaming of these locations follows the encroachment, retrospectively assigning Chinese names to places already brought under de facto control.

Nepal’s response has been muted, for reasons that are not hard to understand. Its Belt and Road commitments — including the Pokhara International Airport, financed by Chinese loans and opened in 2023 — create financial obligations that generate strong incentives to avoid confrontation. Beijing’s United Front Work Department has invested heavily in cultivating relationships within Nepal’s major political parties and media institutions. And Nepal’s political instability — the country has cycled through governments with remarkable speed since its 2015 constitution — means there is rarely an administration in Kathmandu with both the institutional continuity and the political will to push back consistently.

In Bhutan, the stakes are starker still. China and Bhutan have been negotiating their border since 1984, with more than 25 rounds of talks without resolution. In 2020, China introduced an entirely new dispute by listing Bhutan’s Sakteng Wildlife Sanctuary as a “disputed area” at a Global Environment Facility board meeting, despite having raised no prior claim there. Sakteng lies in eastern Bhutan, far from the longstanding western disputes, abutting Arunachal Pradesh. The strategic logic was transparent: manufacture a new bargaining chip to trade for concessions in Doklam, the plateau whose military value China has coveted ever since the 73-day standoff of 2017.

Doklam matters not because of its size but because of where it points. A Chinese military presence there would command the Chumbi Valley, which in turn points directly at the Siliguri Corridor — the narrow strip of Indian territory, roughly 22 kilometres at its narrowest, that connects India’s entire northeastern region to the rest of the country. Strategists sometimes call it the Chicken’s Neck. It is the most consequential piece of geography on the eastern front, and it is what sits at the end of the thread that runs from Doklam through Bhutan’s border negotiations to Beijing’s renaming exercises in Arunachal.

The Real Prize Is Not on the List

None of the 23 newly named locations in Arunachal Pradesh are what China actually cares about most. Arunachal is a display case — a pressure point kept warm to ensure that India cannot concentrate its diplomatic and military energies on the one piece of territory that China genuinely cannot afford to lose: Aksai Chin.

China’s National Highway 219, which traverses the Aksai Chin plateau at an altitude, is the primary logistical link between Tibet and Xinjiang — two regions whose stability is central to the CCP’s territorial narrative. Beijing quietly built the road through Aksai Chin in the late 1950s before India even knew construction had begun. When New Delhi eventually discovered it, the resulting crisis fed directly into the 1962 war. India has never formally conceded the territory. Every official Indian map still shows Aksai Chin as part of Ladakh. The 2019 reorganisation of Jammu and Kashmir, which created the Union Territory of Ladakh with Aksai Chin explicitly within its stated boundaries, was a deliberate signal — and Beijing read it precisely that way. The military buildup in Ladakh that led to the Galwan Valley clashes of June 2020 was, at least in part, a response to Indian infrastructure development that China interpreted as preparatory to a more assertive posture.

The shadow of Zhou Enlai’s “package deal” offer to Nehru still haunts the diplomatic architecture. In 1959, China proposed recognising the McMahon Line in the east in exchange for India’s acceptance of Chinese sovereignty over Aksai Chin in the west. Nehru rejected it, and the offer was never formally revived. What China appears to be doing today is inflating the price of any future version of that deal: each new disputed name in Arunachal, each encroachment in Humla, each manufactured claim in Sakteng adds another chip to Beijing’s side of the eventual table. India’s domestic political constraints — no government can publicly concede Aksai Chin and survive — mean that formal negotiation remains frozen. But in the meantime, the ground shifts.

What India Has Got Right, and What It Hasn’t

India’s response since Galwan has been more serious than its pre-2020 posture. The acceleration of border infrastructure in Ladakh and Arunachal — roads, tunnels, forward helipads — has been real and measurable. The forward deployment of additional mountain divisions has followed. The Modi government’s decision to ban hundreds of Chinese apps, restrict Chinese investment in sensitive sectors, and publicly call out Beijing’s encroachments represented a departure from the studied ambiguity that characterised Indian China policy for most of the 2000s.

What India has not done well is tell this story internationally. The cumulative pattern of China’s toponymic campaigns, its physical encroachments in Nepal, its manufactured Bhutan disputes, and its administrative restructuring in Xinjiang is not a series of bilateral irritants. It is a coherent grey-zone strategy whose logic would be recognised—and should concern—any government that has watched Beijing deploy the same playbook in the South China Sea.

India has tended to treat each episode as a bilateral matter, protest, and move on. It has not systematically built the international narrative that would make Beijing’s methods legible and costly in global opinion.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Nancy had said she was unsafe. She had said her home was targeted. She had gone to police with names.

Nancy Grewal was a Canadian Sikh woman who came to Canada in 2018 to work, support her family, and build a life through sheer effort. She worked in Windsor, Ontario, as a personal support worker, often long hours, and became known in her union as a committed member and steward. But beyond her work, she became known for something else: she spoke openly against the violent Khalistan movement and against those she believed wielded fear and influence within her community.

That public voice came with a cost. According to CityNews Canada reporting on March 5, 2026, Nancy’s sister, Alishaa Grewal, said Nancy had been receiving threats, believed she was being followed, and had already gone to police with the names of people she feared. Alishaa described the killing as a “preplanned murder” and “revenge” for Nancy’s videos. These details place Nancy’s death in the context of repeated warnings, not sudden chaos.

On the night of March 3, 2026, Nancy was stabbed outside a home on Todd Lane in LaSalle, Ontario, shortly before 9:30 p.m., after finishing work at a client’s residence. CityNews reported that she was attacked outside and “stabbed continuously.” LaSalle Police later said the killing was “not a random act of violence” and was being investigated as “an intentional act against her.” The Ontario Provincial Police were later brought in to assist.

What makes this case especially troubling is that Nancy had already described the danger in her own words. In a video recorded before her death, she said someone had thrown gasoline on the front porch of her house in November 2025 and stated plainly: “I’m a Canadian citizen, but I don’t feel safe in this country right now.” In that same video, she alleged that the man behind the attack was linked to Gurdwara Khalsa Parkash in Maidstone. She also connected that intimidation to an earlier shooting near St. Rose Avenue and Wyandotte Street East in Windsor.

Local reporting in the Windsor Star confirms that Windsor police investigated shots fired in that area on March 9, 2023, at the location (St. Rose Avenue and Wyandotte Street East) that houses Pal’s Auto Service. In Nancy’s telling, these were not isolated incidents—they formed part of a pattern.

Her account went further. Nancy said the “real man” behind the attacks never comes forward himself, but instead “hires repeat offenders and criminals to do the job.” She described a family with a criminal background, said one man had already faced a drug case, and claimed his son kept illegal weapons in a vehicle and tried to dispose of them before police caught him.

That detail gives particular relevance to the public record surrounding Gurfathe “Laddi” Singh Kooner, as reported by the Windsor Star. Reporting on Gurfathe Kooner’s case (son of Avtar Singh Kooner) stated that he was seen tossing a bag from the window of his F-150 pickup, with the recovered bag containing guns and ammunition. Nancy did not name him directly, but the overlap between her description and that record is striking.

After Nancy was killed, her mother’s videos further sharpened the picture. She said Nancy was brutally killed by enemies she had long feared, that those enemies were tied to Gurdwara Khalsa Parkash in Maidstone, and that Avtar Singh Kooner was among the men Nancy feared. She said Nancy had been pressured to apologize to him, that people linked to the gurdwara threatened she would lose “her job” and “her home,” and that someone had previously tried to attack her at home but fled when cameras were noticed.

She also said Nancy had reported “each and everything” to police, including submitting a letter. CityNews independently reported that Nancy had indeed gone to police and supplied the names of people she feared.

The name Avtar Singh Kooner also carries historical weight. Air India inquiry materials record that RCMP investigators searched his residence for guns in June 1985. On Avtar’s social media, he appears in a photograph with Lakhbir Singh Rode, nephew of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale. Rode has been identified in public archival and terrorism-related references as a figure associated with the International Sikh Youth Federation, an organization listed in Canada as a terrorist entity.

That history may not answer the question of who killed Nancy Grewal, but it gives the local network she and her mother described a deeper and more serious context.

In the aftermath of the murder, Nancy’s mother was later seen softening or retracting parts of her earlier accusations. Even so, the core facts did not change: Nancy had said she was unsafe. She had said her home was targeted. She had gone to police with names. Then she was killed in what police themselves described as an intentional act.

Nancy Grewal’s story is not simply the story of a murder. It is the story of a working woman who warned that she was under threat, identified the people she feared, and was killed anyway. Her family, and much of the wider community, are now living not only with grief but with fear—and they are demanding justice.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

The increasing number of voluntary surrenders suggests that more people now see returning as a viable option.

For anyone who has spent time studying political violence, India’s experience with Left-Wing Extremism feels different from the usual story. It is not just about an insurgency being pushed back by force. Something slower, less visible, but ultimately more important seems to be taking place.

Over the years, I have followed armed movements in different parts of the world—from Latin America to parts of Europe—and what is happening in India today stands out because it challenges a long-held assumption: that insurgencies are defeated mainly through military pressure.

A recent article by Zahack Tanvir in Times of Israel, “Left-Wing Terrorism No More? India’s Strategy from Force to Trust,” captures this shift quite well. As he writes, the real question now is not simply whether Maoist violence can be controlled, but whether “the conditions that allowed it to thrive are finally being addressed.”

That distinction matters. Across countries and contexts, insurgencies tend to survive not because of ideology alone, but because they grow in places where the state is absent, where poverty is entrenched, and where people feel they have been left behind.

When belief begins to fade

The Maoist movement in India, which traces its roots back to the Naxalbari uprising in 1967, followed a pattern we have seen elsewhere. It began in regions marked by inequality and neglect, drawing strength from local frustrations. For a time, that gave it a certain legitimacy in the eyes of some communities.

But movements like these rarely stay the same. Over time, they harden. Leadership becomes distant, ideas become rigid, and maintaining control often starts to rely more on pressure than persuasion. What we seem to be witnessing in India today is what I would describe, less academically, as a kind of exhaustion within the movement.

The growing number of surrenders is telling. More than 100 cadres lay down arms in a single day, as happened in Bijapur. It suggests more than fear of security forces. It points to something deeper—a quiet loss of faith.

Researchers often note that insurgencies don’t just end on the battlefield. They unravel when people stop believing in the cause. Tanvir makes this point directly: such movements “fade when people stop believing in them.” We have seen similar patterns in places like Northern Ireland and Nepal, where the psychological shift came before any formal end.

The slow return of the state

At the same time, the Indian state has not stood still. Security operations have continued, and the loss of key Maoist leaders in 2025 clearly disrupted the group’s structure. But what is more interesting is what has been happening beyond those operations.

In many of these regions, the state is becoming visible again in ways that matter to everyday life. Roads are being built where there were none. Mobile connectivity is reaching areas that were once cut off. Police stations are not just present, but fortified and functioning.

These changes may sound technical, but they reshape the environment in which an insurgency operates. Areas that were once isolated—where armed groups could move, recruit, and control information—are becoming harder to dominate.

There is also a quieter contest taking place: a battle over who represents the people. Maoist groups long positioned themselves as protectors in places where the state was missing. But as governance slowly returns, that claim becomes harder to sustain. When people can access services, communicate freely, and see institutions working, the appeal of parallel authority weakens.

Some of the steps taken by authorities carry a symbolic weight as well. Giving surrendered cadres copies of the Constitution may seem like a small gesture, but it signals something important—that the relationship with the state is meant to be based on rights, not just control.

Beyond surrender: rebuilding trust

What stands out most to me, however, is how surrenders are being treated. In many parts of the world, former insurgents face suspicion and limited opportunities, which can push them back toward violence. India appears to be trying a different approach.

Rehabilitation policies in Indian states like Chhattisgarh offer financial assistance, housing, land, and training. These are not entirely new tools, but the intent behind them feels different. The focus is less on showcasing victory and more on creating a path back into society.

This is where trust becomes central. In many of these regions, the absence of the state created space for insurgents to step in. Over time, that absence fed the conflict itself. Reversing that cycle requires patience. It is not something that can be achieved through security operations alone.

There are signs, however, that this process has begun. Community engagement initiatives, more sensitive policing, and efforts to bring officials and locals into direct conversation are gradually changing perceptions. It is not dramatic, and it is certainly not uniform, but it is noticeable.

The increasing number of voluntary surrenders suggests that more people now see returning as a viable option. That, in itself, is a significant shift. Trust is not built overnight, but once it begins to take hold, it can reshape the dynamics of a conflict.

A quiet but important shift

The progress made so far will depend on whether governance continues to improve and whether trust is sustained. Daily life is beginning to look different. Roads are opening up, communication is improving, and state institutions are becoming part of the landscape again.

Perhaps the most telling change is in how success is being measured. As Tanvir notes, the focus is slowly shifting—from counting how many insurgents have been neutralized to how many have chosen to come back. That is not just a policy adjustment; it reflects a different way of thinking about conflict.

From a broader perspective, there is something to learn here. Insurgencies rooted in deep social and economic issues cannot be resolved by force alone. They require the state to be present in a meaningful way—to provide services, to listen, and to be seen as legitimate.

In the study of terrorism and political violence, we often look for decisive moments, clear endings. India’s experience suggests that change can be quieter than that. It can happen through small, cumulative shifts—people making different choices, communities slowly re-engaging, institutions rebuilding their place.

If this trajectory continues, India may offer an example that goes beyond its own borders: not of how to simply defeat an insurgency, but of how to make it lose its reason to exist.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

What is unfolding in Pakistan’s case is part of a wider global trend. The line between domestic and international repression is becoming harder to draw.

At this year’s session of the United Nations Human Rights Council in Geneva, Pakistan was once again in the spotlight. That, in itself, is not unusual. What felt different, however, was the tone of the conversations taking place in the corridors and side events. The focus was no longer limited to what happens inside Pakistan’s borders. Increasingly, attention is shifting to what follows critics when they leave.

As someone who studies terrorism and state responses to dissent, I found this shift telling. It points to a broader transformation in how power is exercised. Repression, in this sense, is no longer something contained within territory. It travels with people. It adapts to new environments. And it often slips through the cracks of legal systems that were never designed to deal with such subtle, dispersed pressure.

The discussions on March 27 at the Palais des Nations brought this into sharper focus. Activists and observers described a pattern that many in academic circles have been tracking for some time: the gradual erosion of the idea that exile offers safety. What used to be a clear boundary—inside versus outside—now feels increasingly blurred.

Disappearances at Home, Silence by Design

To make sense of what is happening abroad, it is necessary to begin within Pakistan. Enforced disappearances remain one of the most troubling and persistent issues, particularly in regions like Balochistan. For years, families have protested, sometimes in small groups and sometimes in large marches, asking a simple question: where are their loved ones?

Reports by Human Rights Watch and similar organisations have documented these cases in detail. The pattern is painfully familiar. Someone is taken, often after an encounter with security forces. Then comes silence. No official acknowledgement, no clear legal process, and very little hope of accountability.

What is often missed in policy discussions is the wider effect of this practice. Disappearances are not only about removing individuals; they are about sending a message. Fear spreads outward—from the missing person to their family, their community, and beyond.

In my own research on political violence, I have seen similar dynamics in very different contexts. The actors may differ, but the outcome is strikingly similar: silence, caution, and self-censorship.

The case of Idris Khattak brought rare international attention to this issue. Yet it also highlighted a deeper problem. For every case that reaches global headlines, many more remain invisible. This uneven attention creates what some scholars describe as a “hierarchy of suffering,” where only a handful of stories are heard while the rest fade into the background.

This is reinforced by a lack of transparency. Legal processes are often opaque, oversight is limited, and avenues for redress are weak. Over time, this creates a system where such practices can continue with little consequence. It is from within this environment that the outward projection of pressure begins.

When Pressure Crosses Borders

What became clear in Geneva is that these domestic patterns do not stop at the border. Instead, they seem to follow those who leave. Testimonies from activists, including Roshaan Khattak, painted a picture that is less dramatic than high-profile international incidents, but no less unsettling.

The methods described are rarely direct. There are no dramatic confrontations or visible operations. Instead, the pressure is quieter. Family members back home are approached or questioned. Administrative hurdles appear unexpectedly—delayed documents, unexplained complications. Messages arrive, sometimes anonymous, reminding individuals that distance does not necessarily mean safety.

Because these actions are informal and often deniable, they are extremely difficult to address. Host governments in Europe or North America may be aware that something is happening, but proving it is another matter entirely.

Freedom House has identified Pakistan as one of several countries engaged in what is now termed transnational repression. What stands out in this case is not spectacle, but persistence. There are no headline-grabbing incidents, but rather a steady, ongoing pressure that shapes behaviour over time.

From a research perspective, this challenges how we think about coercion. Traditional frameworks tend to separate what happens inside a country from what happens outside it. But here, the two are clearly connected. The same habits, the same tools—only adapted to a different setting.

A Contemporary Glimpse: Pressure Through Families

A recent case involving journalist Waqas, reported by DropSite, offers a glimpse into how this can unfold in practice. He alleged that police in Karachi harassed his parents after he reported on Punjab Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz and claims regarding her son Junaid Safdar’s use of a government Gulfstream jet for a private European trip. According to his account, his family was pressured into issuing a statement.

The Sharif family has firmly denied these allegations, calling them propaganda and stating that the aircraft in question was undergoing maintenance. As with many such cases, the details are contested and difficult to independently verify.

Yet what matters analytically is the pattern. The idea that pressure can be applied not directly to the individual, but to those close to them, is not new. It is, however, highly effective. People may be willing to take risks themselves, but far fewer are willing to see their families bear the consequences.

In studies of coercion and political violence, this kind of indirect pressure is well understood. It works precisely because it targets emotional and social ties that are almost impossible to shield. When used by states, it becomes even more complex, raising difficult questions about accountability and response.

A Policy Gap That Is Hard to Ignore

One of the clearest takeaways from the Geneva discussions is that policy has not kept pace with reality. There is growing documentation of abuses within Pakistan, and now increasing evidence of pressure beyond its borders. Yet responses remain fragmented.

There is still a tendency, particularly in Europe, to assume that offering asylum or residency is enough. In many cases, it is not. The forms of pressure described by activists do not fit neatly into existing legal categories. They rarely cross the threshold required for criminal prosecution, but they still have a real impact on people’s lives.

This creates a difficult situation for governments. How do you respond to something that is hard to prove, easy to deny, and yet clearly harmful? Existing counterterrorism frameworks offer little guidance, as they are largely focused on non-state actors. Diplomatic considerations, meanwhile, often limit how far states are willing to go in confronting such practices.

There are no easy solutions. Better documentation and coordination between countries would be a start. So too would legal frameworks that recognise and address transnational repression more directly. Without such steps, there is a risk that these practices will become more common, not less.

The Bigger Picture

What is unfolding in Pakistan’s case is part of a wider global trend. The line between domestic and international repression is becoming harder to draw. States are finding ways to extend their reach without resorting to overt or easily traceable actions.

For those of us who study political violence, this presents both a challenge and a warning. The tools of control are evolving, and our ways of understanding them need to evolve as well.

The discussions in Geneva made one thing clear: leaving a country no longer guarantees distance from its power structures. Repression, in its modern form, is more flexible than that. It moves through networks, relationships, and systems that span borders.

The question now is whether international institutions and national governments are prepared to deal with this shift. If not, they risk confronting a new reality with outdated assumptions—and that is rarely a winning strategy.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

The Merchant case therefore fits a recognizable pattern: recruitment outside Iran, deployment in third countries, and reliance on criminal intermediaries to carry out violent actions.

In March 2026, a U.S. federal jury convicted Asif Merchant, a Pakistani national with links to Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), on charges of terrorism and murder-for-hire.

Prosecutors argued that Merchant attempted to orchestrate the assassination of American political leaders during the 2024 election cycle, including president Donald Trump. The plot collapsed only because the individuals he attempted to hire turned out to be undercover FBI agents.

At first glance, the episode might appear to be another isolated case of a failed extremist plot. Yet the details emerging from court records, intelligence disclosures, and related cases reveal something more troubling.

Merchant’s trajectory—from alleged recruitment by the IRGC in Pakistan to his attempt to coordinate a political assassination inside the United States—illustrates the evolving architecture of transnational covert operations directed at American political targets.

For U.S. policymakers, the Merchant case should not merely be treated as a criminal prosecution. It is a warning signal about the persistence of state-linked assassination plots and the vulnerability of open democratic societies to external clandestine networks.

From Recruitment to Assassination Planning

According to U.S. prosecutors, Merchant began working with operatives linked to Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) in late 2022 or early 2023 while in Pakistan. His responsibilities included laundering funds and establishing operational contacts outside Iran.

By late 2023, investigators believe Merchant had been tasked with a more ambitious assignment: identifying potential recruits for covert operations in the United States. In April 2024, he traveled to the country and began seeking intermediaries who could carry out violent acts against political figures.

Court filings describe a chilling sequence of meetings in New York during June 2024. Merchant reportedly explained to individuals he believed were professional hitmen that he required three services: document theft, organized protests at political rallies, and the assassination of a “political person.”

The operation was never realized. Merchant unknowingly paid a $5,000 advance to undercover agents and was arrested in July 2024 before leaving the United States.

In March 2026, after a federal trial in Brooklyn, a jury convicted him of attempting to commit terrorism and murder-for-hire, crimes that carry a potential life sentence.

What makes this case particularly alarming is the alleged state-linked dimension. U.S. prosecutors argued that Merchant was acting under the direction of IRGC operatives.

The Soleimani Factor and Iran’s Retaliatory Doctrine

To understand why American political figures might be targeted, analysts often point to a pivotal moment in January 2020: the U.S. drone strike that killed Qasem Soleimani, commander of the IRGC’s Quds Force. The strike, ordered by President Donald Trump, dramatically escalated tensions between Washington and Tehran.

Since Soleimani’s death, U.S. intelligence agencies have warned of Iranian efforts to retaliate through covert operations targeting American officials. In fact, the Merchant plot was widely interpreted by investigators as part of a broader revenge campaign.

The strategic logic is consistent with Iran’s historical reliance on asymmetric tactics. Rather than confronting U.S. military power directly, Iranian security institutions—including the IRGC and associated intelligence units—have frequently relied on proxy networks, covert agents, and deniable intermediaries abroad.

The Merchant case therefore fits a recognizable pattern: recruitment outside Iran, deployment in third countries, and reliance on criminal intermediaries to carry out violent actions.

Not an Isolated Case

The significance of the Merchant episode becomes clearer when examined alongside other documented plots attributed to Iranian networks.

One of the most prominent examples involves Shahram Poursafi, an IRGC-linked operative charged by the U.S. Department of Justice in 2022 for allegedly plotting to assassinate former national security adviser John Bolton.

Prosecutors said Poursafi attempted to hire a hitman and offered payments of up to $1 million for the killing.

Another case emerged in 2024, when U.S. authorities accused Farhad Shakeri, an alleged IRGC asset, of coordinating murder-for-hire operations targeting American and Iranian-American figures in New York.

According to investigators, Shakeri’s network sought to recruit criminal associates to carry out the killings.

Similarly, the FBI issued alerts in 2024 regarding Iranian intelligence operative Majid Dastjani Farahani, suspected of recruiting individuals to assassinate U.S. officials.

Taken together, these cases suggest a strategic pattern rather than isolated incidents. The use of intermediaries—often foreign nationals or diaspora contacts—allows state actors to maintain plausible deniability while extending operational reach.

Implications for U.S. National Security

The Pakistani Merchant conviction underscores a fundamental challenge confronting American security institutions: the growing intersection between state intelligence operations and transnational criminal networks.

Unlike traditional espionage, these plots do not rely exclusively on trained intelligence officers. Instead, they recruit businessmen, expatriates, or individuals with international mobility who can move between countries without immediate suspicion.

Merchant himself reportedly maintained business interests and family connections across Pakistan, Iran, and the United States, enabling him to travel and operate with relative ease.

For the United States, this raises a difficult policy question. Counterterrorism frameworks were largely designed to combat non-state extremist organizations such as al-Qaeda or ISIS. State-sponsored assassination networks, however, operate under different strategic assumptions.

They can leverage diplomatic cover, international logistics networks, and intelligence infrastructures that blur the line between criminal conspiracy and geopolitical confrontation.

In practical terms, the Merchant case highlights three vulnerabilities. First, the reliance on global business and migration networks can provide cover for covert operatives. Second, the use of freelance intermediaries complicates intelligence detection. Third, political polarization within the United States may increase the symbolic value of targeting prominent political figures.

A Test of Strategic Vigilance

The conviction of Asif Merchant represents a success for American law enforcement and intelligence cooperation. The FBI’s use of undercover agents prevented a potential assassination and provided prosecutors with decisive evidence.

Yet the broader lesson is not one of closure but of caution. Merchant’s case demonstrates how geopolitical conflicts can spill into the domestic political sphere of the United States. Whether acting under coercion, ideology, or financial incentives, individuals embedded in transnational networks can become instruments of foreign strategic agendas.

For the U.S. government, the challenge moving forward is not simply prosecuting individual operatives. It is recognizing that such plots may represent only the visible edges of deeper covert infrastructures. If the Merchant case is treated merely as a criminal anomaly, the larger pattern may go unnoticed.

In that sense, the verdict delivered in March 2026 should be interpreted less as the end of a story than as the opening chapter of a continuing security challenge—one that requires vigilance not only from law enforcement, but from policymakers responsible for safeguarding the stability of American democracy.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

The Yunus-led interim government provided fertile ground for Pakistan to manoeuvre this policy.

When Sheikh Hasina was removed from office in August 2024 after mismanaging two-month student uprising through violence, the political aftershocks were felt well beyond Dhaka. While an interim administration led by Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus took charge shortly to stabilize and reset the country, but inside the shifting currents of Bangladeshi politics, there was another country saw opportunity, which was Pakistan.

For Islamabad, the fall of Prime Minister Hasina, who was long perceived as closely aligned with India, appeared to offer a rare strategic opening. The interim arrangement which was crowded by sympathizers of Bangladesh Jamaat-e-Islami, created space for religious parties long marginalized under the Awami League’s rule. Pakistan moved quickly with intensified diplomatic exchanges, and even senior military leadership of two countries making reciprocal visits.

But what increased with unusual frequency was Pakistani religious delegations travelling to different cities and towns of Bangladesh from Dhaka to Cox’s Bazar in south and Sylhet in east, among others.

Behind the choreography appeared Islamabad’s clear calculation that if Bangladesh’s Islamist political sphere could be rejuvenated, Dhaka might be kept away from New Delhi and within the broader regional orbit of Islamabad. That bet seems to have failed now. In the recently concluded 13^th general election, Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) won a landslide two-thirds majority, winning 212 of the 299 seats on the ballot.

Led by Tarique Rahman, son of former Prime Minister Khaleda Zia and former President Ziaur Rahman, BNP campaigned on the slogan of “Bangladesh First”, emphasising that it will not be beholden to any foreign capital. This political messaging seems to have resonated powerfully with the Bangladeshi electorate.

Such a decisive vote has delivered a strong message to Pakistan, which seemed convinced that its favoured Islamist bloc will win the elections and give Islamabad a strong footing in Dhaka.

Pakistan’s Bangladesh policy in the post-Hasina moment followed a familiar template. It has for decades viewed South Asia through the prism of strategic competition with India. Where New Delhi consolidates influence, Pakistan seeks counterweights as has been witnessed in Afghanistan where this logic has shaped policy for years. In Bangladesh, Islamabad appeared to hope for a softer replay.

The Yunus-led interim government provided fertile ground for Pakistan to manoeuvre this policy. As Islamist networks that had faced political constraints under the Awami League suddenly found renewed visibility, Islamabad’s outreach extended beyond official channels into clerical and ideological spaces.

For instance, Maulana Fazlur Rehman, head of Deobandi Islamist Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam (F), led a delegation of around two dozen prominent Pakistani religious leaders to Bangladesh ahead of parliamentary election in November 2025. They addressed large gatherings, organised under the banner of Khatm-e-Nabuwat conferences, across major cities and towns of the country, which were reportedly held in support of Islamist political actors preparing to contest the February 12 election.

The symbolism of this religious affinity was hard to miss and, it seems, Islamabad believed that by encouraging the Islamization of Bangladesh’s political sphere, it could cultivate a government less beholden to India and more receptive to Pakistan.

Yet this approach rested on two flawed assumptions. Firstly, it overestimated the electoral pull of Islamist forces in contemporary Bangladesh and secondly underestimating the depth of Bangladesh’s historical memory around 1971 war crimes committed by Pakistan Army in what was then East Pakistan.

This memory and Islamabad’s reluctance to issue a formal apology over the war crimes remains central to Bangladesh’s national identity. It seems Pakistani policymakers willingly or otherwise seemed to calculate that five decades were enough to blunt that legacy and that religious affinity could transcend historical grievance.

For many Bangladeshis, Pakistan is not simply another state but a former ruler whose actions precipitated immense trauma which remains unchanged across generations. If anything, it has been institutionalized through education, public commemorations and war crimes trials. And BNP’s campaign slogans captured this sentiment with clarity as it called for “Bangladesh First” against any outright alliance with any foreign power (Na Pindi, Na Dilli).

Moreover, Pakistan’s attempt to leverage Islamization as a foreign policy tool also reveals a deeper tension. While Bangladesh is a Muslim-majority country, yet its political culture remains fundamentally based on Bengali linguistic nationalism. The Awami League’s secular framing was one expression of that synthesis.

Even the BNP, while more accommodating of religious parties as was witnessed during its earlier rules, has not sought to subordinate national policy to clerical authority. While it is true that interim government’s closeness with Jamaat-e-Islami may have energized segments of Islamist base, but, as the results showed, it did not translate into a groundswell.

Therefore, it is quite possible that Islamabad’s outreach through clerical visits, cross-border religious gatherings, symbolic solidarity may have reinforced suspicions that Islamist mobilization was being externally encouraged. For a country sensitive to sovereignty, such perceptions usually prove counterproductive.

In fact, there is an irony here.  While Pakistan’s own domestic experience illustrates the complexities of entangling religion and statecraft, yet in Bangladesh, it appeared willing to encourage precisely that dynamic in pursuit of geopolitical advantage.

Nevertheless, the failure of Pakistan’s Bangladesh bid echoes its recent miscalculation in Afghanistan where Islamabad’s military-dominated establishment believed that it possessed decisive influence in Kabul after backing Afghan Taliban’s return to power in 2021. But relations with Afghanistan today are strained, marked by months long border closure and recurrent skirmishes along the contested Durand Line dividing the two countries. 

It can be argued that Pakistan overestimated the durability of ideological affinity as a substitute for structural partnership in both the cases. Neither has religious affinity guaranteed strategic alignment with Kabul nor has it now delivered political ascendancy in Dhaka as Bangladesh’s electorate has signalled that while religion remains integral to social life, it does not automatically translate into foreign policy alignment.

For Pakistan, this presents a dilemma since Dhaka’s determination to pursue a “Bangladesh First” policy offers limited space for the kind of ideological leverage that Islamabad sought to cultivate.

While Islamabad’s Bangladesh policy after 2024 was built on the hope that a moment of political flux could be shaped into strategic realignment, its engagement will therefore need recalibration and for any pragmatism to sustain, the relations will have to be transactional and grounded in mutual interest rather than religious solidarity.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Collaborative research funding and institutional support would ensure that innovation translates into deployable solutions.

Rare earths have quietly become one of the most consequential fault lines in the global economy. The latest move by the United States to create a critical mineral trading bloc to counter China’s dominance over rare earth supply chains reflects a growing recognition that access to rare earth elements (REEs) now shapes economic competitiveness, technological power, and strategic autonomy.

Nearly four decades after former Chinese Premier Deng Xiaoping remarked “if the Middle East has oil, China has rare earth elements,” the observation has aged with unsettling accuracy.

As the global economy pivots toward electrification, automation, and data-intensive systems, demand for RREs is no longer driven only by hardware. Artificial intelligence (AI) has emerged as a major multiplier of rare earth demand, as the development and deployment of AI systems depend on materials whose supply chains are fragile and geographically concentrated.

Despite holding some of the world’s largest rare-earth reserves, India remains marginal in extraction and processing—leaving it exposed to China’s dominance over critical mineral supply chains that underpin modern defense, technology, and clean energy systems. Translating reserves into genuine strategic autonomy will require India to move beyond regulatory inertia and invest across the value chain, from mining to processing and recycling.

Lessons from China’s Rare Earth Experiment

Paradoxically, rare earths are not geologically scarce. They are moderately abundant and well distributed across the Earth’s crust, including in India, which holds the world’s third-largest known reserves. What makes them “rare” is the absence of economically viable concentrations and the technological, environmental, and regulatory hurdles associated with extraction and processing.

At present, China dominates nearly every node of the REE supply chain—accounting for roughly 60 percent of global mining, and more than 80 percent of global processing. This dominance reflects decades of coordinated industrial policy, control over upstream and downstream processes, and a deliberate effort to retain technological know-how by restricting foreign participation.

China has demonstrated its willingness to weaponize this dominance time and again, from export restrictions in 2010 to trade disputes with Japan and the United States. This reveals the geopolitical risks embedded in concentrated supply chains and has triggered renewed global concern and efforts to diversify sources — from Japan’s recent deep-sea sediment retrieval to the latest effort by the US to form a free trade zone.

Yet even as countries race to secure alternative supplies, the processing and manufacturing choke points remain firmly entrenched because most refining capacity is still clustered in China. In an era where AI systems increasingly determine economic and military advantage, such concentration poses not just a supply risk but a strategic vulnerability.

Why India Matters

From India’s perspective, rare earths sit at the intersection of industrial policy, strategic autonomy, and technological sovereignty. India holds nearly six percent of global known rare earth reserves, almost thrice as much as the United States, yet accounts for barely one percent of global production. The Mines and Minerals (Development and Regulation) Amendment Act, 2023, launched by India’s Ministry of Mines, marked a belated recognition of this imbalance by ending Indian Rare Earths Limited’s long-standing monopoly and opening the sector to greater participation.

While this is a step in the right direction, it does little on its own to address the deeper constraints that have historically sidelined REEs in India’s mining strategy. As a result, rare earth extraction has continued to be treated largely as a secondary by-product rather than a deliberate, strategic industrial objective. This underscores the need for a more comprehensive policy push that goes beyond regulatory liberalization.

At the same time, India and the United States share a growing dependence on rare-earth—intensive technological demands and a common interest in reducing over-reliance on China—an objective neither can achieve independently. For both nations, this shared objective offers a new frontier on alignment and cooperation: using partnership to accelerate REE capacity, close technological gaps, and integrate into resilient, non-coercive supply chains.

Policy Pathways for Cooperation

Four coordinated actions can turn India’s rare earth interests from a source of strategic vulnerability into a foundation for long-term autonomy in critical technologies, while putting it on a path to global leadership across the supply chain.

Facilitating Indian Production Capacity

China’s share of global REE mining has declined over the last decade, largely because countries such as the United States, Australia, and Japan actively coordinated policy, finance, and technology to revive domestic mining. India has not yet undertaken a comparable effort. While recent regulatory changes indicate a willingness to move beyond legacy arrangements, they stop short of enabling large-scale production.

Expanding the remit of existing US–India working groups to explicitly include the commercialization of REE production in India is therefore essential. Encouraging private sector participation can help translate regulatory opening into capacity, while access to American extraction technologies and targeted viability gap funding could make upstream investments commercially feasible.

Building Downstream Processing Capabilities At Scale

If rare earths are to modern technology what salt is to food, then extracting them from mineral deposits is like extracting salt from freshwater – technically complex, energy-intensive, and environmentally sensitive. Despite its reserves, India has only recently developed limited processing capacity for rare earth oxides. High capital costs, energy requirements, and technological barriers continue to deter private investment.

A formal bilateral framework for jointly funded oxide-processing ventures, combined with cooperation on AI-enabled mineral processing, separation technologies, and automation, could significantly reduce costs and improve efficiency.

Exploring Maritime and Deep-Sea Resources

Terrestrial REE deposits remain geographically concentrated. Diversification, therefore, requires looking beyond land. The deep seabed – among the least explored regions on Earth – offers potential mineral resources that could reshape supply dynamics. India’s capabilities in oceanography and seabed exploration, combined with emerging AI-driven mapping and sensing technologies, position it well for leadership in this domain.

Expanding existing multilateral frameworks to include cooperation on responsible, ethical, and sustainable deep-sea mineral exploration would align economic objectives with environmental stewardship.

Investing in Recycling and Alternatives

Known REE sources are finite, and primary extraction alone cannot meet long-term demand. Recycling and substitution technologies therefore become indispensable.

At present, rare earth recycling remains economically unattractive due to high costs, limited infrastructure, and weak regulatory incentives. Investment in recycling technologies, material recovery, and alternative materials – supported by coordinated regulatory frameworks and workforce development – can help bridge this gap. Collaborative research funding and institutional support would ensure that innovation translates into deployable solutions.

As India looks toward 2047 and the centenary of its independence, the next two decades will be defined by the choices it makes today on critical technologies and industrial capacity.

Rare earths will shape the trajectory of its AI-driven growth, strategic autonomy, and technological sovereignty. Leveraging partnerships to strengthen domestic production, processing, and innovation can move India from a passive holder of reserves to an active shaper of supply chains.

In this context, cooperation with the United States and within the emerging free trade zone for critical minerals, offers a practical pathway—not just to reduce dependence on China, but to build resilient, responsible, and future-oriented technology ecosystems.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

By organizing, leading, and, in some cases, fighting, Baloch women are challenging both state power and internal patriarchal constraints.

An extraordinary transformation is underway in Balochistan, one that unsettles long-held assumptions about protest, militancy, and gender in one of South Asia’s most militarized regions. Once pushed to the margins of political life and public dissent, Baloch women have emerged as the central force of a movement that is unprecedented in scale and distinctly indigenous in character.

From long marches demanding answers about enforced disappearances to visible participation in armed resistance, Baloch women are no longer peripheral to the struggle. Increasingly, they are defining it.

This moment marks a historic rupture. For decades, resistance in Balochistan was framed as a male-dominated, tribal insurgency—rooted in geography, kinship, and armed confrontation with the state. Women appeared mainly as mourners or symbols of suffering.

Today, that frame no longer holds. Political consciousness among Baloch women has been forged through loss, repression, and the systematic failure of peaceful avenues for justice, producing a movement that is emotionally charged yet politically sophisticated.

From Protest to Resistance

The immediate catalyst has been the persistence of enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, and collective punishment across the province, documented over the years by Pakistani human rights groups such as the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan.

Women—mothers, daughters, and wives of the disappeared—were often the first to mobilize publicly, precisely because men had been silenced through imprisonment, intimidation, or death. Their initial actions were resolutely peaceful: sit-ins outside press clubs, hunger strikes, and arduous long marches toward the capital of Pakistan, demanding little more than acknowledgment and due process.

When these nonviolent efforts produced no accountability, a profound shift followed. Baloch women began occupying spaces once considered unthinkable: leading mass rallies, confronting security officials, and, in some cases, joining armed resistance movements.

Footage released by the Baloch Liberation Army from the Nushki district, showing coordinated attacks on military installations with women visible in frontline roles, crystallized this transformation. The imagery was striking not only for its symbolism but for what it suggested—that sustained repression had expanded the movement beyond traditional gender boundaries.

An Indigenous Movement, Not an Imported Feminism

Despite their rising visibility, many Baloch women consciously reject identification with Pakistan’s urban, mainstream feminist movement. In interviews and public forums, they describe it as detached from Baloch realities and largely silent on state violence in the province. For them, the primary oppressor is not Baloch society per se, but the state’s security architecture.

This sentiment was articulated starkly by Dr. Shalee Baloch at the Saryab Literary Festival in Quetta, where she argued that the language of gender oppression imported from metropolitan centers fails to capture life under militarization. Her remarks echoed a widely shared belief that while patriarchy exists within Baloch society, it has been overshadowed by the far more intrusive violence of the state. When a man is abducted or killed, it is often the women who bear the longest and most visible burden—economically, emotionally, and politically.

The result is a movement that occupies a distinct political space. It neither mirrors liberal Pakistani feminism nor isolates women’s rights from national oppression. Instead, women’s emancipation is articulated as inseparable from the collective struggle for Baloch political rights, resources, and dignity.

Women at the Forefront, Not Behind the Lines

Crucially, this does not mean unquestioning alignment with male leadership. Prominent activists such as Mahrang Baloch have openly challenged men within Baloch society to support women’s education and political participation.

Addressing a massive rally in Quetta at the conclusion of a long march, Mahrang framed women’s empowerment as a measure of national self-respect, insisting that land, history, and struggle belong equally to women and men.

Her message captured a critical evolution. Baloch women are no longer mobilizing behind men as moral support or symbolic figures. They are organizing alongside—and often ahead of—them, setting agendas and redefining leadership in a movement long shaped by masculine norms.

A New Phase of Conflict

The scale of recent violence underscores the depth of this transformation. Coordinated attacks across multiple locations in Balochistan, reportedly resulting in significant casualties among security forces, drew national attention when images of female attackers circulated widely. For many observers, this shattered the assumption that militancy is an exclusively male domain.

Analysts argue that this shift reflects less ideological radicalization than strategic and emotional rupture. Political scientist Ayesha Siddiqa has noted in her writings on civil-military relations that when women enter insurgent movements, it signals the exhaustion of conventional deterrents. The cost of repression has become so normalized that even the deepest social taboos no longer restrain participation.

This pattern has been years in the making. The 2022 Karachi University bombing carried out by Shari Baloch, a highly educated mother of two, marked a grim turning point. Subsequent cases involving women such as Sumaiya Qalandrani Baloch and Banuk Mahikan Baloch suggested that female participation was becoming structurally embedded rather than exceptional.

Notably, many of these women came from educated, middle-class backgrounds, reflecting a broader shift in Baloch resistance away from tribal elites toward politicized, professional constituencies—a trend discussed in regional security analyses published by outlets like Dawn and The Friday Times.

Feminist scholars have long critiqued nationalism as inherently patriarchal, yet the Baloch case complicates that narrative. Here, women are not being asked to defer their rights until after liberation. They are actively reshaping the nationalist project itself, integrating gender equality into its core. By organizing, leading, and, in some cases, fighting, Baloch women are challenging both state power and internal patriarchal constraints.

Whether this experiment will succeed remains uncertain. What is clear, however, is that across Balochistan, women are no longer waiting on history. They are making it—forcefully, visibly, and at great personal cost.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view

These examples suggest that women’s leadership was neither alien nor unacceptable in early Islamic practice.

The discourse surrounding women’s leadership in Islam is complex and deeply contested. Recently a female leader from Jamaat-e-Islami cited a Qur’anic verse to argue that Islam prohibits women from holding leadership roles. The verse quoted was “Men are qawwamun over women” (Surah An-Nisa 4:34).

A closer textual and historical reading however reveals that this verse was revealed in a specific domestic context. Classical interpretations indicate that it addressed household responsibility and accountability during a marital dispute rather than questions of political authority or governance. The emphasis of the verse lies on responsibility not dominance.

If the verse had intended to establish a permanent hierarchy between men and women the Prophet Muhammad peace be upon him would not have considered punitive action against a husband accused of wrongdoing.

This context makes it clear that the verse cannot be used as a blanket prohibition against women’s leadership.

Islamic history further complicates the claim of prohibition. The Qur’an does not condemn the rule of Queen Bilqis of Sheba. Instead, her wisdom and consultative leadership are presented positively.

Shifa bint Abdullah was entrusted with administrative authority in Madinah. Aisha may God be pleased with her was a leading authority in hadith jurisprudence and political understanding.

Khadijah may God be pleased with her was economically independent and decisive in commercial affairs.

These examples suggest that women’s leadership was neither alien nor unacceptable in early Islamic practice.

The Qur’an states that women have rights similar to the obligations upon them. It also describes believing men and women as allies of one another. Such language implies partnership and shared responsibility rather than fixed subordination.

The modern political implications are equally significant. If women’s leadership were truly forbidden then women occupying spokesperson or organizational roles within political parties would themselves be violating that principle. This contradiction becomes even more pronounced when parties operate within legal frameworks that mandate women’s representation.

Ultimately the debate over women’s leadership in Islam is less about clear textual prohibition and more about selective interpretation. A balanced reading of the Qur’an Islamic history and contemporary realities suggests that women’s leadership is not inherently incompatible with Islamic principles.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Co-Author: Abu Obaidha Arin (He is a student from Bangladesh studying at Delhi University. He is a Bangladesh observer)

Sustained Jamaat rule could also exhaust anti-India sentiment by exposing governance failures, internal contradictions, and economic stress.

As Bangladesh approaches a decisive national election, the dominant assumption across political camps is not stability but an absolute turbulence. Irrespective of who wins, the post-election phase is likely to be marked by extreme confrontation, street mobilisation, and institutional paralysis.

From India’s perspective, this election is not merely about Dhaka’s internal power transition; it is about the direction of Bangladesh’s statehood, its ideological trajectory, and the security implications for India’s eastern flank.

The Ground Reality: BNP’s Electoral Advantage

If a broadly fair election takes place, the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) and its alliance remain electorally better positioned. Based on constituency-level dynamics, BNP could plausibly secure around 220 seats, driven by organisational depth, street muscle power, informal financing networks like Hawala, and a long-standing vote bank.

Jamaat-e-Islami, despite improved coordination, better organisational capabilities, and administrative reach, lacks comparable grassroots strength, social acceptance, and credible candidates, particularly in urban centres like the capital, Dhaka. Even where Jamaat has attempted voter engineering, such as shifting large voter blocs across constituencies, it remains structurally weaker than BNP in terms of coercive capacity and public legitimacy.

The administration itself appears aware of this reality. Bureaucratic behaviour already suggests a strong hedging towards a BNP-led future, which limits the effectiveness of Jamaat-centric electoral engineering. Smaller players such as the NCP, technically an offshoot of the Jamaat, are, at present, marginal, possibly securing only isolated victories like Cumilla-4, without national impact.

Yet electoral victory does not equate to political stability.

Scenario One: BNP Wins, But the Street Erupts

A BNP victory is unlikely to bring calm. The immediate trigger for unrest would be any attempt by the outgoing regime to retain influence through a “Gono Parishad” or all-party interim arrangement for 180 working days, or through continued authority for figures like Muhammad Yunus to push a July Charter or constitutional referendum.

BNP supporters, and crucially, large sections of the general-public, are unlikely to accept such arrangements after an electoral mandate.

This would lead to a direct confrontation between the state apparatus and BNP’s Street power. While this clash may temporarily benefit forces seeking to re-enter political relevance, it carries a deeper risk: Jamaat’s silent expansion under a BNP government.

Historically, Jamaat has thrived not by leading governments but by embedding itself within them, leveraging ideology, street cadres, and foreign networks while avoiding direct accountability.

From India’s perspective, this is the most dangerous long-term trajectory. A BNP government under constant pressure may tolerate Jamaat’s growth to maintain street balance.

As anti-India rhetoric rises, often as a unifying political tool, so too does the risk of cross-border radicalisation, revival of dormant terror networks, and gradual erosion of Bangladesh’s secular foundations. This is not short-term chaos but a slow destabilisation, which is far harder to counter.

Scenario Two: Jamaat Engineers a Victory, Short-Term Fire, Long-Term Clarity

If electoral engineering succeeds and Jamaat emerges dominant, instability would be immediate and severe. BNP would mobilise its full street strength against what it would frame as an illegitimate, radical takeover. The resulting confrontation, between Jamaat-aligned state forces and BNP supporters, would fracture the political system.

Paradoxically, this scenario, though more violent in the short term, may be strategically clearer. Lines would be sharply drawn between the legacy forces of 1971 and openly pro-Pakistan, Islamist formations.

BNP, weakened by repression and internal strain, would be forced to recalibrate, potentially seeking reconciliation with secular forces it previously sidelined. In such a polarised environment, Awami League would likely re-emerge over time as the only cohesive national alternative.

For India, this scenario carries immediate security risks but fewer illusions. New Delhi tends to manage overt threats better than ambiguous ones.

A Jamaat-led dispensation would likely compel India to harden its eastern security posture, strengthen intelligence coordination, and work more openly with global partners. Importantly, sustained Jamaat rule could also exhaust anti-India sentiment by exposing governance failures, internal contradictions, and economic stress.

India’s Core Interest: Stability Without Radicalisation

In the present circumstances, where the Awami League has been manipulatively debarred from electoral participation by the interim authority, India’s primary concern is no longer which party governs Bangladesh. The overriding question is whether Bangladesh can remain a stable, secular, and non-hostile neighbour.

A prolonged phase of instability combined with the deepening institutionalisation of Islamist politics represents the gravest threat. While short-term unrest is costly, it remains manageable if it culminates in ideological clarity and an eventual institutional reset. Long-term destabilisation, however, would steadily erode state capacity and regional security.

What makes the current moment especially dangerous is the growing footprint of the most radical sections operating out of Pakistan, increasingly intersecting with ISIS-linked ideological and operational ecosystems, and sustained by continuous external patronage, financial, digital, and organisational. These networks do not merely seek political leverage; they aim to reshape Bangladesh’s ideological orientation itself.

If left unchecked, Bangladesh risks evolving into a new and more complex Pakistan-type challenge for India, with greater unpredictability, higher levels of urban penetration, technologically adept radical actors, and a far deeper integration of extremism into civil society than India has historically faced from Islamabad.

For New Delhi, this transforms Bangladesh from a familiar diplomatic and security equation into the most difficult neighbour to manage in the long run. The threat is no longer confined to cross-border militancy but extends to radicalisation pipelines, information warfare, and the slow hollowing out of secular political space.

India must therefore resist reactive diplomacy and prepare for multiple contingencies: quietly reinforcing border security, intensifying surveillance of radical networks, countering transnational extremist financing, and maintaining calibrated engagement with all non-extremist political forces inside Bangladesh.

The months ahead will test not only Bangladesh’s democratic resilience, but also India’s strategic patience and foresight. The election may determine a government. The aftermath will determine the region’s future.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.