As the Communist Party of India (CPI) completes 100 years, its leaders, fellow travellers, and intellectual sympathisers are marking the occasion with celebration, nostalgia, and selective memory. Conferences are being organised, commemorative volumes released, and speeches delivered extolling the “historic contribution” of Indian Communism to workers, peasants, and democracy. Yet centenaries are not meant merely for remembrance; they are moments for serious evaluation. Political movements do not earn relevance by age alone. They earn it by outcomes, conduct, and contribution to the nation.

Over the past century, Indian Communism has consistently projected itself as the moral conscience of Indian politics the voice of the oppressed, the champion of the underprivileged, and the ideological alternative to what it dismisses as “bourgeois democracy.” It has claimed historical inevitability and moral superiority over other political traditions. And yet, after a hundred years, the communist movement today stands electorally marginal, ideologically rigid, socially disconnected, and increasingly irrelevant to India’s aspirations.

This raises an unavoidable question that cannot be brushed aside with slogans or romantic recollections of a vanished past: did Indian Communism actually serve India, or did it ultimately damage the nation’s political, economic, and social fabric?

Answering this question requires neither rhetorical hostility nor ideological prejudice. It requires an honest audit based on historical record, political conduct, and measurable outcomes. After 100 years, an ideology deserves neither automatic reverence nor automatic rejection. It deserves truth.

Not Indian in Origin, Never Indigenous in Spirit

Communism did not emerge from Indian social, cultural, or economic realities. It was a European ideological product, born in the specific historical conditions of 19th-century Europe. Its intellectual foundations were laid by Karl Marx, who analysed the dynamics of industrial capitalism in Europe factory labour, wage exploitation, and the sharp divide between capital owners and industrial workers. Vladimir Lenin later adapted this theory into a model of violent revolution led by a tightly controlled vanguard party seizing state power.

Both thinkers operated within relatively homogeneous, industrial societies where economic class was assumed to be the primary identity. Their framework rested on rigid assumptions: a clear oppressor–oppressed binary, violent rupture as the path to justice, and centralised control as the solution to inequality.

India, however, was never structured this way. Indian society is civilisational, plural, and layered. It is shaped by community, region, faith, language, and tradition not by economic class alone. Historically, Indian social change has occurred through reform, accommodation, synthesis, and gradual evolution rather than the annihilation of existing structures. From Bhakti and Sufi movements to social reformers and national renaissance, India’s civilisational method has always favoured continuity over destruction.

This fundamental mismatch explains why Communism never achieved deep societal acceptance in India. An ideology built on rigid binaries could not sustain itself in a civilisation that thrives on plurality, negotiation, and organic balance. Indian society is complex and adaptive; Communism is doctrinaire and inflexible. This contradiction lies at the heart of Communism’s long-term irrelevance in India.

Ideology Above Nation: The Quit India Betrayal

Beyond its theoretical incompatibility, Indian Communism is burdened by a far more serious charge: the repeated prioritisation of ideology over national interest. The most glaring example remains its conduct during the Quit India Movement of 1942.

In August 1942, India witnessed one of the most decisive mass uprisings against British rule. The Quit India Movement, led by Mahatma Gandhi, cut across regions, castes, and ideologies. It was a moment of national unity and moral clarity. And yet, the Communist Party of India chose to stand apart from the nation.

The CPI opposed the Quit India Movement not due to any strategic assessment of India’s readiness for freedom, but because of ideological alignment with Moscow. When Nazi Germany invaded the Soviet Union in 1941, Britain became an ally of the USSR. Overnight, the CPI reclassified the Second World War as a “people’s war” against fascism and instructed its cadres not to disrupt the British war effort. Strikes were discouraged. Protests were opposed. In several instances, Communist functionaries cooperated with colonial authorities.

While millions of Indians faced arrests, firing, and imprisonment, the CPI stood aside not because India’s freedom could wait, but because Soviet interests demanded restraint. Few episodes so clearly illustrate how Indian Communism subordinated national aspirations to foreign ideological centres.

The China War: Ambiguity in the Face of Aggression

A similar pattern re-emerged during the 1962 Sino-Indian War. When Chinese forces crossed India’s borders in Ladakh and Arunachal Pradesh, the nation expected unity and moral clarity from its political leadership. What it received instead from large sections of the Communist movement was silence, confusion, and ideological sympathy for the aggressor.

The crisis exposed the deep ideological dislocation within Indian Communism. Instead of unequivocal support for India’s sovereignty, sections of the Left attempted to rationalise Chinese actions through Marxist jargon. This culminated in a split within the CPI, leading to the formation of the CPI(M), with its pro-China orientation.

Once again, when ideology clashed with national interest, Indian Communism faltered.

From Ballot to Bullet: The Descent into Armed Insurgency

Ideological confusion was damaging enough. What proved catastrophic was the gradual abandonment of democratic politics by sections of the Communist movement. From the late 1960s onwards, large segments embraced armed insurgency as a legitimate political tool. This was no longer opposition to the state it was war against the Indian Republic.

What followed was not a struggle for workers’ rights, but a prolonged campaign of violence: assassinations, massacres, landmine blasts, destruction of infrastructure, and systematic intimidation of civilians. The victims were not colonial rulers or capitalist elites, but ordinary Indians tribals, farmers, elected representatives, policemen, and daily-wage workers.

From Senari and Bara in Bihar to Dantewada, Sukma, and Jeeram Ghati in Chhattisgarh, the trail of blood is undeniable. The Dantewada massacre of 2010 alone claimed the lives of 76 CRPF personnel. The Jeeram Ghati attack targeted elected leaders. Landmines have blown up civilian vehicles in Giridih and Latehar. Entire regions have been held hostage to fear and stagnation in the name of “class struggle.”

This violence did not liberate the poor. It devastated them. It destroyed schools, roads, healthcare access, and livelihoods. It delayed development in tribal regions by decades, ensuring continued misery while insurgent leadership thrived in underground privilege.

Electoral Collapse and Ideological Exhaustion

While armed extremism represents one face of Communism’s failure, its parliamentary wing tells another story. Once dominant in West Bengal, Tripura, and Kerala, Communist parties have been decisively rejected by voters in most of India. Where they governed, their record is marked by industrial stagnation, flight of capital, politicisation of institutions, and cadre-driven intimidation.

The collapse of Left Front rule in West Bengal was not accidental—it was the result of decades of economic mismanagement, ideological rigidity, and suppression of dissent. Even today, the Left’s vocabulary remains frozen in the 20th century, unable to engage with India’s entrepreneurial, aspirational youth.

Conclusion: A Hundred Years, No Redemption

After a century, Indian Communism cannot be judged by intent, theory, or self-image. It must be judged by record. That record reveals an ideology imported from outside India, fundamentally misaligned with Indian civilisation, repeatedly subordinating national interest to foreign ideological loyalties, and turning to violence when democratic relevance declined.

This is not the story of an ideology betrayed by circumstances. It is the story of an ideology that failed because it could not adapt to India’s pluralism, its civilisational continuity, or its democratic ethos. The centenary of the Communist Party of India is therefore not a moment for celebration, but for reckoning.

After 100 years, Indian Communism has neither liberated the poor nor strengthened democracy nor safeguarded national sovereignty. It has only demonstrated one enduring truth: an ideology that places itself above the nation will ultimately damage both the nation and itself.

Dr. Prosenjit Nath is a techie, political analyst, and author.

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The post 100 Years Of Communism In India: An Imported Ideology With Foreign Loyalties And Bloodstained Outcomes appeared first on The Commune.

The death sentence handed down to former Bangladesh Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina by the reconstituted International Crimes Tribunal is more than a legal verdict; it is a political earthquake. And like all political earthquakes in the subcontinent, its rumblings carry the unmistakable resonance of history.

The comparison many analysts have drawn between Hasina’s trial in 2025 and Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s trial in Pakistan in 1978 is not an exaggeration; it is a warning. A warning that when courts become theaters and justice becomes a prop for political vendettas, the nation drifts into dangerous waters.

The tribunal that delivered Hasina’s sentence was created to prosecute the atrocities committed during the 1971 Liberation War. Its purpose was to close old wounds, bring justice to victims, and honor the foundational values of Bangladesh. But the Yunus-led interim government’s decision to expand the tribunal’s jurisdiction in 2024, giving it the authority to try contemporary political actors, weaponized the institution.

Instead of healing historical traumas, it has now become an instrument to manufacture new ones. Hasina was tried in absentia, denied the opportunity to testify directly, barred from cross-examining witnesses, and subjected to a hastily conducted judicial process that resembled a political purge rather than a legitimate trial.

Supporters of the verdict might argue that Hasina must be held accountable for alleged abuses committed during her tenure. But accountability must arise from a process that upholds the basic tenets of justice. What transpired instead was a judicial spectacle: rushed proceedings, opaque evidence, and a tribunal whose neutrality had evaporated long before the verdict was announced.

In politics, optics matter, and the optics here are unmistakable: a regime intent on erasing its predecessors, using the legal system as a sword rather than a scale.

This is where the shadow of Bhutto looms large. Bhutto’s trial in 1978 under Pakistan’s General Zia-ul-Haq is now universally recognized as a travesty. Conducted under pressure, presided over by a judiciary molded by the military regime, and fueled by political animosity, Bhutto’s hanging remains one of the darkest chapters in South Asian judicial history.

Decades later, even Pakistan’s Supreme Court conceded that Bhutto had not been granted a fair trial. The parallels to Hasina are too strong to dismiss: a toppled leader, a new regime desperate to consolidate power, a judiciary re-engineered to comply, and a verdict that seems designed to eliminate political opposition rather than deliver justice.

Bangladesh, unlike Pakistan, was born out of a struggle for secular democracy. The Awami League under Sheikh Mujibur Rahman built its identity on linguistic nationalism and liberation from Pakistani militarism. But in recent years, the drift in Dhaka has been troubling.

The interim government’s accommodation of Islamist groups previously barred from politics, its shrinking tolerance for dissent, and its aggressive dismantling of the Awami League’s organizational structures all indicate an ideological shift, a shift that eerily resembles Pakistan under Zia. This is not merely about punishing Hasina; it is about rewriting the ideological DNA of the republic.

By sentencing Hasina to death, the interim regime has sent a message to its domestic rivals: political displacement will not stop at exile; it may end at the gallows. For a nation that prides itself on emerging from the ashes of genocide and dictatorship, this is an alarming regression.

Bangladesh’s political system has always been turbulent, but this verdict threatens to push it into a new phase: one where political competition is no longer mediated through elections or parliamentary processes but through courts and punitive tribunals acting under executive influence.

For India, the developments in Bangladesh carry profound strategic implications. New Delhi has long regarded Dhaka as a key ally in maintaining stability in the Northeast, combating cross-border terror networks, and managing migration flows. Sheikh Hasina’s government played an instrumental role in neutralizing extremist groups and strengthening bilateral cooperation.

Her ouster, followed by a death sentence delivered under dubious legal circumstances, destabilizes the regional balance. Bangladesh drifting toward Islamist politics even moderately threatens to reopen security challenges that India spent years combating. The Northeast, already sensitive, cannot afford a Bangladesh where anti-India political currents regain strength.

Moreover, the verdict raises questions about the future of Bangladesh’s democratic institutions. If courts can be repurposed to eliminate political opponents, then elections cease to be meaningful. The interim regime may claim to be restoring democracy, but a democracy built on judicial intimidation is hollow.

Even critics of Hasina’s governance and she had many recognized that justice cannot be selective. Her trial sets a precedent that any future government could exploit, trapping Bangladesh in a cycle of judicial vengeance with no exit.

The human rights dimension cannot be ignored either. Trials in absentia belong to authoritarian playbooks, not democratic ones. Executing a former prime minister under such circumstances violates international norms and invites scrutiny from global bodies. It signals to the world that Bangladesh is turning inward, away from democratic accountability and toward ideological consolidation. Nations that rely on international legitimacy do not pass death sentences in politically charged trials without expecting consequences.

This is why the comparison to Bhutto is so powerful. Bhutto’s execution did not strengthen Pakistan. It delegitimized its judiciary, deepened political polarization, emboldened authoritarian forces, and created a martyr whose shadow haunted Pakistani politics for generations. Bangladesh now stands at a similar crossroads.

Hasina’s sentence risks creating a political vacuum filled not by democratic forces but by opportunistic alliances of Islamist groups, disillusioned power centers, and authoritarian actors seeking permanence.

The tragedy of South Asian politics is that its leaders seldom learn from history. Institutions are reshaped to serve immediate goals, only to later become instruments of oppression for those who once controlled them. The tribunal that now convicts Hasina with sweeping authority may one day be turned against the very people who empowered it. That is the nature of political tools; they rarely remain in one set of hands for long.

Bangladesh’s soul was forged in the fires of 1971. Its promise was democracy, secularism, and justice. By sentencing Sheikh Hasina to death in a trial that carries the unmistakable scent of political revenge, the country risks abandoning that promise. The world, and especially India, must watch with vigilance.

Not because Hasina must be defended uncritically, but because democracy must be defended vigorously. When justice becomes indistinguishable from politics, nations lose their moral compass. And when nations lose their moral compass, history often the darkest parts of it has a way of repeating itself.

Dr. Prosenjit Nath is a techie, political analyst, and author.

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The post Bangladesh’s Political Purge: Sheikh Hasina’s ‘Death Sentence’ Is A Warning To The Subcontinent appeared first on The Commune.

The 2025 Bihar assembly election will be remembered not only for the unprecedented sweep by the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) but also for the spectacular collapse of the RJD-Congress grand alliance, which recorded its worst performance since 2010, winning only 35 seats against the NDA’s formidable 202.

The Mahagathbandhan did not lose because of a single weakness; it disintegrated because of a cocktail of internal quarrels, leadership missteps, incoherent messaging, and disastrous strategy. From the beginning, the alliance functioned less like a coalition and more like a family locked in constant disputes. The Mahagathbandhan came across as a quarreling group, unable to hide its mistrust and power struggle.

Tejashwi Yadav wanted to assert himself as the undisputed leader, while Congress refused to accept a secondary role, and this friction burst into the open. Rahul Gandhi’s disappearance after the Voter Adhikar Yatra left Tejashwi stranded, while smaller partners such as Mukesh Sahani and CPML loudly demanded their share.

The episode where Tejashwi travelled to Delhi for the land-for-jobs hearing but reportedly left in anger without meeting Rahul Gandhi symbolized the disconnect. The alliance never recovered from the bitterness caused during seat-sharing talks, and each party ultimately ran its own campaign. Workers refused to transfer votes to partners, while the NDA showcased unity and disciplined messaging, strengthening its credibility in the eyes of voters.

The projection of Tejashwi Yadav as chief ministerial candidate further deepened the divide. Congress leaders later admitted that announcing Tejashwi as CM face was a strategic mistake many felt he carried too much political baggage and lacked the credibility that the political discourse, shaped by Prashant Kishor’s development and merit narratives, now demanded.

His lack of higher education and his association with the so-called jungle raj era made many voters skeptical. Ashok Gehlot’s late intervention as Congress troubleshooter failed to patch up the widening rift, and his scripted speech in Maurya only highlighted the disconnect between Delhi and the ground reality. Posters dominated entirely by Tejashwi signalled that the RJD had sidelined Congress.

The decision to declare Mukesh Sahani as deputy CM candidate alienated core Muslim and Mahadalit voters, who saw the NDA as a more reliable benefactor through schemes such as the Lakhpati Didi initiative and cash transfer programs.

Rahul Gandhi’s campaign performance shattered the myth that he could galvanize a state election through charisma alone. By the time he returned from his Latin America visit, the Congress had already “missed the bus.” His entry into the campaign appeared mechanical, lacking energy and purpose. His theatrics, including the now-infamous jump into a pond in Khagaria, raised eyebrows even within the Congress.

Voters felt these stunts were unbecoming of a Leader of the Opposition who often accuses Prime Minister Modi of indulging in theatrics. Rahul Gandhi’s speeches on migration felt dated and disconnected from Bihar’s political mood, which had shifted toward development, welfare delivery, infrastructure, and youth aspirations domains dominated by Nitish Kumar’s governance record and Prashant Kishor’s narrative. Priyanka Gandhi Vadra, usually an impactful campaigner, had a minimal presence, appearing almost like a supporting act. This weakened the Congress’s overall mobilization.

Rahul Gandhi’s insistence on making SIR (vote chori allegations) the central campaign issue proved disastrously ineffective. Bihar voters were not interested in allegations of election manipulation; they were far more concerned with jobs, welfare, inflation, and stability. The Voter Adhikar Yatra drained the alliance’s manpower at a critical time. Even RJD leaders admitted that the yatra consumed resources and energy without delivering any electoral benefit.

While Rahul fixated on SIR, the NDA focused on delivering a positive narrative: improved welfare schemes, governance continuity under Nitish, and women-centric policies. This sharpened the NDA’s appeal among female voters, who constituted a stable and decisive support base. The Congress thus campaigned on an issue that resonated nowhere and ignored the pulse of the electorate.

Seat-sharing chaos finally brought the Mahagathbandhan to the brink. Negotiations stretched endlessly between Patna and Delhi, worsening tensions as days passed. Without senior leaders like Lalu Prasad Yadav or Sonia Gandhi playing a mediating role, there was no strong authority to hold the alliance together. Congress leaders, emboldened by Rahul Gandhi’s directive to negotiate firmly, dug in their heels over certain “winnable” seats.

Krishna Allavaru’s uncompromising stance only escalated the conflict. The alliance reached a breaking point when parties began contesting against each other in over a dozen constituencies, effectively cannibalizing their own vote base. Nothing damages an alliance more than internal competition, and this self-inflicted wound proved decisive.

In the end, the Mahagathbandhan did not lose because the NDA was exceptionally strong; it lost because it was exceptionally dysfunctional. The alliance collapsed under the weight of its contradictions – leaders mistrusted each other, cadres refused cooperation, campaign messaging lacked coherence, and the coalition failed to offer a credible alternative to a disciplined and well-coordinated NDA.

The Tejashwi-Rahul partnership was built on fragile foundations, and when tested under electoral pressure, it crumbled completely. In Bihar 2025, the NDA did not defeat the RJD-Congress alliance. The alliance defeated itself.

Dr. Prosenjit Nath is a techie, political analyst, and author.

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General Zia-ul-Haq’s doctrine of “strategic depth” promised Pakistan security against India through control over Afghanistan. Four decades later, it has delivered only chaos, radicalization, and a collapsing state.

When Pakistan’s military ruler General Zia-ul-Haq conceived the doctrine of strategic depth in Afghanistan during the late 1970s, it was hailed within Rawalpindi’s corridors as a stroke of genius, a long-term plan to secure Pakistan’s vulnerable western flank, expand its influence into Central Asia, and neutralize the perennial threat from India. In this vision, Afghanistan would become both Pakistan’s ideological buffer and its geopolitical backyard. But history has a brutal sense of irony. What was once imagined as Pakistan’s path to regional dominance has turned into the very instrument of its undoing. Today, Afghanistan stands not as Pakistan’s strategic depth but as its strategic death, a mirror reflecting Pakistan’s own self-destruction.

The Roots of an Illusion

Pakistan’s fixation with Afghanistan predates Zia’s military regime. The seeds of paranoia were sown in the early years after independence. From 1947 onwards, Afghanistan refused to recognize the Durand Line as a legitimate border and instead supported the concept of Pashtunistan, claiming Pakistan’s North-West Frontier Province (now Khyber Pakhtunkhwa) and parts of Balochistan as its own. These irredentist claims led to repeated diplomatic ruptures, including the severance of relations in 1955 and 1962. For a fragile new state already obsessed with the Indian threat on its eastern frontier, the specter of an unfriendly Afghanistan on its west was intolerable.

By the time the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan in 1979, Pakistan’s military establishment saw an unprecedented opportunity. General Zia-ul-Haq, a hardline Islamist and master manipulator of Cold War geopolitics, perceived the Afghan jihad not merely as an anti-Soviet campaign but as a vehicle for Pakistan’s grand ambitions. With massive U.S. and Saudi funding, Zia sought to create a pliant, pro-Pakistan regime in Kabul that would forever silence Afghanistan’s territorial claims and extend Islamabad’s influence deep into Central Asia.

Zia’s generals rationalized this policy with strategic logic. They argued that Pakistan’s narrow geography made it vulnerable to India. In the event of a war, a friendly Afghanistan would provide the Pakistani army “space to fall back” and regroup. But beneath this military jargon lay a deeper ideological project to Islamize both Pakistan and Afghanistan under the banner of a shared jihadist identity that could serve as Pakistan’s tool for regional dominance.

The late Pakistani scholar Eqbal Ahmed warned against this dangerous delusion, calling Pakistan “a country caught in an iron web of wrong assumptions, magmatic concepts, failed policies, and increased sectarian violence.” His words now read like prophecy.

The Mirage of Strategic Depth

The entire doctrine was built on a fatal misreading of history and geography. Real security does not come from manipulating neighbors or nurturing militias; it comes from internal cohesion, economic strength, and peaceful diplomacy. Zia’s Pakistan ignored this fundamental truth and instead chose to export instability under the banner of “Islamic solidarity.”

During the 1980s, Pakistan became the primary conduit for U.S. and Saudi aid to the Afghan Mujahideen. The Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) handpicked militant leaders like Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, funnelling weapons and money to factions that promised loyalty to Islamabad. Yet as soon as the Soviets withdrew and the Afghan factions began fighting each other, Pakistan’s dream of controlling Kabul began to unravel.

Seeking to impose order, the ISI midwifed the rise of the Taliban in the 1990s—a movement of Pashtun seminarians trained in Pakistan’s Deobandi madrassas. Initially, Islamabad viewed the Taliban as obedient protégés who would secure Pakistan’s western border and grant it leverage over India. But this illusion crumbled swiftly. Once in power, the Taliban refused to recognize the Durand Line, rejecting Pakistan’s territorial claims. They also began fostering a radical Pashtun Islamic identity that transcended borders, seeping back into Pakistan’s own Pashtun regions.

Even worse, the Taliban gave ideological and logistical sanctuary to extremist Sunni groups such as Lashkar-e-Jhangvi and Sipah-e-Sahaba, whose sectarian terrorism plunged Pakistan into internal bloodshed. What was meant to be a forward defense became an inward contagion. Instead of exporting jihad, Pakistan imported it.

ISI: A State Within a State

No institution embodies Pakistan’s Afghan misadventure more than the Inter-Services Intelligence. During the Afghan jihad, the ISI evolved from a mere intelligence agency into a parallel state apparatus. Flush with U.S. dollars and Saudi riyals, it acquired unaccountable power and ideological autonomy. Under Zia’s patronage, the ISI fused Islamist zeal with Cold War opportunism, building networks of militants and madrassas that operated outside civilian oversight.

When Zia died in a plane crash in 1988, the ISI had become a monster too large for any civilian government to control. Its Afghan policy splintered into competing fiefdoms, each pursuing its own factional agenda. Many ISI officers, themselves Pashtuns and steeped in jihadist ideology, began to identify more with the Taliban than with Pakistan’s national interest. “These officers became more Taliban than the Taliban,” one ISI veteran admitted to author Ahmed Rashid.

This ideological capture destroyed the agency’s analytical capacity. Strategy gave way to dogma. Instead of recalibrating after 9/11, Pakistan doubled down, playing a duplicitous game of supporting the U.S.-led “War on Terror” while secretly sheltering Taliban elements. The short-term tactical success of keeping Western funds flowing only deepened Pakistan’s long-term strategic disaster.

Talibanization and Internal Collapse

When the Taliban retook Kabul in 2021, Pakistan’s generals once again celebrated, claiming vindication of their decades-long pursuit of “strategic depth.” But within months, the euphoria evaporated. The Taliban refused to recognize the Durand Line, engaged in deadly clashes with Pakistani forces, and allowed the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) to operate freely from Afghan soil.

For Islamabad, the nightmare had come full circle. Afghanistan was no longer a buffer; it was a base for Pakistan’s internal enemies. The very militants Pakistan had nurtured now targeted its soldiers, schools, and civilians. The porous frontier became a revolving door for weapons, narcotics, and radical ideology.

The Talibanization of Pakistan is now an undeniable reality. In Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and parts of Balochistan, local Taliban factions openly challenge state authority. Sectarian groups act with impunity, enforcing their version of Sharia and undermining the rule of law. Public sympathy for hardline Islamists runs deep, thanks to decades of state-sponsored radicalization.

Meanwhile, Pakistan’s economy has collapsed under debt and mismanagement, its politics are paralyzed by civil-military tensions, and its once-vaunted army now faces an existential crisis of legitimacy. As inflation soars and governance crumbles, ordinary Pakistanis are left hostage to the chaos their rulers unleashed.

From Failed State to Dying State

Today, Pakistan stands perilously close to implosion, economically bankrupt, politically fractured, and ideologically consumed. The dream of “strategic depth” has degenerated into a nightmare of strategic death.

Far from expanding Pakistan’s influence, Zia’s vision has trapped the country in perpetual instability. To its west lies a hostile Taliban regime; to its east, an assertive India; to its southwest, an alienated Iran; and to its north, a disenchanted China increasingly wary of Pakistan’s internal chaos. Instead of being a regional pivot, Pakistan is now a regional liability.

This collapse is not a sudden accident but the cumulative outcome of decades of hubris. The military’s obsession with controlling Afghanistan, its cynical use of Islam as an instrument of power, and its relentless suppression of civilian politics have hollowed out the Pakistani state. Every attempt to use religious militancy as a tool of strategy has rebounded with deadly force.

As the French scholar Olivier Roy foresaw in 1997, “The de facto absorption of Afghanistan will accentuate centrifugal tendencies within Pakistan.” That centrifugal disintegration is now unfolding before the world’s eyes.

Conclusion: The Death of a Doctrine

The tragedy of Pakistan lies in its refusal to learn. The illusion of strategic depth was built on three fatal assumptions: that Afghanistan could be controlled, that religious extremism could be weaponized without consequence, and that India could be undermined through endless proxy wars. Each of these has proven disastrously false.

Afghanistan remains fiercely independent, its soil now a refuge for anti-Pakistan militants. Islamist extremism has metastasized within Pakistan, eroding the state’s coherence. And India, far from being destabilized, has emerged as a global power while Pakistan sinks deeper into isolation.

General Zia’s doctrine promised security through expansion but delivered insecurity through implosion. In the end, Afghanistan did not become Pakistan’s fortress; it became its graveyard.

The verdict of history is unforgiving: what Pakistan’s generals once hailed as strategic depth has turned out to be strategic death, a slow, self-inflicted unraveling of a nation that mistook fanaticism for foresight and illusion for strategy.

Dr. Prosenjit Nath is a techie, political analyst, and author.

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The post From Strategic Depth To Strategic Death: How Pakistan’s Afghan Gamble Consumed Its Own Soul appeared first on The Commune.

From Hedgewar’s Sacred Oath to a National Renaissance Movement

The Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) has now completed one hundred years of its historic journey. Few organizations in modern history can claim to have endured such relentless hostility, state-imposed bans, misrepresentation, and vilification, yet emerge stronger with every passing decade. What began in 1925 as the vision of Dr. Keshav Baliram Hedgewar in Nagpur, with a handful of young swayamsevaks, has grown into the world’s largest voluntary socio-cultural organization its work touching almost every sphere of Indian life. The centenary year is not merely a milestone; it is an opportunity to look back, recall sacrifices, acknowledge countless anonymous contributors, and reflect on what makes the RSS such a uniquely enduring institution. The answer lies in two words: seva (selfless service) and samarasya (social harmony).

Dr. Hedgewar was not a mere ideologue; he was a man of action who saw the disunity and self-doubt among Hindus as the root of India’s civilizational decline. His solution was not political maneuvering but cultural consolidation. The RSS shakha was envisioned as a sacred space where young men could train their bodies, discipline their minds, and awaken their national spirit. Hedgewar’s call was simple: “The Hindu society must organize, for only an organized Hindu society can rebuild Bharat.” Those who joined him were ordinary youths, yet their extraordinary commitment turned Sangh work into a lifelong mission. Whether they were full-time pracharaks like Bhaurao Deoras, Eknath Ranade, and Dattopant Thengadi, or family men like Appaji Joshi, their lives were testimonies of silent sacrifice. They lived with minimal personal possessions, moved from place to place, and spread the Sangh’s message like tireless warriors.

Unlike many ideologies that sought power through politics, the RSS always found its strength in society. From the beginning, swayamsevaks were hosted and supported by ordinary households. The Sangh was not sustained by wealth or state patronage but by the food cooked in countless homes, by the mothers who saw their sons dedicate themselves to the nation, and by the sisters who infused their work with strength and encouragement. The role of women, though less discussed, has been monumental. Mausiji Kelkar and Pramila Tai Medhe, through the Rashtra Sevika Samiti, created a parallel organization that nurtured women’s participation in national service. This motherly strength made the Sangh’s work whole, reminding us that Hindutva is incomplete without the feminine force of Shakti.

From the RSS emerged not just swayamsevaks but also visionaries who founded powerful organizations in diverse spheres. Deendayal Upadhyaya gave the doctrine of Integral Humanism, a uniquely Bharatiya model of development that rejected both exploitative capitalism and soulless communism. Dattopant Thengadi founded the Bharatiya Mazdoor Sangh and Bharatiya Kisan Sangh, giving workers and farmers an ideological alternative rooted in dharmic values. Yashwantrao Kelkar laid the foundations of Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP), shaping generations of nationalist students. The ripple effect of Sangh-inspired leadership can be seen in hundreds of organizations Vishwa Hindu Parishad, Vanvasi Kalyan Ashram, Seva Bharati, Vidya Bharati, Samskrit Bharati, and more each addressing a different dimension of national life. Collectively, this ecosystem has transformed the RSS from an organization into a movement.

No honest account of the RSS can ignore the systematic opposition it has faced. Branded “communal” by the British, banned thrice in independent India, and demonized in intellectual circles, the Sangh has endured pressures that would have crushed any other organization. Yet every challenge only deepened its roots. After Gandhi’s assassination, when the Sangh was unjustly banned, it was ordinary citizens and respected leaders who stood by it. During the Emergency, thousands of swayamsevaks were imprisoned. Yet, their courage and society’s sympathy helped restore democracy. The Sangh’s resilience comes from the wisdom once articulated by Swami Vivekananda, who said that India’s masses may be unlettered in English, but they instinctively recognize truth and nobility. Just as ants do not need to learn English to find sugar, Hindus did not need elite endorsement to recognize the Sangh’s sincerity.

The RSS has consistently sought Hindu unity, social reform, and national strength. When conversions under misleading circumstances rocked Meenakshipuram in 1981, the Sangh galvanized a Hindu awakening. When untouchability was falsely claimed as a Hindu doctrine, the Sangh guided the Vishwa Hindu Parishad’s 1964 Udupi declaration affirming that caste discrimination is alien to Hindu spirituality. The slogans Na Hindu Patito Bhavet (No Hindu can fall from grace) and Hindavah Sodara Sarve (All Hindus are brothers) echoed the Sangh’s vision of equality. The Ram Janmabhoomi movement was another watershed, where swayamsevaks, saints, and society converged to assert civilizational pride. That a 500-year-old injustice could be corrected through a constitutional process, culminating in the 2024 consecration of the Ram Mandir, is testimony to the Sangh’s patience, perseverance, and faith in the people.

Perhaps the most underappreciated dimension of the RSS is its enormous service work. Whether during natural disasters, communal strife, or pandemics, swayamsevaks have been among the first to reach victims, often silently and without seeking publicity. Their relief work during floods, earthquakes, and COVID-19 won admiration even from critics. Seva Bharati’s schools, healthcare centers, and social projects across slums, tribal belts, and remote villages demonstrate how the Sangh reaches where the state often fails. It is this constant touch with society that has given the Sangh legitimacy unmatched by political parties.

As the Sangh enters its second century, its mission remains unfinished. Organizing Hindu society is not an end in itself; it is the foundation for building a self-confident Bharat that contributes to the world. The challenges are immense—religious conversions, cultural deracination, demographic imbalance, and the menace of divisive politics. But the opportunities are equally vast. With India rising as a global power, the RSS has a unique role in ensuring that modernization does not mean Westernization. By reviving pride in Sanskrit, promoting Indic knowledge systems, strengthening families, and instilling discipline in youth, the Sangh can anchor India’s journey towards holistic development. Most importantly, the RSS must continue to embody inclusivity. Its century-long work has already shown that it is not against any community, but for the cultural unity of Bharat. Its challenge is to expand this message to every household, across caste, class, and region.

The RSS at 100 is not just an organization marking a centenary; it is a civilizational force standing tall amidst the storms of history. Its karyakartas are not bound by contracts or salaries, but by vows and ideals. Its growth was not engineered by state power but by society’s blessings. Its success is not measured in wealth or buildings, but in lives transformed and communities uplifted. As swayamsevaks fan out in this centenary year to reach every household, they carry with them the conviction that Bharat’s best days are ahead. If the first hundred years were about survival, consolidation, and awakening, the next hundred must be about renaissance, strength, and leadership. In the words of Guruji Golwalkar, “This work is not mine, nor yours. It belongs to Bharat Mata. We are but humble instruments.” A century later, millions of swayamsevaks remain those instruments dedicated, disciplined, and determined. And with society’s continued blessings, the Sangh’s march towards national rejuvenation is unstoppable.

Dr. Prosenjit Nath is a techie, political analyst, and author.

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The post RSS At 100: A Century Of Service, Struggle, And Social Transformation appeared first on The Commune.

Opposition leader in the Lok Sabha and senior Congress figure Rahul Gandhi has embarked on yet another foreign trip, this time to South America. According to Pawan Khera, head of the Congress’s media and publicity department, Gandhi’s itinerary includes visits to Brazil and Colombia. During this four-nation tour, he will meet political leaders, address university students, and interact with members of the business community on topics like trade and technology.

The Congress party has framed this tour as a diplomatic outreach aimed at strengthening India’s ties with South America, citing historical links through the Non-Aligned Movement and the shared legacy of the Global South. However, the timing of this foreign trip has sparked considerable debate back home. With the Bihar assembly elections around the corner, many are questioning why the leader of India’s principal opposition party is globe-trotting rather than focusing on the political battlefield in one of the most crucial states.

Leader of the Opposition in Lok Sabha, Shri Rahul Gandhi, has embarked on a visit to South America. He is scheduled to engage with political leaders, university students, and members of the business community across four countries.

— Pawan Khera (@Pawankhera) September 27, 2025

Rahul Gandhi is neither the prime minister nor part of an official government delegation. Yet, he has assumed the role of a globe-trotting statesman, addressed overseas universities and held high-level meetings abroad. This might seem like an effort to enhance his international profile, but it comes at the expense of domestic responsibilities. Bihar is not just another state for the Congress.

The party is struggling to remain relevant there, battling both the BJP-led NDA and its own dwindling cadre. At such a critical juncture, a serious leader would be expected to stay on the ground, engage with party workers, strategize with allies, and directly connect with voters.

Instead, Gandhi’s schedule shows he would rather speak to students in Bogotá or São Paulo than rally crowds in Patna or Gaya. This pattern reinforces the widespread perception that he views politics as a part-time activity, something he dips into occasionally before retreating abroad to reset.

Rahul Gandhi’s latest trip comes on the heels of another controversy, his recent vacation in Malaysia. Earlier this month, after completing his so-called Voter Adhikar Yatra in Bihar, he quietly slipped away to Langkawi. The trip only came to light when pictures of him vacationing surfaced on social media, triggering sharp criticism. BJP IT cell head Amit Malviya posted on X, “Rahul Gandhi has slipped away yet again this time on a clandestine vacation in Langkawi, Malaysia. Looks like the heat and dust of Bihar’s politics were too much for the Congress Yuvraj, who had to rush off for a break. Or is it another one of those secret meetings that no one is supposed to know about?”

The trip became even more controversial due to Langkawi’s association with Islamic preacher Zakir Naik, who fled India and took Malaysian citizenship. Speculation swirled online about whether Gandhi’s visit involved any meeting with Naik or his associates, though the Congress party has offered no clarity.

Regardless of the truth, the optics were damaging. For many observers, this episode symbolized Rahul Gandhi’s tendency to treat political campaigns like assignments, something to be completed before jetting off for leisure or undisclosed meetings abroad.

This is not the first time Gandhi has chosen to leave the country at a crucial political moment.

1. In October 2023, just ahead of assembly elections in several states, he quietly left for Uzbekistan. The trip remained secret until he was spotted returning at Delhi airport, and even then, he refused to disclose its purpose. Such behavior is hardly new.
2. In December 2021, following a humiliating Congress defeat in five state assembly elections, Gandhi flew to Italy. His absence delayed campaign activities in Punjab, inadvertently paving the way for the Aam Aadmi Party’s rise.
3. In December 2020, on the very day Congress celebrated its 136th foundation day, he left for another personal trip to Italy.
4. Similarly, in October 2019, just two weeks before crucial elections in Haryana and Maharashtra, he flew to Bangkok without explanation.

This recurring pattern has earned him a reputation for disappearing during crises. Even within the Congress, there is unease about his habit of vanishing at decisive moments, leaving the party leaderless and directionless.

Adding to the suspicion are questions about the people Gandhi meets during his foreign travels. During his 2023 visit to the US, he met Sunita Vishwanath, co-founder of Hindus for Human Rights (HfHR), an organization accused of being an Islamist-linked advocacy group that regularly maligns India on global platforms.

Such associations raise eyebrows, especially when viewed alongside his history of criticizing India’s internal policies while abroad. For instance, he has repeatedly used foreign platforms to attack the Indian government, even appealing to international actors to intervene in what he calls a “crisis of democracy” in India.

Moreover, his repeated violations of security protocols during foreign trips prompted the government to withdraw his SPG (Special Protection Group) cover. Defense Minister Rajnath Singh himself raised this issue in Parliament, underlining the potential risks involved.

With the Bihar elections approaching, Rahul Gandhi’s South American tour looks like yet another example of misplaced priorities. Bihar represents a crucial battleground for the Congress and its allies, yet its top leader is thousands of miles away, addressing foreign audiences instead of connecting with local voters. This behavior signals more than just poor timing; it reflects a deeper problem. Leadership demands commitment, especially in times of political flux. By consistently leaving India during critical political moments, Gandhi undermines not only his personal credibility but also the morale of his party workers and allies.

Rahul Gandhi’s defenders may argue that foreign outreach is necessary for building India’s image abroad. However, without holding domestic ground, these tours risk looking like vanity projects. The optics are especially poor when set against a backdrop of repeated election losses and organizational decline.

As Bihar gears up for a high-stakes contest, the Congress should be consolidating its position on the ground. Instead, the leader’s absence reinforces the perception that the party lacks direction and seriousness. Until Rahul Gandhi proves otherwise through consistent, hands-on leadership, his foreign tours will continue to be seen as evidence of detachment from India’s political realities, a luxury no opposition leader can afford.

Dr. Prosenjit Nath is a techie, political analyst, and author.

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The post Rahul Gandhi The Missing Leader: Why Does The Congress Scion Go On Frequent Foreign Trips? appeared first on The Commune.