On Bengali Hindu Persecution, Trumpian takes, and why America won’t save us
More than half a century ago, as the slapdash borders of Partition tore through Bengal, entire Hindu families were forced to flee torch-lit raids. Many packed onto overcrowded trains heading towards the supposed safety of India; some trudged back on foot once they realised refuge wasn’t nearly as welcoming or permanent as promised. Others remained in the newly formed East Pakistan—modern day Bangladesh—holding onto their ancestral land despite the looming threats of mob violence and religious persecution. What followed was not a momentary exodus, but rather a drawn out process of intimidation. The newly minted government introduced laws to systematically strip Hindus of their land. Sporadic massacres and coerced conversions morphed into an undercurrent of ethnic cleansing, punctuated by waves of violence which reinforced the stark reality for the Hindus of Bangladesh, for whom the violence of partition never truly ended.
Fast forward to the contemporary American sovereign state, where the continuing trauma of that persecution unexpectedly collides with the name of Donald Trump, who in his trademark superficial bravado, declares that the violence against Hindus in Bangladesh “would have never happened under [his] watch.” His statement set off a wave of South Asian support for the Republican Party in the November election—a frankly baffling shift. Lo and behold my surprise when the recently impeached president, one known for incendiary promises rather than measured policy, cast himself as the missing piece in this decades-old crisis.
In our Toronto living rooms, descendants of partition-era and current religious persecution lean into Trump’s rhetoric—seemingly untroubled by the glaring contradictions in his record on minority rights. The loyalty is desperate and nearly frantic, as if a self-styled strongman could erase decades of systemic violence overnight. But the frenzy demonstrates something deeper: a fear so ingrained that it justifies resorting to someone who thrives on division while selling the illusion of salvation. And so, the question remains: is this allegiance rightfully placed, or does it merely exploit the Bengali Hindu’s collective fears to reinforce the very systems which sustain their vulnerability? For communities shaped by decades of displacement, the specter of mob violence, and forced conversions, the appeal of the unlikely savior becomes a tempting gamble.
A Series of Unfortunate Regimes
In Bangladesh, many of the current vulnerabilities can be traced back to the decades-old legal frameworks which have steadily eroded Hindu rights. The Vested Property Act—originally the Enemy Property Act of 1965—allowed authorities to seize lands belonging to those deemed enemies of the state, often targeting the Hindu minority. While the original 1971 constitution proclaimed secularism, that facade was shattered in 1988 when Islam was declared the state religion—a move that opened the door for the judicial disenfranchisement of non-Muslim minorities under the guise of religious unity. Amendments to the Vested Act and footnotes about secularism in the constitution have done little to stop the steady erosion of Hindu rights, because their persecution—whether overt or thinly veiled—has remained insistent.
The constitution has empowered extremist factions to invoke religious homogeneity as a rallying call, through which the Hindu minority must subsist within the realities of everyday discrimination, punctuated by hollow and sporadic government claims of pluralism. The Awami League (AL), one of two most prominent political parties in the country, established the International Crimes Tribunal (ICT) under the pretense of prosecuting war crimes during the 1971 Independence War. Yet, the tribunal’s proceedings quickly degenerated into a political weapon, as many of the accused were linked to the opposition Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), or Jamaat-e-Islami. When the vice president of Jamaat-e-Islami, Delwar Hossain Sayeedi, was sentenced to death in 2013 for charges including murder, rape, arson, looting, and forced conversions of Hindus, his extremist cheerleaders retaliated with ferocity. Hindu neighbourhoods, businesses, and temples were set ablaze across the country—over 50 temples vandalised and more than 1,500 homes torched in their campaign of terror.
It is near impossible to catalog every major instance of violence to the Hindus since 1971. One pattern, however, is glaring: this scapegoating reemerges like clockwork after every national election, when Hindus are branded as a built-in “vote bank” for the persistent Awami League and are then targeted by opposition factions in some sort of brutal political theatre—once again reminding us that legislative tweaks and lip service for secular values have done little to shield the marginalised from a deeply ingrained culture of persecution.
This cycle of violence against Hindus persists, worsening as the country’s instability only deepens in recent years. The AL has maintained power throughout the controversial elections of 2014, 2018, and 2024, all marred by allegations of rigging, opposition boycotts, and hammering on dissent to suppress protests. Widespread corruption, economic mismanagement, record inflation, and growing public dissatisfaction culminated in mass protests, particularly among students, whose July 2024 movement against the reinstatement of a decades-old quota system for government jobs escalated into nationwide violence with law enforcement. This period of unrest ultimately culminated in Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina—once seen as a symbol of democracy and modernity—transforming into an increasingly autocratic figure. During the course of her regime, influential Western figures like Henry Kissinger (himself a controversial architect of global power struggles), referred to her leadership as “a basket case,”–a descriptor perhaps fitting for them both. Despite increasing public anger and international criticism, she imposed stricter controls on dissent, establishing herself as our very own “Iron Lady.” Hasina eventually fled the country in a self-imposed exile, paving the way for an increasingly extremist rhetoric from her opposition and standstill interim government.
In Trump We Distrust?
As Bangladesh’s government and political factions repeatedly fail to protect its Hindu minority under its banner of secularism, many of the Bengali diaspora latch onto the unfiltered bravado of Donald Trump after a recent “Happy Diwali” post on X, proclaiming that none of the above atrocities would occur under his watch. His radical messianism has clearly captured the imagination of certain factions of Bengal’s diaspora, additionally making these new followers increasingly sympathetic to the rest of his platform. Fiscally conservative tax policies, deregulation, and Islamophobic rhetoric often draw in upwardly mobile South Asians, despite the glaring contradiction of his anti-immigration stance and history marginalising minorities. This selective loyalty underscores a certain transactional approach, one that aligns with policies perceived to benefit their socioeconomic aspirations, while ignoring the broader consequences for vulnerable communities, including their own.
The priorities of certain increasingly affluent South Asian groups have shifted, as financial policies overshadow social issues in shaping political alignment, which they believe further their own financial interests. However, for an individual branded entirely on championing prosperity, Trump’s leadership did little to substantially improve the economy for anyone outside of the elites, where no household in the bottom 86 percent would benefit from the House Republican plan. In Trump’s first administration, the Republicans cut corporate tax rates from 35 percent to 21 percent—contributing to half of recent inflation. His economic proposals, touted with the confidence of a CEO pitching a Ponzi scheme, spell disaster for the U.S. economy. His plan to deport 8.3 million undocumented workers, impose a 60 percent tariff on Chinese imports, and slap 10 percent tariffs on imports from everywhere else could shrink the nation’s GDP by $8 trillion—more than a quarter of the economy by 2024. Economists predict these measures would send inflation soaring by 25 percent, tank employment, and crash the dollar. Deportations alone would cut $6.4 trillion from output, while tariffs would spike prices, curb exports, and trigger retaliatory measures from trade partners, further choking growth. UCLA economist Kimberly Clausing didn’t mince words: “This could cause a depression.” These policies are less of a solution and more of an economic pyramid scheme, guaranteed to collapse under its own weight.
Trump’s controversies go without saying, almost surprising in their sheer absurdity. His disdain for climate reform, rollback of environmental protections, supporting the overturning of Roe v. Wade, and the only president to be impeached twice: these actions systematically target vulnerable groups while stroking cultural and political polarisation. It’s certainly not the substance of his policies driving support, but rather a phenomenon born of collective disillusionment and the allure of performative strength.
Though Trump’s tweet—a campaign gimmick masquerading as serious policy—his administration claims it “will protect Hindu-Americans” and “fight for [their] freedom” by strengthening an alliance with the equally verbose Narendra Modi. One would be naive to romanticize American or Indian military intervention in Bangladesh. It’s not difficult to conclude that the US track record on foreign intervention is a masterclass in destabilisation, particularly in the Middle East and South Asia. Decades in Afghanistan ended with the Taliban strolling back into power as though the US had never been there, leaving behind only chaos, a humanitarian disaster, and a two trillion dollar bill. Iraq? Even worse. American intervention left a power vacuum so big it nearly invited ISIS to set up shop.
Proponents of US involvement can cite the example of Northern Ireland under Clinton, where careful diplomacy helped broker the 1998 Good Friday Agreement, but this comparison falls apart under scrutiny. Before his impeachment, Clinton had generally good ratings and a more docile approach to diplomacy than Trump. Northern Ireland’s cultural and economic ties to the US supported a foundation for resolution which simply isn’t a reality in Bangladesh. The volatile leadership in Bangladesh, accompanied with the recent colonial reverberations and cultural distance to the States, is no comparison to Northern Ireland’s relative diplomacy during the Good Friday agreement. To assume the same strategy would be, at best, wildly optimistic. Alternatively, the notion that military or heavy handed foreign aid could stabilize the region ignores the lessons of history. The overzealous nature of American foreign aid and proximity of Bangladesh to known antagonists of the States (namely China and Russia) open up the potential of Bangladesh as a playground for proxy warfare. Would US involvement help Bengal’s Hindu minority, or result in harsh sanctions and force? The risks far outweigh the rewards, making the idea of US involvement more of a geopolitical gamble than a genuine solution.
Equity and the Fragile Promise of Reform
If there’s hope for sustainable solutions, the Bengali Hindus deserve much more than Trump’s chest-thumping or American interventionism. Real progress cannot be rooted in theatrics like parachuting in with sanctions, but rather in fostering regional diplomacy, legal reforms, and advocacy. The interim government under Yunus has attempted sweeping changes, focusing on electoral reform, constitutional amendments, and anti corruption measures. Yet, these efforts are certainly not perfect, where the arbitrarily chosen—not elected—interim government is dominated by Bengali Muslim men, and poses questions about their transparency and whether their leadership will truly address the needs of all groups within the country. Diasporic Bengalis and anyone else concerned with the safety of Bangladesh’s Hindu minority cannot pin their hopes on reactionary strongmen who promise the world and deliver chaos. It is imperative to reject the idea that heavy-handed foreign involvement, especially from America and its long history of self-serving interventions, can be the savior here. The role of educated youth, ones who led the fight against Hasina and demonstrated their power to challenge entrenched authority, becomes critical.
And if these reforms are truly aimed at dismantling discriminatory practices, Bangladesh stands at a crossroads. Reform without equity isn’t reform—it’s betrayal. Anything less than full inclusion risks undoing the very fight for change and leaving the nation trapped in the cycles it seeks to break.
