by Muhammad Mohsin Iqbal

Success in the real world is never born of illusion. It is first bestowed by the grace of Almighty Allah and then shaped by human effort, competence, and the circumstances of history. Nations that rise do so by confronting their realities, correcting their flaws, and building institutions worthy of trust. Yet, there is a curious pattern that has repeatedly surfaced whenever India faces defeat at the hands of Pakistan, whether in war, diplomacy, or other arenas of national comparison. Instead of engaging with facts and introspection, it often seeks refuge in cinematic fantasies, using films and popular culture to manufacture narratives aimed at denigrating Pakistan. This time, their target through films is the Lyari constituency of Karachi. Propaganda, however, loses its potency when confronted with documented truth. A serious examination of India’s own internal challenges, particularly the use of crime-related resources in its electoral politics, tells a far more sobering story—one supported not by rhetoric, but by India’s own official reports, courts, and watchdog institutions.

The nexus between crime and politics in India is neither speculative nor incidental; it is systemic and long acknowledged. From localized strongmen to sophisticated syndicates with transnational reach, criminal networks have entrenched themselves deeply within the political process. Their involvement ranges from financing election campaigns to enforcing electoral outcomes and securing post-election rewards. The most authoritative exposure of this phenomenon came through the Vohra Committee Report of 1993, an official document commissioned by the Government of India. Drawing upon intelligence from the Central Bureau of Investigation, the Intelligence Bureau, RAW, and revenue enforcement agencies, the report warned of a “close nexus” between criminal gangs, politicians, bureaucrats, and businessmen. It documented how organized crime syndicates, sustained by immense financial and muscle power derived from smuggling, narcotics, real estate, and black money, were operating with near impunity due to political patronage, institutional weaknesses, corruption, and poor inter-agency coordination. The report went further, cautioning that these syndicates were evolving into parallel power structures and recommended the creation of a highly secret, centralized nodal mechanism under the Ministry of Home Affairs to dismantle this dangerous convergence.

Historically, criminal elements played a direct role in elections through intimidation, booth capturing, and violence. While the introduction of Electronic Voting Machines and the deployment of central police forces have reduced overt coercion, subtler forms of pressure persist. Threats before polling day, manipulation of local influence, and control through fear or patronage continue to shape electoral outcomes. In many regions, particularly in states like Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, the phenomenon of the “Bahubali” politician—an individual who commands votes through muscle, money, caste allegiance, or coercion—remains deeply entrenched.

Elections in India are enormously expensive, and this financial burden fuels the reliance on illicit capital. The Association for Democratic Reforms (ADRs), the most credible civil society organization tracking electoral integrity, has consistently reported that a significant portion of election expenditure is unaccounted black money. Criminal networks are a major source of this funding, which is used for rallies, inducements, and direct cash distribution to voters. In Punjab and the north-western belt, reports by the Punjab State Narcotics Control Bureau and assessments by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime have highlighted the use of drug trafficking money to fund elections. Allegations of collusion between politicians and narcotics cartels, seeking policy protection and immunity from crackdowns, have been repeatedly raised in official and media investigations.

The investment of the underworld in politics is not charitable; it is transactional. Once a candidate wins, repayment comes in the form of lucrative public contracts, protection from law enforcement, manipulation of investigations, and the strategic transfer of officials. This quid pro quo lies at the heart of the criminalization of politics. ADR’s empirical findings are stark. Its 2024 analysis of sitting Lok Sabha members revealed that 19 percent had declared serious criminal cases, including charges of murder, attempt to murder, rape, and crimes against women. Earlier, its 2022 study of state assemblies showed that in some states, such as Bihar and Andhra Pradesh, over 30 percent of legislators faced serious criminal charges.

India’s own institutions have repeatedly sounded the alarm. The Election Commission of India has, through multiple communications to the Law Ministry—widely reported in leading newspapers such as The Hindu—sought enhanced powers to curb criminalization, including the authority to bar candidates accused of serious offences and to audit political party finances. The judiciary, too, has intervened. In Public Interest Foundation versus Union of India (2014), the Supreme Court directed that trials against sitting MPs and MLAs be conducted on a day-to-day basis and concluded within a year. In 2020, the Court again expressed deep anguish over Parliament’s failure to legislate against this menace.

Specific regional cases further illuminate the depth of the problem. In Mumbai, figures associated with the underworld, such as Arun Gawli, entered electoral politics, a linkage examined by the Justice S.N. Variava Commission. In Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, land and drug mafias have repeatedly surfaced in election reports. In the North-East, insurgent groups and smugglers have influenced polls through funding and intimidation, while in Punjab, The Special Task Force (STF) and Narcotics Control Bureau reports have documented the arrest of political workers linked to the drug trade during election periods.

This nexus persists due to weak party accountability, voter dependency in areas with fragile state institutions, a slow judicial process that allows accused individuals to contest elections for years, and opaque campaign finance mechanisms. While measures by the Election Commission, Supreme Court mandates on disclosure, and the use of the Right to Information Act have increased transparency, they have not dismantled the core structure of money, muscle, and patronage.

These are not allegations made by adversaries, nor narratives crafted in studios. They are findings recorded in India’s own official reports, courts, and democratic institutions. Nations are judged not by the stories they tell about others, but by the truths they confront within themselves. Reality, unlike fiction, does not bend to propaganda, and history ultimately records facts, not fantasies.

Qamar Bashir

When Zohran Mamdani declared that he was not apologetic for being Muslim, immigrant, or young, he did more than assert personal pride. Speaking in New York, a city that hosts the United Nations and anchors global finance, he gave voice to a generational shift that has been quietly building across Western democracies. For decades, immigrants—particularly Muslims and people of color—were advised to soften identity, mute faith, and avoid visibility in exchange for conditional acceptance. Mamdani rejected that logic outright. His message was simple and disruptive: visibility is not a risk to manage; it is a civic right. That declaration resonated far beyond city limits because it named a shared experience millions recognize but were taught not to articulate publicly.

This refusal to remain invisible marks a turning point in immigrant political psychology. The old bargain promised tolerance in exchange for silence, but it never delivered equality. A younger generation has decided that restraint does not produce belonging; participation does. Across the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, and Europe, immigrant and Muslim leaders are stepping into public life without apology, claiming rights already guaranteed by constitutions but unevenly honored by societies. What makes this moment consequential is not a change in law, but a change in posture. The question is no longer whether immigrants can assimilate quietly, but whether democracies will accept citizens who insist on full and visible membership.

The backlash has been swift and revealing. In the United States, chants of “go back to your country” have re-entered political discourse, often directed at citizens—naturalized or native-born—who happen to be nonwhite or Muslim. The phrase collapses under constitutional scrutiny. The Fourteenth Amendment is unambiguous: anyone born or naturalized in the United States is a citizen entitled to equal protection. There is no legal hierarchy between a white immigrant from Germany and a brown immigrant from Pakistan if both hold citizenship. The Constitution does not recognize ancestry, religion, or skin color as criteria for belonging. When exclusionists invoke “we” against “they,” they are not making a lawful claim; they are expressing an ideological preference unsupported by constitutional order.

The same contradiction appears across Western societies. In the United Kingdom, citizenship law makes no distinction between a citizen of Irish or Polish descent and one whose family came from Somalia or India. In France, republican principles formally reject ethnic or religious hierarchies. In Canada, multiculturalism is embedded in public policy. Yet the rhetoric of “we” and “they” persists. This reveals the true fault line: not law versus immigration, but law versus an imagined nation defined by race and culture rather than citizenship. The demand that immigrants leave—even when legally indistinguishable from any other citizen—exposes anxiety about status, not threats to legality.

That anxiety intensifies when immigrants move from invisibility to competition. For decades, immigrant labor was tolerated, even welcomed, so long as it remained concentrated in low-status sectors—driving taxis, cleaning offices, harvesting crops, staffing hotels. Western economies depend heavily on this work. But the discomfort grows when immigrants and their children compete openly for political office, executive authority, and intellectual leadership. The issue is not presence; it is parity. The shift from tolerated utility to equal competition unsettles assumptions about who is entitled to lead.

Economic data underscores this dynamic. Immigrants make up nearly one-fifth of the U.S. labor force and are overrepresented in essential blue-collar jobs. At the same time, more than a quarter of foreign-born workers are employed in high-skill fields such as medicine, engineering, and technology. This two-ended presence disrupts stereotypes of immigrants as permanent dependents. They are not merely sustaining economies from below; they are contesting power at the top. The resulting tension is often reframed as cultural conflict, but its roots lie in competition over opportunity and influence.

Demography adds another layer. Muslim and immigrant communities across the West are younger on average than white majorities and tend to have higher birth rates, largely because of age structure. Research consistently shows these gaps narrow with education and income over time, yet demographic momentum is politically potent. Rather than discuss convergence, populist movements amplify fear, casting ordinary population change as existential threat. Against this narrative, the new immigrant leadership emphasizes citizenship over biology. Belonging, they argue, is not inherited by bloodline but exercised through participation.

Misunderstandings about law and culture further inflame the debate. In the UK, for example, sharia councils are often portrayed as parallel legal systems undermining state authority. In reality, they function primarily as voluntary religious mediation bodies in personal matters and have no power to override national law. The controversy illustrates how easily fear replaces fact. The emerging immigrant leaders are not demanding legal exceptionalism; they are demanding equal protection and dignity within existing constitutional frameworks.

Crime statistics are similarly distorted. Variations in arrest and incarceration rates across groups reflect complex factors—age distribution, socioeconomic deprivation, neighborhood effects, and policing practices. Simplistic narratives that equate minority presence with criminality ignore these realities. The unapologetic generation understands this history of distortion, which is why its rhetoric centers on due process, constitutional rights, and equal treatment rather than appeals for tolerance.

What Mamdani’s words crystallized is the end of managed identity. Earlier generations believed safety lay in invisibility. Today’s leaders argue that invisibility never guaranteed safety—only silence. They replace caution with confidence: know your rights, claim your space, and compete openly. This posture is not radical; it is constitutional. It insists that democratic promises apply without qualification.

The significance of this moment lies in its transatlantic scope. From New York to London, from Toronto to Paris, immigrant and Muslim voices are echoing the same refusal: no apology for faith, origin, or age. This is why the reaction has been intense. The shadows are emptying. Communities once encouraged to hide are stepping into public life with assurance.

The challenge facing Western democracies is therefore stark. Citizenship either means equality under law, or it becomes a racialized privilege. If constitutions are taken seriously, there can be no lawful “we” empowered to expel a “they” among fellow citizens. As unapologetic immigrants step into the light, the meaning of belonging must expand to match the law. If it does not, the contradiction will haunt Western democracies far more persistently than immigration itself.

Qamar Bashir
Press Secretary to the President (Rtd)
Former Press Minister, Embassy of Pakistan to France
Former Press Attaché to Malaysia
Former MD, SRBC | Macomb, Michigan, USA