In recent days, the remarks of Syeda Hameed, Padma Shri awardee (2007), former Planning Commission member (2004–2014), and long-time Congress loyalist with closeness to Madam Sonia Gandhi, have sparked outrage in Assam and beyond. After visiting eviction-hit areas in Assam in 2025 with a bunch of known left-liberals and urban naxalites, she declared that there is nothing wrong in being Bangladeshi, that Bangladeshis are also human beings, and since Allah created the Earth for all, they too can live here. At first glance, such words appear wrapped in the cloak of “humanity,” but in reality they are dangerous, misleading, and dismissive of the existential concerns of Assam’s indigenous people.
The very same voices that are now so eager to defend illegal infiltrators were completely silent when lakhs of Kashmiri Hindus, legitimate natives of the Valley, were brutally driven out of their homes in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Entire families were killed, women raped, temples desecrated, and a millennia-old civilisation uprooted overnight, purely because they were Hindus. These people still languish as refugees in their own country. Yet for them, not one word of “humanitarian compassion” was spoken by the champions of infiltrators. This selective silence exposes a deep ideological bias: genuine natives and victims like Kashmiri Hindus are ignored, but those who have crossed illegally, occupied land, and altered Assam’s demographic balance are projected as “victims” of cruelty.
To understand the seriousness of the matter, one must revisit the history of Partition (1947). Jinnah’s two-nation theory carved out East Pakistan and West Pakistan from Bharat. In Assam, the Sylhet referendum (1947) ensured that a Bengali Muslim-majority area went to East Pakistan, slicing away part of Assam itself. Since then, Assam has been seen as a vulnerable “corridor,” linking East Pakistan with the rest of Northeast Bharat. Even after Partition, the flow of illegal migrants from East Pakistan, and later Bangladesh (after 1971), never ceased. Successive governments, guided by vote-bank politics, turned a blind eye, and in some cases even encouraged this infiltration to consolidate political support.
The Assam Movement (1979–1985) was a massive people’s uprising against this demographic aggression. Thousand of Assamese youth laid down their lives to protect their homeland, culture, and identity. The Assam Accord (1985) was the hard-won outcome of their sacrifice, clearly stating that illegal migrants who entered after March 24, 1971, must be detected and deported. Yet, decades later, the same issue persists, because leaders and intellectuals continue to romanticise infiltration as “humanitarian necessity,” undermining both the letter and the spirit of the Accord.
The demographic transformation of Assam is stark when we look at census figures. In 1901, Hindus formed around 72% of Assam’s population, while Muslims were around 25%. By 1951 (after Partition), Hindus had dropped to about 69%, Muslims had risen to nearly 31%. By 1971, just before Bangladesh’s liberation, Muslims crossed 33%, with certain districts already showing indigenous Hindus as minorities. By 2011, Hindus had fallen to just 61.5%, while Muslims rose dramatically to 34.2% of Assam’s population overall. In districts like Dhubri (79% Muslim), Barpeta (70%), Goalpara (58%), and parts of Nagaon, Hindus are no longer the majority.
These numbers are not just statistics; they represent the erosion of an entire civilisation. Assam, historically known for its vibrant Vaishnavite traditions founded by Srimanta Sankardev, its Satras, Bihu festivals, and the unique cultural blending of Janajati and Assamese ethos, is facing a demographic onslaught. In many char (riverine) areas, land once used for grazing cattle and traditional agriculture has been seized by infiltrators through organised “land jihad.” Temples and satras find themselves surrounded by hostile populations; there are growing cases of desecration, pollution of temple ponds, and obstruction of traditional religious processions. Assamese women and girls have increasingly become targets of “love jihad,” where carefully orchestrated relationships lead to conversions and erosion of cultural continuity.
At the same time, unemployment and livelihood challenges are aggravated because infiltrators grab government benefits, low-income jobs, and even electoral influence, sidelining the native youth. This is often termed “job jihad,” where demographic strength becomes a tool to dispossess the rightful sons and daughters of the soil. Indigenous people, particularly in tea belt regions and tribal belts, now report growing feelings of insecurity, with rising cases of theft, cattle smuggling, sexual violence, and clashes rooted in demographic change. What was once the Assamese heartland is now being turned into contested, fractured spaces where the cultural essence is diluted.
These changes are not accidental; they reflect a design long articulated by the proponents of a “Greater East Pakistan.” While Assam bleeds demographically, the ideological Left-liberal camp backed by opposition Congress seeks to legitimise this process in the name of “human rights” or “humanity.” Yet the same groups remain blind to the plight of Kashmiri Pandits (1989–1990s), who were lawful, ancient natives of their homeland but became refugees due to religious persecution. When in Bangladesh in recent time witnessed unspeakable Hindu and other minority targeted violences, these so-called human rights lobby preferred to keep mum. This double standard reveals that the argument is not about humanity, but about reshaping Assam’s demographic and civilisational map for political gain.
Assam is not merely a geographical space. It is a civilisational frontier where Sanatan, Vaishnavite, Janajati, and Shakta traditions have coexisted in harmony for centuries. The creeping demographic shift, abetted by vote-bank politics, is tearing apart this identity. Protecting Assam’s civilisational core is not a matter of hate or exclusion; it is about survival. Just as the Partition (1947) tore Bharat apart and the Kashmir exodus (1989–1990s) uprooted natives, the infiltration crisis in Assam threatens to open a new front of cultural and civilisational destruction.
Syeda Hameed’s statement (2025) therefore cannot be dismissed as a mere personal opinion. It echoes an ideological current that seeks to normalise demographic aggression, silence the indigenous voice, and complete the unfinished agenda of 1947. Assam’s story is not just about Assam, it is Bharat’s story of civilisational survival.
