Explained : Politics on Pitch – The Statesman and Its Impact

For a country that prides itself on treating cricket as both sport and soft power, India is surprisingly careless when it comes to separating the two. The recent controversy over Bangladeshi cricketer Mustafizur Rahman’s exclusion from the Kolkata Knight Riders IPL franchise should have been a routine sporting decision. Instead, it became a noisy referendum on patriotism, identity, and national loyalty. That slippage matters more than it appears. At the heart of the debate lies a simple but vital distinction. A national team represents a state.

A franchise team represents a city, a brand, and a business model. When a country chooses to boycott another nation’s team after war, terror, or diplomatic breakdown, it is making a symbolic statement about state behaviour. But when a privately owned franchise sidelines a foreign player because of political pressure, it crosses into murkier territory. It turns an individual professional into a stand-in for an entire nation’s politics. This is not an argument for ignoring real concerns about Bangladesh. India has legitimate anxieties about minority safety, hostile political rhetoric, and Dhaka’s recent strategic signalling. These are serious issues that deserve firm diplomatic engagement.

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But they are not advanced by targeting sportspersons who have no role in policy, power, or provocation. If anything, such gestures weaken India’s position by making it appear impulsive rather than principled. Franchise cricket has always been an experiment in coexistence. Players from rival nations share dressing rooms, celebrate each other’s milestones, and perform for crowds that cheer skill over nationality. This has never diluted national interest; it has strengthened India’s image as a confident, open sporting culture. Undermining that space for political optics is a strategic self-goal. The reaction to the franchise decision also revealed an uncomfortable trend: the ease with which sport is now being weaponised for identity politics. When business decisions are recast as betrayals, and players are judged by passport rather than performance, the line between civic pride and cultural insecurity begins to blur. That is not a sign of national strength. It is a sign of nervousness.

Equally, Bangladesh’s response ~ restricting broadcasts and reconsidering tournament participation ~ reflects a politics of escalation rather than calibration. Neighbours do not benefit from symbolic retaliation. They benefit from restraint, communication, and an understanding that not every provocation deserves a megaphone. There is a deeper cost to all this. When every bilateral tension spills onto the cricket field, sport loses its unique role as a neutral meeting ground. It becomes another arena of grievance, another stage for point-scoring. That is a loss we cannot afford. India’s real strength has always been its ability to hold contradictions: to be firm without being brittle, confident without being coarse, and principled without being punitive. If we want to be taken seriously as a regional power, we must show that we know when to draw lines ~ and when not to. Turning individual athletes into political proxies is not statecraft. It is theatrics. In the long run, it weakens India’s moral authority.