The Voice

A one-and-a-half-year-old child sits in the dust beneath the blazing June sun, clutching his mother’s clothes as she tries unsuccessfully to shield him from the heat. Around them stand eleven other people—women, men, and children—stranded in a narrow strip of land between India and Bangladesh. There is no proper shelter. There is little certainty about food and water. There is no indication of when their ordeal might end.

They are not soldiers. They are not politicians. They are not diplomats or policymakers. Yet they have become the latest casualties of a dispute between states.

The scene unfolded at the Pragpur border in Kushtia, where a group of twelve people found themselves trapped in what officials call the “zero line” and ordinary people know simply as no-man’s-land. According to local accounts, they had been brought toward the frontier by India’s Border Security Force (BSF). When they attempted to enter Bangladesh, Border Guard Bangladesh (BGB) personnel and local residents blocked their passage, insisting that their identities and nationalities first had to be verified.

And so the group remained stranded under the open sky, caught between two countries and belonging fully to neither.

For days, villagers crossed a bamboo footbridge over the Mathabhanga River carrying drinking water and food. Those simple acts of kindness offered a striking contrast to the political and bureaucratic paralysis surrounding them. While governments debated procedures and security concerns, ordinary people responded to something much more immediate: human suffering.

The tragedy of Pragpur is not an isolated incident. It is merely the most visible symbol of a broader crisis that has been unfolding along the India-Bangladesh frontier in recent weeks.

According to figures cited by Bangladeshi authorities, more than thirty push-in attempts have been reported in recent months, while human rights organizations and local monitoring groups estimate that between 2,300 and 2,500 people have been pushed toward Bangladesh over various reporting periods. In the first week of June alone, Bangladeshi officials reported nearly two dozen separate incidents involving around two hundred people, many of them women and children.

The numbers are disputed. The politics is contentious. The human suffering is not.

Across border districts stretching from Panchagarh and Lalmonirhat in the north to Jashore and Satkhira in the southwest, stories have emerged of families stranded between border fences, elderly people left in no-man’s-land, and frightened children sleeping outdoors while security forces on both sides maintained tense watch.

Some remained trapped for more than thirty-four hours. Others reportedly endured intense rain, extreme heat, and shortages of food and drinking water.

For those who view the issue solely through the lens of national security, such scenes may appear unfortunate but unavoidable. Every country, after all, possesses the sovereign right to regulate its borders and determine who may legally enter or remain within its territory.

That principle is not in dispute.

What is in dispute is whether sovereignty grants governments the right to bypass due process and place vulnerable human beings in situations that undermine their dignity and safety.

No civilized society should answer that question in the affirmative.

The reality is that irregular migration between Bangladesh and India exists and has existed for decades. Thousands of Bangladeshis have crossed into India over the years seeking employment in construction, agriculture, domestic work, and countless other occupations. Some traveled legally and overstayed visas. Others crossed illegally through porous sections of the border.

This is neither unique to Bangladesh nor unique to India.

Across the world, migration follows opportunity. Mexicans have crossed into the United States. North Africans have crossed into Europe. South Asians have traveled throughout the Gulf. Workers move because work exists elsewhere.

Sometimes they move legally. Sometimes they do not. But migration itself is not evidence of criminality. More often, it is evidence of inequality.

A poor laborer from Satkhira who crosses into India looking for work is responding to the same economic forces that drive migrants toward New York, London, Dubai, or Kuala Lumpur. The circumstances may differ, but the underlying motivations remain remarkably similar.

This reality is often forgotten amid the rhetoric surrounding illegal immigration.

People speak of statistics, but not of lives.
They speak of borders, but not of families.
They speak of security, but not of desperation.

Many of the individuals now trapped in the push-in controversy likely left Bangladesh years ago. Some may indeed be Bangladeshi citizens. Others may not. Some may have lived in India for decades. Some may have children born there.

The central problem is that nobody can know with certainty until proper verification takes place. That is precisely why due process exists.

The recent case of sixty-eight-year-old Shasthi Chandra Barman demonstrates the dangers of abandoning it. The elderly man spent nearly twenty-four hours stranded in no-man’s-land near the Jamalpur border after reportedly being pushed toward Bangladesh. Rumors circulated online claiming he was an Indian citizen from Chennai. Others insisted he was Bangladeshi.

Only after his image spread across social media did relatives contact authorities and establish that he was in fact a Bangladeshi citizen from Rajshahi.

Eventually he was rescued and taken into custody before being reunited with his family through legal procedures.

His story raises an obvious question.

If authorities and the public initially disagreed about his identity, how can nationality be determined simply by pushing someone across a border fence?

The answer, of course, is that it cannot. Nationality requires documentation, investigation, and verification.

That is why Bangladesh insists that any repatriation should occur through formal diplomatic mechanisms. Officials in Dhaka have repeatedly argued that if India identifies individuals as Bangladeshi citizens, their names and supporting evidence should be provided through established channels so citizenship can be verified before transfer.

India, meanwhile, argues that thousands of suspected Bangladeshi nationals remain in verification limbo and that the process often takes years. Indian officials say lists containing thousands of names have already been submitted to Bangladeshi authorities.

These are legitimate administrative frustrations. But administrative frustrations cannot justify humanitarian suffering.

The political backdrop makes matters even more complicated.

Migration has become an increasingly potent political issue in India, particularly in West Bengal and Assam. Allegations of illegal immigration have featured prominently in election campaigns for years. Political leaders have promised stronger enforcement measures and stricter action against undocumented migrants.

Following recent political developments in West Bengal, officials have openly discussed identifying, detaining, and deporting alleged illegal immigrants. Reports indicate that holding centers have been established and large-scale verification drives have been undertaken.

Whether one agrees with those policies or not, democratic governments have the right to formulate immigration policies and enforce domestic laws.

What they do not have is the right to abandon humanitarian obligations. The challenge is not whether undocumented migrants should be repatriated. The challenge is how.

There are established international norms. Individuals are identified. Their nationality is verified. Governments communicate through diplomatic channels. Documentation is exchanged. Formal handovers occur.

The process may be slow, but it protects both states and individuals.

What is happening now appears to reflect the absence of a comprehensive bilateral framework capable of handling large-scale nationality disputes.

Ironically, Bangladesh and India have demonstrated in the past that cooperation is possible.

For years, both countries have worked together to rescue and repatriate trafficking victims. Women rescued from brothels, children recovered from trafficking networks, and vulnerable migrants have often been returned through coordinated efforts involving governments, border authorities, and civil society organizations.

Those examples prove that humanitarian cooperation is achievable when political will exists.

The current crisis therefore represents not a failure of capacity but a failure of imagination.

At its heart, this is not a dispute about borders.
It is a dispute about responsibility.
Responsibility to verify identities.
Responsibility to uphold legal procedures.
Responsibility to protect vulnerable people.
And above all, responsibility to recognize humanity.

This recognition is particularly important because anti-India rhetoric offers no solution whatsoever. The suffering of stranded families should not become fuel for nationalist outrage. Nor should concerns about undocumented migration become justification for treating human beings as disposable.

Both reactions miss the central point.

The people stranded in no-man’s-land are not symbols. They are not political weapons. They are not talking points for television debates.

They are mothers carrying children.
They are elderly men trying to find their way home.
They are laborers who spent years searching for work.
They are human beings.

As the latest round of diplomatic exchanges continues, both governments face a choice. They can continue arguing over procedure while vulnerable people remain trapped in uncertainty. Or they can create a joint verification mechanism, establish humanitarian safeguards, and ensure that no child, elderly person, or family is ever again left stranded between two countries under an open sky.

History will not judge either government by the strength of its rhetoric.
It will judge them by how they treated the weakest people caught in the middle.

And for the child sitting beneath the June sun at Pragpur, that judgment cannot come soon enough.

Author: Pulack Ghatack is a journalist and human rights defender.
Email: ghatack@gmail.com