The sea does not forget. Waves carry the weight of the discarded, and in Myanmar’s waters, that burden is once again the Rohingya. Refugees who once clung to the fragile hope of safety are being dumped, left adrift like unwanted cargo. The images evoke an old cruelty, entire populations erased from land, culture, and history. And now, India, a nation that once styled itself as a refuge for the persecuted, has been caught secretly sending these refugees back to the very regime that wiped out their communities. It is a betrayal, but more than that, it is a statement.
For years, Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government has wrapped itself in the rhetoric of security and nationalism, while Islamophobia has bled into policy. The Rohingya, already stripped of citizenship in Myanmar, are treated as subhuman intruders in India. Even their children are spoken of as “threats.” Deporting them in silence, in secrecy, is not simply a logistical choice; it is the cold signature of prejudice turned into governance.
This is not an isolated act. It is part of a long continuum of erasure, pushed under the banners of nationalism and security. India has tolerated pogroms, watched mobs lynch Muslims in broad daylight, and written laws that distinguish between religions as though citizenship itself can be sliced along lines of belief. And so, when the state quietly escorts the Rohingya to the borders of their annihilation, it is only the logical extension of this history.
What makes this moment so dangerous is not just the crime itself, but the silence around it. When journalists uncover the truth, when a CNN report reveals the human cargo cast off into uncertainty, there is outrage for a day, perhaps two. But Modi knows the rhythm of modern politics: international condemnation fades, and memory is short. Domestic applause, however, is long and loud, and to his core base, cruelty against Muslims is not a scandal, it is a promise kept.
The question that hangs over this act is chilling: is this only the prologue to something darker?
History’s most brutal genocides did not arrive in a single night. They were built brick by brick, law by law, silence by silence. The stripping of rights, the branding of an entire people as outsiders, the gradual encirclement of their communities, the quiet deportations, these are the warning drums. Myanmar’s generals understood this well. Modi understands it, too.
To suggest that India might one day be capable of a genocide against its Muslim minorities feels unthinkable, until one looks closely. The groundwork is already there. A government that openly promotes Hindu nationalism as state identity. A police force and judiciary too often complicit in anti-Muslim violence. A political culture that thrives on portraying Muslims as infiltrators, criminals, or terrorists. And now, the callous rejection of the world’s most persecuted minority, delivered back to their executioners.
The Rohingya’s plight is not simply their own; it is a mirror held up to India’s future. When a state practices cruelty on the weakest among us, it is only a rehearsal for larger stages. If a stateless refugee child can be deported without outrage, what stops the machinery from turning inward, against India’s 200 million Muslims?
The defence, of course, is always the same: national security, border control, the need to protect sovereignty. But strip the slogans away, and the truth remains—this is prejudice masquerading as policy. It is not India’s borders that are under threat. It is India’s moral core.
Modi’s legacy is already marked with violence. From the blood of Gujarat in 2002 to the present-day demonization of Muslims, his political career has been built on a foundation of fear and division. To call him Islamophobic is not an insult; it is an observation of fact. And when such prejudice guides a leader’s hand, deportation today can become extermination tomorrow.
The world must ask: will Modi’s future also be written in the language of genocide?
It is a question too terrifying to ask lightly, yet too urgent to ignore. The signs are visible. The persecution of Muslims in India is no longer fringe, it is mainstream. It is policy. And history shows us that once a society accepts cruelty against one group, the scale of violence only grows.
For the Rohingya, the ocean has become both prison and grave. For India, the deportations mark another step away from its democratic ideals, another betrayal of its founding vision of pluralism and refuge. This is not merely about refugees on boats. It is about a government choosing cruelty as a principle, prejudice as a policy, and silence as a shield.
The sea may not forget. Neither should we. India stands at a dangerous threshold. It can pull back, confront its Islamophobia, and reclaim the ideals it once professed to believe in. Or it can march forward, deeper into the darkness of nationalism, where deportation is just the beginning, and genocide is not an unthinkable nightmare but a looming possibility.
The future of the Rohingya, and perhaps of millions more, depends on the choice India makes today.
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