“Let not the hatred of a people prevent you from being just. Be just — that is nearer to righteousness.” (Qur’an 5:8)

They came in the morning. Quiet at first. No announcements, no time to gather toys, clothes, schoolbooks, or memories. Only the low rumble of earth-moving machines. By noon, another village of Miya Muslims was dust. Again. This is not a story from Gaza, nor from a distant dictatorship. This is Assam, in the northeast of India. A region that once promised co-existence, now rewritten by bulldozers and political speeches. If homes could scream, theirs would have echoed across the Brahmaputra by now. This essay is not about religion alone. It is about humanity. It is about what happens when identity becomes a crime. It is about the forgotten faces under torn tarpaulins and the deeper failure of political systems that pledge democracy but deliver demolition. But it is also about another path. A path that didn’t need violence to stand. A path once walked by barefoot prophets and humble caliphs. A system rooted not in flags or borders, but in responsibility. When nations break their own promises, we must look beyond them to the ethical blueprint of a world that existed, and could again.

1. Bulldozers Over Human Dignity: The Miya Muslim Crisis in Assam

You don’t need to look hard to find the evidence. It’s plastered across news channels, bulldozers reducing thatched homes to powder, men dragged by police, mothers clutching infants as smoke curls through broken beams. In Assam, the “bulldozer” has become more than a machine. It is a symbol. Of political strength, of bureaucratic vengeance, of the normalization of cruelty. The Miya Muslims, largely Bengali-origin Muslims who have lived in Assam for generations, are being systematically stripped of land, of voice, of belonging. Officially, these are “anti-encroachment” drives. Unofficially, they are demographic re-engineering. Ethnic cleansing at the speed of concrete. What makes it worse is not just the act but the indifference. These families vote, pay taxes, speak Assamese, and raise their children on the banks of the same river as their Hindu and tribal neighbors. But all it takes is one label, “illegal Bangladeshi,” and suddenly, their citizenship is not a right but a test they can’t win. No high court orders. No resettlement plans. No human rights interventions. Just eviction. In some cases, even detention in facilities designed not to reform, but to disappear. It is a kind of violence that is harder to protest because it wears the mask of law. But the question isn’t just what the Indian state is doing. The question is: Is there a better model for justice, one that protects both identity and dignity, even when power changes hands?

2. The Prophet ﷺ and the Mercy That Dismantled Hatred

History rarely teaches mercy. It records war, revenge, and power. But the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ rewrote history with something far rarer: forgiveness when revenge was expected, compassion when cruelty was easy. When the Prophet ﷺ returned to Makkah after years of persecution, the world expected blood. This was the man whose people had been tortured, starved, and exiled. Whose companions had been murdered. He himself had nearly been killed many times. And yet, standing before his former enemies, now powerless and trembling, he didn’t raise a sword. He raised his voice and recited: “No blame will there be upon you today. May Allah forgive you. He is the Most Merciful of those who show mercy.” (Qur’an 12:92). Not a single home was destroyed. Not a single child was displaced. Not a single opponent was humiliated. The Prophet ﷺ offered not just peace, he offered dignity. Compare this to the bulldozers in Assam, where children return from school to find rubble, where elders clutch property documents only to be told they’re meaningless, where cameras are rolled not to document injustice but to televise it as state achievement. In Islam, the ability to forgive is not a political tactic; it is a moral position of strength. The Prophet ﷺ forgave not because he was weak, but because his power came from God, not ego. He was a liberator of hearts, not a punisher of bodies. His mission was not to avenge, but to restore humanity where humanity had been lost. That is the essence of Islamic governance: a system in which even the defeated are protected. A system where truth isn’t enforced through terror, but upheld through moral authority.

3. The Forgotten Caliphate: Where Power Answered to Principles

Long before modern constitutions were written, Islam produced a political model that made rulers accountable, minorities safe, and justice unshakable even when the caliph himself stood accused. When Umar ibn al-Khattab (RA), the second Caliph, was challenged by a Christian over a land dispute, the judge ruled against the Caliph. No immunity. No status. Just law. That’s the Islamic difference: no one is above justice, not even the most powerful. During his rule, Umar made it clear: if a non-Muslim was harmed under his watch, he would personally answer for it before Allah. When a dhimmi (non-Muslim citizen) was wronged, the Caliph himself fasted in mourning. Not for show. For repentance. Under the Caliphate, non-Muslims had the freedom to practice their faith, run their courts, and manage their schools. The jizya (tax paid by non-Muslims) was not oppression, but a symbol of protection. It exempted them from military service and ensured their security under the law. It is under such a system that Jewish communities thrived in Muslim Spain when they were persecuted in Europe. Christians found refuge under Ottoman rule during crusades and colonial conquests. Hindus lived under Muslim rulers in India for centuries without the systematic displacement we see today in the age of “secularism.” And what was the foundation of all this? Taqwa. God-consciousness. The belief that power is a trust, not a license to oppress.

4. The Mirage of Secularism and the Miya Struggle for Belonging

Secularism, in theory, promises neutrality, a state that sees no religion, no caste, no race. But in practice, secularism in India has often been a veil, not a shield. One that is lifted when the majority flexes its might. The Miya Muslims believed in this idea. They voted, integrated, celebrated national festivals, and spoke Assamese. But when floods came, they rebuilt on sandbars. And when elections came, they became “vote-bank Muslims.” And then came the bulldozers, erasing not just homes, but the illusion that secularism protects everyone equally. Islam, by contrast, never needed to pretend neutrality. It declared its principles openly but demanded justice for all. The Prophet ﷺ once said: “Beware! Whoever is cruel and hard on a non-Muslim minority, or curtails their rights, or burdens them beyond their capacity, or takes anything from them against their will, I will complain against him on the Day of Judgment.” (Abu Dawood). That is the Islamic pledge of protection. Not just for Muslims. For anyone who lives under its care. Islam doesn’t ask you to erase your identity to belong. It gives you space to live, worship, and disagree, but within the bounds of mutual respect and law. In contrast, the Miya Muslim in India today has to prove loyalty, prove origin, and still watch their roof collapse. Where is the justice in that?

5. Why the World Needs the Caliphate: A Model, not a Memory

The term “Caliphate” is loaded in the modern mind, often distorted by media, colonial trauma, and recent misuse. But the true Islamic Caliphate is not about empire or extremism. It is about responsible governance guided by divine ethics. We do not speak of a throne or a kingdom. We speak of a system where: leaders are chosen by merit and piety, not wealth or surname; minorities are protected, not feared; justice is enforced, even against friends or family; women’s dignity is guarded, not commodified; environment is preserved, not sacrificed to greed. In a world collapsing from climate disaster, war, genocide, and broken politics, is it so radical to revisit a system that stood on truth, mercy, and justice? The Prophet ﷺ built a society in which: the weak were dignified, the rich were humbled, and no child cried from hunger without the state being held responsible. That is the Caliphate we dream of. Not a replica of history but a resurrection of values.

The Bulldozed Shall Rebuild on the Foundation of Divine Justice

Let the politicians twist their speeches. Let the cameras zoom in on rubble. Let the world ignore one more demolished hut. But we will remember. And we will remind. We will remember that the Prophet ﷺ forgave the unforgivable. That his caliphs ruled with trembling hearts. That Islam’s political model was never one of tribalism, but of divinely guided accountability. And we will remind the world that Islam does not bulldoze homes, it builds them. It does not erase identities; it honors them. It does not crush the weak; it stands between them and cruelty. As for the Miya Muslims, they may be stateless in the eyes of this world. But in the sight of God, they are not forgotten. So let it be written: Where bulldozers flatten earth, our faith will raise the call of justice. Where homes fall, hope will rise upon the foundation of divine law. And where tyranny thrives, the light of Caliphate shall one day return not in rage, but in mercy.

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