In India’s contemporary socio-political landscape, everyday spaces have become sites of symbolic contestation. This includes grand temple rituals, city name changes, language debates, politicized food choices, and strategic interventions in textbooks and education curricula. All of these elements play into a larger project of redefining national identity by the present regime led by the Hindu Nationalists.

In his book “The Symbolic Use of Politics,” renowned political scientist Murray Edelman argues how critical these “symbols” function in politics by reassuring and mobilizing some audiences while excluding others; how they legitimize decisions that may not benefit everyone equally; and how they channel public emotions, defuse tension, and generate public support. His insight not only sheds light on the recent Hazratbal controversy in Kashmir—involving the installation of the national emblem, but also offers a vivid illustration of the broader symbolic strategy employed by the Bhartiya Janta Party and its organisational apparatus, which prioritizes spectacle over substantive deliberation and narrative control over deliberative pluralism in its statecraft.

Symbols as Subtle Instruments of Power

Unlike the direct coercion exercised by the security apparatus; symbols in politics work more subtly within the realm of meaning and perception, often assigning belonging, legitimacy, and authority without explicit confrontation. They act to re-inscribing state sponsored narratives, redefine public spaces and shape people’s imagination and collective memory within society.

Symbols enable political actors to signal power, produce consensus, and control identities. In effect, while instruments of power may enforce obedience or compliance, symbolic gestures mold how citizens interpret their reality, who or what they revere, and how they understand their place in the nation. This process not only creates a powerful sense of unity or exclusion, but also rewrites the boundaries of history and cultural memory—often more enduringly and pervasively than direct coercive measures. Symbolic acts; no matter how big and small—shape the politics of belonging and exclusion across the nation.

Era of Majoritarian Symbolism in India

Since 2014, the BJP has strategically employed a wide array of symbols, such as religious symbols, historical symbols, and cultural symbols, as narrative devices to deepen their political agenda. The inauguration of the Ram Mandir in Ayodhya, with Prime Minister Modi performing consecration rituals in a live telecast, was more than an act of faith. It was framed as the fulfilment of a “civilizational promise”, implicitly signaling to India’s Muslims that the state now prioritizes a majoritarian religious vision as the nation’s core, marginalizing minority faiths in public symbolism and rewriting who the “true” inheritors of the nation are.

Political scientist Christopher Jafferlot pointed out that such spectacular events allow the hindu nationalists as the “restorer” of the hindu pride by embedding the legitimacy of Hindu Nationalism in a mythic past and sidestepping the everyday demands of governance and the transactional calculations of modern democracy.

Similarly, the unveiling of a muscular lion capital atop the new Parliament building was seen as a deliberate symbolic departure from Nehruvian constitutionalism. Critics emphasize the significant disparity between the new lion capital’s aggressive posture and the serene grace and confidence of the original Sarnath lions. This visual shift symbolizes a “New India” and signals to Muslims and other communities that India under the banner of right wing fascist that prioritizes dominance over pluralism, projecting unapologetic power instead of shared constitutional confidence.

Additionally, renaming cities such as Allahabad to Prayagraj, Aurangabad to Shambhajinagar, and Faizabad to Ayodhya, demonstrates how Hindu nationalist strategies are systematically reshaping the historical and cultural landscape of the country. Through erasure of heritage and revision of historical narratives, as seen in the latest NCERT curriculum chapter on Sultanate empires, Mughal kings, court administration, and governance, these have been excised and rewritten to depict them as “brutal and ruthless conqueror”, “temple destroyer”—at the same time figures such as Maharana pratap or Shivaji Maharaj are prominently highlighted as the defenders of hindu identity—thus the government symbolically reclaims spaces as inherently Hindu that reshaping India’s pluralistic identity, and reinforces socio-political and cultural dominance in a majoritarian state-controlled narrative. For Muslim communities, this curricular revision signals that their historical contributions are to be forgotten or demonised, casting them as outsiders to the national story rather than co-shapers of it.

Even food has become a contested symbol. Restrictions and bans on beef in many states, vigilante violence against transporters of cattle, debates over halal certification, and the imposition of “pure vegetarian” norms all function symbolically: they signal moral supremacy, create lines of purity and pollution, and target communities whose dietary practices are stigmatised, especially Muslims.

Experts argue though this is part of a deliberate “erasure technique” designed to diminish the Muslim presence in the collective imagination, by overwriting the muslims from public memory and effectively reshaping popular narration to fit a specific agenda.

Kashmir: A New Laboratory of Heightened Symbolic Politics

In the aftermath of the 2019 abrogation of Article 370, Kashmir has emerged as a latest focal point for this kind of symbolic intervention by the right-wing Hindutva government, showcasing a heightened intensity in symbolic politics. The recent ban on 25 books critical of India’s actions in Kashmir, human rights violations, and the valley’s political realities—many authored by acclaimed scholars such as Arundhati Roy, Anuradha Bhasin, Hafsa Kanjwal, and others—goes beyond censoring dissent. It signifies a state-sanctioned erasure of alternative memories and historical narratives, part of the same symbolic continuum where Hindu nationalists erase competing memories and control which narratives, histories, and ideas are acceptable and have the right to exist in the public memory.

Now placing the national emblem at places like Hazratbal—the valley’s holiest shrine houses the “Moi-e-Muqqadas” relic believed to be the Prophet Muhammad’s hair—triggered profound outrage. A section of worshippers, invoking the doctrine of tawheed, which forbade any emblematic images in Islamic worship, accused authorities of insensitivity. Originally established in the 17th century by Inayat Begum It was rebuilt by Sheikh Abdullah in the 1970s and became the center of Kashmir politics and has repeatedly stood at the center of the Valley’s political storms, such as the holy relic movement of 1964 and the month-long army siege in 1993.

Critics have argued that this act was no neutral administrative gesture—it declared a symbolic assertion of state authority in a sacred space, converting a locus of religious devotion and historic resistance into an emblem of central power.  

This raises a legal dilemma as well; the State emblem of India (prohibition of improper use) Act, 2005 and the State emblem of India (regulation of use) Rules, 2007 explicitly mention where the national emblem can be displayed and where it can be restricted. The 2007 Rules lay down the operational framework for the emblem’s use in buildings. It authorises only constitutional and specified statutory bodies, and its display is limited to certain “very important” public buildings such as Rashtrapati Bhawan, Parliament house, Supreme court, High courts, central and state secretariat buildings, Raj bhawan, and state legislatures.    Municipal bodies, NGOs, private associations, and other non-authorized organizations bared unless explicitly permitted. Religious places like Hazratbal are nowhere on that list. Installing it inside a shrine thus appears as a deliberate breach of both tradition and law, heightening the sense that this is a calculated symbolic assertion rather than a mere oversight. Thus the emblem’s presence at Hazratbal epitomizes the subtle but sustained folding of Kashmir’s cultural and spiritual identity into a centralized state narrative.

Moreover, language politics in Kashmir has become another battleground of symbolic assertion. Urdu, long the region’s administrative and cultural lingua franca and a shared symbol of plural identity, is now viewed through a communal lens. Moves to marginalize Urdu— from Lok Sabha passing the Jammu and Kashmir Official Languages Act, 2020 notifying Hindi, Kashmiri and Dogri as three of its other languages besides English and Urdu to proposal to include Sanskrit in education institutions or removing its mandatory status in government jobs like in naib tehsildar; framing it as a “Muslim language” and signaling an ongoing effort to fracture communal cohesion, redefine identity, and recast Kashmir’s heritage in exclusionary terms.

Taken together these measures show how, more than coercion, symbols mold perceptions, identities, and collective memory—powerfully shaping who belongs, who is excluded, and whose histories endure. The BJP’s strategic deployment of symbols—whether temples, emblems, names, books, or language policies—constitutes a political project aiming not merely to govern but to reimagine India’s past, present, and future on exclusivist and majoritarian terms.

If, as Edelman argued, symbols are a subtle but potent form of political action, then India today offers a textbook case of their power. They enable the ruling party to consolidate support, craft a mythic narrative of national destiny, and simultaneously signal exclusion to minorities—especially Muslims—without overt coercion.

The challenge before India’s plural republic is to resist being governed solely by such symbols and to foster an inclusive narrative that honours its multiple histories and faiths. Only by reclaiming the symbolic space for all communities can the republic uphold its constitutional promise of equality and diversity. The challenge before India’s plural republic is to transcend such symbolic politics and foster a truly inclusive narrative that honors its diverse histories and faiths.

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