The 2026 T20 Cricket World Cup, the biennial event organised by the International Cricket Council (ICC), is meant to celebrate cricket’s global reach, yet it has instead exposed the fault lines where sport, security, and statecraft collide with unwanted consequences. Bangladesh has refused to participate in matches scheduled on Indian soil due to security concerns and political tensions. However, the unfolding cricket crisis represents far more than a diplomatic standoff or a security dispute.
The genesis of Bangladesh’s security concerns can’t be properly understood without examining the Mustafizur Rahman paradox that has stumped the cricketing world. When the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) instructed the Kolkata Knight Riders to release the Bangladeshi pacer from their IPL 2026 squad due to security concerns, they inadvertently created a logical conundrum that Bangladeshi officials quickly seized upon.
Namely, if India’s own cricket board felt unable to guarantee the security of a single Bangladeshi player during the IPL — a tournament played under controlled conditions with private security and limited public access — how could Bangladesh reasonably trust that adequate protection would be provided for an entire national team, their support staff, travelling journalists, and potentially thousands of supporters during a global tournament?
Indeed, the ICC’s own security assessment, leaked and subsequently confirmed, acknowledges what Bangladesh has been arguing all along. The independent risk assessment in January 2026 explicitly stated that while the threat to the Bangladesh team itself remains “moderate,” the risk to Bangladeshi nationals and supporters attending fixtures would be “moderate to high, particularly those wearing team colours and travelling in isolated groups to the stadium.” Furthermore, this assessment specifically noted that “the presence of Mustafizur Rahman may be problematic if religious extremism becomes kinetically engaged.”
The report reveals a fundamental disconnect between bureaucratic risk management and lived security realities. When Sports Adviser Asif Nazrul stated that Bangladesh would not compromise “the security and dignity of its cricketers, spectators, and journalists,” he was not engaging in diplomatic theatre but rather articulating a government’s fundamental responsibility to protect its nationals.
Moreover, the timing and context of these security concerns significantly enhance their legitimacy. Relations between Bangladesh and India have deteriorated precipitously since former Bangladesh Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina fled to India in August 2024, after a student-led uprising ousted the ruling Awami League Party. Since then, diplomatic relations between the two countries have been marked by escalating tensions, mutual recriminations, and most significantly, violent incidents targeting Bangladeshi diplomatic facilities.
Perhaps the most overlooked dimension of this crisis involves the practical impossibility of Bangladeshi supporters actually attending the tournament, even if the security situation were resolved. Due to the ongoing diplomatic deadlock between the two states, the Indian government has implemented a strict visa restriction policy against Bangladesh, which effectively bars ordinary Bangladeshi citizens from obtaining Indian visas.
While there has been speculation that players and support staff might be granted special diplomatic visas, Bangladeshi journalists and sponsors face insurmountable barriers.
What kind of “World Cup” excludes the supporters of a participating nation? How does one celebrate cricket’s global appeal while denying entry to fans based on their nationality?
The possibility of mob violence against Bangladeshi supporters, players, staff, and journalists is not speculative fear-mongering but a reasonable extrapolation from documented incidents of violence against Bangladeshi fans and rising anti-Bangladesh propaganda. Across India, particularly in states like West Bengal that will host World Cup matches, anti-Bangladesh sentiment has intensified dramatically since Hasina’s ouster, fueled by accusations regarding the treatment of Hindu minorities in Bangladesh and amplified by political parties seeking electoral advantage.
Indeed, the assessment’s specific mention of Mustafizur Rahman’s presence potentially triggering violence “if religious extremism becomes kinetically engaged” reveals how the sport has become a proxy for communal flashpoints. The phrase “kinetically engaged” is security jargon for actual violence, physical attacks that could range from verbal abuse to mob assault.
Perhaps the most cynical dimension of this crisis involves how both the Indian and Bangladeshi governments are weaponising cricket for domestic political advantage, particularly in the context of the 2026 West Bengal Legislative Assembly elections scheduled for March–April 2026.
For India’s ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), which has been attempting to break into Bengal’s political space since 2014 under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, opposing Bangladesh has become an electoral goldmine.
What bigger card can there be at this moment than anti-Bangladesh rhetoric, framed as protection of Hindu minorities? If cricket and religion can be deployed as electoral instruments, particularly in Kolkata, then they are incentivised to manufacture and maintain this crisis.
Simultaneously, with its own political pressures and incentives, Bangladesh’s interim government understands that anti-India rhetoric serves as its biggest political card. Taking a strong stand against India, refusing to compromise on World Cup participation, and publicly challenging the ICC’s security assessments all play well domestically, particularly among segments of Bangladeshi society.
This creates a dangerous dynamic in which neither government has an incentive to de-escalate. Instead, both benefit from maintaining crisis conditions, from using cricket as a proxy battlefield for broader geopolitical tensions.
A particularly troubling dimension of this crisis involves the concentration of exiled Awami League leaders in Kolkata’s New Town area, the very city scheduled to host three of Bangladesh’s four group matches.
Approximately 2,000 former ministers and top and middle-rung leaders of the Awami League, which ruled Bangladesh from 2009 to 2024, joined by journalists, civil society activists, army officers, law enforcement officers, and diplomats who fled Bangladesh after the July revolution in August 2024, have established a de facto political base in New Town.
This creates an explosive situation where Bangladesh’s national cricket team would be playing matches in a city that has become the operational headquarters for their government’s political enemies, leaders actively planning their return to power in Bangladesh.
Would Awami League supporters, protected and hosted by Indian authorities, see Bangladesh’s cricket matches as opportunities for political demonstrations?
In this context, Bangladesh’s security concerns about playing in India become inseparable from concerns about playing in a city that serves as a sanctuary for their political opponents.
Despite acknowledging moderate to high risks for Bangladeshi supporters in its own security assessment, the ICC has attempted to frame these concerns as manageable and has rejected Bangladesh’s interpretation of the assessment as a “complete lie.” This denotes a deliberate dismissal of legitimate concerns to shield tournament scheduling and commercial interests.
If Bangladesh, a full member of the ICC, can have its documented security concerns dismissed as political posturing, what recourse do smaller or less politically influential cricket nations have?
The precedent being established here is perilous: that the ICC’s commitment to protecting players and supporters is conditional upon not disrupting tournament logistics or challenging powerful cricket boards like the BCCI.
As Bangladesh remains firm in its stance that it will not travel to India for the T20 World Cup 2026, the crisis reveals a dangerous intersection of sport with politics.
The ICC’s security assessment acknowledges risks but insists they are manageable. India offers security guarantees while simultaneously restricting visas for Bangladeshi supporters and failing to protect Bangladeshi diplomatic facilities in India. Both governments weaponise cricket for domestic political advantage while claiming to act in the sport’s interests.
Bangladesh’s refusal to play is not political theatre or diplomatic posturing. Rather, it represents a principled stand that security concerns matter and that cricket’s integrity depends on separating sport from the weapons of statecraft.
(SY)
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