Mainstreaming hate: When identity becomes a weapon

Hate speech used to live in the shadows. You’d find it on fringe forums or in fiery sermons, but it didn’t carry much weight. That’s no longer true. Today, it sits at the center of our politics. It’s deliberate. It’s dangerous. And it’s everywhere.

Across the Middle East and South Asia, identity is no longer just personal. It’s political. From sectarian killings in Iraq to attacks on religious minorities in Pakistan, from Iran’s crackdown on Baha’is and Kurds to Lebanon’s deepening religious divide, identity has become a battleground. What once offered belonging is now used to control, divide, and incite.

In Pakistan, being Ahmadi means living with constant fear. You’re legally labelled non-Muslim. You can’t even call your mosque a mosque. Violence is always a threat, and the state rarely steps in. In Iran, the death of Mahsa Amini— arrested over her hijab— hit a nerve. She wasn’t just a victim. She became a symbol for millions of women who live in fear every day.

These injustices aren’t new. Back in the 1970s, psychologist Henri Tajfel showed how even trivial group differences could fuel bias. When those differences are religious or ethnic, the stakes become deadly.

There is still resistance. Student protests in Iran. Grassroots peace efforts in Iraq. These aren’t just acts of defiance. They are reminders that a better way is possible.

Syed Kaleem Imam

The region’s divides have deep roots, but they’ve been sharpened over time. The Sunni-Shia split, for instance, shapes politics, drives alliances, and fuels wars. Colonial powers made things worse by deepening these divisions to control their subjects. After independence, many governments kept using the same tactics— just under new flags.

Violence tied to identity is getting worse. The lynching in Sargodha last year over a false blasphemy charge wasn’t a coincidence. It was part of a pattern. Since 1987, thousands in Pakistanis have been accused under these laws, often without any evidence. In Sialkot and Jaranwala, mobs have killed in the name of religion. These laws are often used to settle personal scores or grab land. When law becomes a tool for vengeance, justice disappears.

In Iraq, militias use sectarian violence to hold on to power. In Syria, sectarian exclusion helped spark a brutal civil war. In Iran, minorities live under constant surveillance. In Yemen, online hate adds fuel to an already raging fire.

Social media has made it worse. Platforms like Facebook, TikTok, and X reward outrage and disinformation. In places with low digital literacy, falsehoods spread fast— and kill. The Sargodha lynching began with a WhatsApp message. So did cow-related mob attacks in India. In Myanmar, Facebook became a weapon in a genocide.

Hate today isn’t just shouted. It’s coded, shared, boosted by algorithms, and spread across borders. We’ve handed our worst instincts a global megaphone.

So why don’t governments step in? Because mobs often speak for powerful voter blocs. Taking them on can cost politicians dearly. In some cases, the state is complicit. In Pakistan, police often delay action or arrest the victims instead. In Iraq and Syria, militias and security forces are sometimes the same. Across the region, the law itself is often discriminatory— whether in Pakistan’s anti-Ahmadi rules, Iraq’s sectarian quotas, or Bahrain’s two-tier justice system. When the state fears the mob— or becomes the mob— accountability disappears.

And paradoxically, identity politics today is not just about religion or ethnicity. It plays out along class lines too, where talk of empowerment often hides policies that silence the poor and protect the powerful. The personal is no longer simply political. It is punishable.

International pressure rarely works. Governments protect their interests. Human rights often take a back seat. That leaves civil society to carry the burden. In Pakistan, the Human Rights Commission keeps going despite constant threats. In Iraq, organizations like Al-Amal work to bridge divides. In Lebanon, lawyers challenge sectarian laws. In Bahrain and Iran, speaking out can mean prison— or exile.

There is still resistance. Student protests in Iran. Grassroots peace efforts in Iraq. These aren’t just acts of defiance. They are reminders that a better way is possible.

What now?

We must call this what it is. This isn’t “communal violence.” It’s hate, packaged as policy. Until governments admit that, nothing will change. In Pakistan, the blasphemy laws must be rewritten or repealed. In Iraq and Syria, discriminatory political structures must be dismantled. Countries that have signed on to global human rights treaties must be held to account.

Social media companies also have to act. Gaza has shown the failure of current content moderation. Global platforms allow hate to flourish while ignoring local context. That has to change. Oversight must be quicker, smarter, and actually enforced.

At home, we need more than symbolic gestures. Interfaith meetings aren’t enough. Pluralism has to be taught in schools, woven into local governance, and reinforced in the media. Children must learn to live with difference from the start— not fear it.

We must stop seeing identity-based violence as inevitable. It isn’t. It’s made. And it can be unmade— but only if we recognize it, call it out, and stop pretending hate is governance.

– The writer is former federal secretary/IGP- PhD in Politics and IR-teaching Law and Philosophy at Universities. X:@Kaleemimam. Email:[email protected]: fb@syedkaleemimam.