There is a certain irony in watching Asaduddin Owaisi now sermonise about the “exploitation” of Muslims by so-called secular parties. For decades, that accusation was whispered in political corridors; today, Owaisi has chosen to shout it from campaign platforms in states like West Bengal, Bihar, Karnataka, Maharashtra and Assam. The question, however, is not whether he is right—but whether he is credible. Owaisi’s argument is simple and, to an extent, valid: parties like the Indian National Congress, Trinamool Congress and Rashtriya Janata Dal have historically treated Muslims as a captive vote bank—mobilised during elections and marginalised thereafter. Data over decades backs this sentiment. Despite Muslims constituting around 14% of India’s population, their representation in Parliament has often hovered below 5–6%. Socio-economic indicators—from education to employment—have remained disproportionately low, as even government reports like the Sachar Committee once highlighted. So yes, Owaisi is not entirely wrong. But here is the uncomfortable counter-question: where was this righteous indignation when his own party thrived within the same ecosystem? The All India Majlis-e-Ittehadul Muslimeen has been electorally relevant for decades—but its footprint tells a story of limitation, not liberation. Outside its stronghold in Hyderabad, AIMIM’s success has been patchy at best. In the 2020 Bihar Assembly elections, AIMIM surprised many by winning 5 seats out of 20 contested, securing around 1.2% of the total vote share. Yet, within months, defections reduced its strength to just one MLA—raising serious questions about organisational stability and political durability. In Maharashtra, AIMIM has managed sporadic success, winning 2 Assembly seats in 2019 and maintaining a marginal vote share of under 1%. In Karnataka, despite repeated attempts, it has failed to make any significant electoral breakthrough. In West Bengal and Assam, its presence remains more rhetorical than real. This is the crux: if AIMIM is positioning itself as the “true voice” of Muslims, why has it failed to inspire sustained political confidence beyond pockets? Why do Muslim voters themselves often return to the very parties Owaisi accuses of betrayal? The answer may lie in perception—and history.
Owaisi today attacks secular parties, but critics have long accused AIMIM of indirectly aiding the Bharatiya Janata Party by splitting anti-BJP votes in closely contested constituencies. This “B-team” allegation is not merely propaganda; it has been a persistent political narrative, especially in states like Bihar and Maharashtra where triangular contests have benefited the BJP. Owaisi dismisses this as political slander. Fair enough. But dismissal is not rebuttal. What concrete answer does AIMIM have to counter this charge? Electoral arithmetic often tells its own story, and in several constituencies, AIMIM’s vote share has exceeded the margin of victory—raising uncomfortable but legitimate questions. More importantly, Owaisi’s moral positioning becomes even more tenuous when viewed against the legacy of his father, Salahuddin Owaisi. During his long tenure, AIMIM maintained a pragmatic—critics would say opportunistic—relationship with the very secular forces it now condemns. Whether it was tacit understandings with Congress or issue-based alignments with Left parties, AIMIM was very much part of the ecosystem it now claims to expose. This is where Owaisi’s “realisation” begins to look less like a principled awakening and more like a political necessity. Expansion demands differentiation. To grow beyond Hyderabad, AIMIM must first delegitimise its competitors. And what better way than accusing them of betrayal? Yet, rhetoric alone cannot replace credibility. If AIMIM truly seeks to emerge as a national stakeholder, it must answer three fundamental questions. One, how does it plan to translate identity politics into tangible socio-economic upliftment? Two, how will it ensure political stability, given its track record of defections and limited organisational depth? And three, how does it respond—convincingly, not dismissively—to the charge of being an indirect enabler of the BJP? Until then, Owaisi’s speeches may resonate emotionally, but they risk sounding politically hollow. Because in politics, as in life, timing matters. And a truth discovered too late—or spoken too selectively—often invites as much suspicion as it does applause.
