he subcontinent’s fragile cultural climate took another sharp turn recently, when a Bangladeshi cricketer was dropped from an Indian Premier League franchise amid objections to his inclusion. The team in question is co-owned by Shah Rukh Khan, one of India’s most recognisable cultural figures. The player, reportedly sidelined under pressure, has since found a place in Pakistan Super League. What should have remained a sporting decision instead became a mirror held up to a region increasingly unable to separate politics from play, or art from allegiance.

The reaction that followed was as telling as it was troubling. Shah Rukh Khan, who has spent more than three decades embodying popular Indian cinema, was swiftly vilified by sections of the Indian media and online commentators. In some quarters, he was branded unpatriotic, even a traitor. That such language could be directed at a man whose career has unfolded in parallel with India’s own global cultural ascent speaks volumes about how narrow the space for nuance has become.

Khan’s longevity is not accidental. For over 30 years, he has sustained a level of popularity few stars anywhere in the world can claim. His appeal has crossed class, region and generation, resonating with audiences who grew up on his romantic leads in the 1990s as well as those who now encounter him as a global brand ambassador. That he could be reduced, overnight, to a convenient villain reflects a deeper erosion, not of his stature, but of public discourse.

Sport and culture have long been imagined as bridges across political divides. In theory, they are the last remaining arenas where rivalry can be enacted without violence; where nations test themselves through rules rather than force. Cricket, football and wrestling were once thought to offer symbolic substitutes for war, spaces where pride could be contested without bloodshed. Yet increasingly, even these arenas are being overtaken by the very hostilities they were meant to temper.

The IPL controversy suggests that sport is no longer immune to the anxieties of nationalism. Instead of diffusing tension, it has become another stage on which political loyalties are demanded and deviations punished. Decisions that once belonged to selectors and managers are now scrutinised for ideological purity. The result is a shrinking of choice, creativity and courage.

Shah Rukh Khan’s predicament is especially revealing because of his immense following beyond India’s borders. He has long enjoyed near-mythic popularity in Pakistan, where generations grew up watching his films in defiance of bans and unofficial restrictions. There were times, not so long ago, when Pakistani artists openly expressed a desire to collaborate with him, and invitations were extended publicly. Today, even the articulation of such admiration feels fraught, hedged with caution. What was once cultural exchange now risks being read as political provocation.

A single controversy, amplified irresponsibly, can erode trust built painstakingly through art, sport and shared memory.

This chilling effect has been amplified by the role of the media. During periods of heightened tension between India and Pakistan, large sections of the Indian news media abandoned restraint in favour of spectacle. Jingoism replaced journalism and complexity was flattened into slogans. What was most alarming was not merely the tone, but the absence of reflection once the crisis passed. There was little introspection and no serious reckoning with the damage caused by irresponsible coverage. Instead, the cycle reset, ready to repeat itself.

Media institutions carry a particular responsibility in divided societies. They are meant to interrogate power, not amplify prejudice; to inform, not inflame. When they fail to do so, they normalise outrage and legitimise hostility. The recent targeting of Shah Rukh Khan is not an isolated lapse, but part of a pattern in which even the most established figures are not spared suspicion.

The tragedy is that years, sometimes decades, of careful cultural bridge-building can be undone in moments. A single controversy, amplified irresponsibly, can erode trust built painstakingly through art, sport and shared memory. The subcontinent’s history is already heavy with missed opportunities for connection. Each such episode narrows the future further.

This erosion is not confined to South Asia. Globally, the language of conflict is gaining ground, crowding out the quieter work of coexistence. As geopolitics hardens, efforts towards peace, exchange and understanding struggle to hold their ground. Artists and athletes, once celebrated as informal diplomats, now find themselves trapped between expectation and accusation.

It is precisely in such moments that their role becomes most vital. Culture and sport may no longer be able to stand apart from politics, but they can still resist its worst impulses. They can insist on complexity where slogans demand simplicity; and on shared humanity where borders insist on difference.

The question is whether we will allow them to do so, or whether we will continue to treat every gesture, every decision, as a test of loyalty. If even a figure as deeply woven into the subcontinent’s emotional fabric as Shah Rukh Khan can be reduced to a symbol of suspicion, then the problem lies not with him, but with the climate that made such suspicion possible.

In the end, the exclusion of a single player matters less than what it signifies. It marks another moment when fear trumped faith; faith in sport, in culture, and in the possibility that these still have the power to bring people together.

The writer is a Lahore-based culture critic.