Sadly, as a core cadre member of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), Modi’s avtar as a messiah of women is fraught with deceit.

Not delving into the glut of sex scandals involving RSS top cadres which were exposed by RSS leading ideologues like Balraj Madhok (Zindagi kaa Safar 3: Deendayal Upadhyay kee Hatya se Indira Gandhi kee Hatya Tak, 2003) and Hemendra Nath Pandit (The End of a Dream: An Inside View of the RSS Today, 1950) we today need to scrutinize the RSS archives to know the deep and core levels of this male chauvinistic anti-Hindu women ideology. This is also evident in their practice.

1. Inside the RSS: Males are Volunteers

RSS founded in 1925 was to be an exclusive male organisation, its cadres were to be known as swayamsevak or volunteers. The RSS top brass made its intentions clear of treating women as of lower status than males when it decided to start its women wing; Rashtra Sevika Samiti in 1936. Its nomenclature made it clear that women members were not called as swayamsevak or volunteers but Rashtr Sevika (servants for the nation) or female servants for the Hindu nation. This identity of women in the Rashtr Sevika Samiti as servants was not only a technical issue but outcome of RSS’ attitude towards Hindu women which glorifies the subservient role of women in the society.

These are Rashtr Sevika Samiti members [who according to its website number around three lakh] only who pledge to maintain ‘faithfulness/virginity’, remain ‘modest’, ‘steadfast’, and not fall prey to ‘immorality and evil habits’. The RSS male swayamsevaks make no such commitment.

RSS Demands Manusmriti as Constitution Of India

In fact, this anti-woman attitude of RSS was glaringly visible when on the eve of the ratification of the democratic secular constitution by the Indian Constituent Assembly [November 26, 1949] it rejected it and demanded promulgation of Manusmriti or Manu Code as the constitution of India. A perusal of chapters V and IX will show how Hindu women were to be treated as sub-human creatures.

Laws of Manu concerning women

1. Day and night woman must be kept in dependence by the males (of) their (families), and, if they attach themselves to sensual enjoyments, they must be kept under one’s control. (Chapter IX/sloka 2)
2. Her father protects (her) in childhood, her husband protects (her) in youth, and her sons protect (her) in old age; a woman is never fit for independence. (IX/3)
3. Considering that the highest duty of all castes, even weak husbands (must) strive to guard their wives. (IX/6)
4. Women, confined in the house under trustworthy and obedient servants, are not (well) guarded; but those who of their own accord keep guard over themselves, are well guarded. (IX/12)
5. Women do not care for beauty, nor is their attention fixed on age; (thinking), ‘(It is enough that) he is a man,’ they give themselves to the handsome and to the ugly. (IX/14)
6. Through their passion for men, through their mutable temper, through their natural heartlessness, they become disloyal towards their husbands, however carefully they may be guarded in this (world). (IX/15)
7. (When creating them) Manu allotted to women (a love of their) bed, (of their) seat and (of) ornament, impure desires, wrath, dishonesty, malice, and bad conduct. (IX/17)
8. For women no (sacramental) rite (is performed) with sacred texts, thus the law is settled; women (who are) destitute of strength and destitute of (the knowledge of) Vedic texts, (are as impure as) falsehood (itself), that is a fixed rule. (IX/18)

3. GANDHI PEACE PRIZE to GITA PRESS Which Denigrates Hindu Women

Gita Press, Gorakhpur was awarded the 2022 Gandhi Peace Prize, the prestigious international award instituted by Government of India in 1995 while commemorating 125^th birth anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi. It was to be conferred on those individuals/organisations which contributed to carrying forward the ideals espoused by him. The jury which conferred it to Gita Press was headed by PM Modi.

PM Modi congratulated Gita Press, “on being conferred the Gandhi Peace Prize 2021. They have done commendable work over the last 100 years towards furthering social and cultural transformations among the people,” Incidentally, Gita Press was also celebrating its centenary in 2022.

Award to Gita Press was not only shocking for all those who cherished Gandhian values, humanism and civilized norms but all those who opposed gender-based persecution. It was a sad day for the Indian democratic-secular Republic as that Modi government idolized Gita Press which publishes  ‘Hindu’ literature  propagating Sati  and beating  of  women.  It publishes “popular” religious, ‘Hindu’  literature  which opposes remarriage of widowed/divorced/discarded women, seeking employment by them and even reporting rape as we will find by the perusal of some of its publications. According to this literature, this is the way for Hindu women to end in swarg or paradise.

Gita Press has published more than a dozen titles on the subject, the most prominent of which are: Nari Shiksha (Education of Women) by Hanuman Prasad Poddar, Grahsth Mein Kaise Rahen [How to Lead a Household Life] by Swami Ramsukhdas, Striyon ke Liye Kartawya Shiksha (Education of Duties for Women) and Nari Dharm (Religion of Woman) by Jai Dayal Goindka and a special issue of magazine Kalyan on women. These are available in English and other Indian languages. The English titles are popular with the non-resident Indians.

Some glimpses of anti-Hindu women content of Gita Press publications:

‘What should the wife do if her husband beats her and troubles her?” Swami Ramsukhdas offers the following sagely advice to the battered wife and her parents:

“The wife should think that she is paying her debt of her previous life and thus her sins are being destroyed and she is becoming pure. When her parents come to know this, they can take her to their own house because they have not given their daughter to face this sort of bad behaviour.”

And there is another piece of heavenly advice for a rape victim and her husband.

“As far as possible, it is better for woman (rape victim) to keep mum. If her husband also comes to know of it, he too should keep mum. It is profitable for both of them to keep quiet.”

Can a woman remarry? The answer is very straight forward,

“When once a girl is given away in marriage as charity by her parents, she does not remain virgin any more. So how can she be offered as charity to anyone else? It is beastliness to remarry her.”

But can a man remarry? No problem,

“A man can have a second wife for an issue in order to be free from the debt which he owes to manes (pitr-rin) according to the ordinances of the scriptures, if there is no issue from the first wife.”

But this is not the only reason for which a man is allowed re- marriage. A man, “whose desire for pleasure has not been wiped out, can get remarried because if he does not get remarried, he will indulge in adultery and    go to prostitutes and will incur a badly sin. Therefore, in order to escape the sin and maintain the decorum he should get remarried according to the ordinance of scriptures.”

Of course, no widow is allowed to remarry. However, she may be allowed to choose to be some male’s concubine.

“If she cannot maintain her character, instead of indulging in adultery here and there, she should accept her affinity for a person and live under his protection.”

Is it proper for woman to demand equal rights? The sagely answer is quite unambiguous:

“No, it is not proper. In fact, a woman has not the right of equality with man…in fact it is ignorance or folly which impels a woman to have desire for the right of equality with man. A wise person is he/she who is satisfied with less rights and more duties.”

This literature about Hindu women openly preaches and glorifies the ghastly practice of Sati. To the question:

“Is ‘Sati Pratha’ (viz., the tradition of the wife being cremated with the dead body of the husband on the funeral pyre) proper or improper?”

The sagely answer is:

“A wife’s cremation with the dead body of her husband on the funeral pyre is not a tradition. She, in whose mind truth and enthusiasm come, burns even without fire and she does not suffer any pain while she burns. This is not a tradition that she should do so, but this is her truth, righteousness and faith in scriptural decorum…It means that it is not a tradition. It is her own religious enthusiasm. On this topic Prabhudatta Brahmachariji has written a book whose title is Cremation of a Wife with her Husband’s Dead Body is the Backbone of Hindu Religion, it should be studied.”

Apart from glorifying Sati, the Gita Press publication like Nari Dharm produces dozens of shlokas from ‘Hindu’ scriptures to establish that women are not capable of enjoying independence. This book begins with the chapter swatantarta ke liye striyon ki ayogeta (incapability of women for independence). Another notable facet of this literature is that long a list of rituals is laid down to be practiced by pregnant women so that ‘bright, talented, brave and religious inclined son’ is born.

Unfortunately, parliamentary opposition which intends to confront PM Modi on his hoax of love for women did not confront him with the above stated facts due to ignorance of the dehumanized ideology and practices of RSS. The moral of the story is that RSS-BJP government juggernaut led by PM Modi is able to befool the women specially Hindu women of India not due to its respect for women but because opponents are totally ignorant of the criminality of RSS. For Modi ignorance of his opponents is blessing!

Disclaimer: The views expressed here are the author’s personal views, and do not necessarily represent the views of Sabrangindia.

Related:

November 26: How RSS mourned the passage of India’s Constitution by the Constituent Assembly

Indian tricolour & the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh

Rewriting NCERT school textbooks: ‘Muslim Raj’ is a mere excuse, the project is to conceal historical facts

The post Womens Reservation Bill 2026: Women’s Rights & the RSS appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The recent criticism of Dhurandhar has pointed to a familiar pattern: the packaging of history into over-simplified narratives of Hindu valour and external threat. From naming its chief protagonists as Ajay Sanyal (a Brahmin), Sushant Sinha (a Bania), and Jaskirat Singh Rangi (a Jat Sikh), to misrepresenting administrative facts—such as portraying Prashant Kumar as Uttar Pradesh’s DGP during demonetisation instead of Javeed Ahmad—the film reveals which identities the right wing chooses to glorify and which it side-lines or obscures.

Yet such distortions are not merely about religious conservatism or anti-Muslim polarisation. They also perform a quieter function—re-inscribing Brahminical authority over knowledge and legitimising the capitalist dominance of mercantile communities, even as they mobilise broader Hindu identities against Muslims while exacerbating caste fissures among non-Brahmin non-Bania communities. In this sense, Hindutva deploys distorted or fabricated history to divert attention from governance failures or to manufacture social conflict.

Controversies on History to serve corporate interests

On December 22, while addressing a Bhil audience, BJP veteran and Punjab Governor Gulab Chand Kataria passed remarks about Maharana Pratap that were widely seen as condescending—ironically invoking a figure the BJP has long used for emotive mobilisation. He was criticised by Rajkumar Roat of the Bhartiya Adivasi Party, who stressed Pratap’s enduring place in Adivasi historical memory.

Unease has also surfaced within the BJP’s broader ecosystem. On January 2, speaking at an event attended by Rajnath Singh, Vishvaraj Singh Mewar cautioned for an end to the political misuse of history.

Kataria’s comments also carried a political subtext in a region where mining interests are largely controlled by Jain and Agrawal business groups, while tribal-agrarian communities like Bhils and Rajputs dominate demographically yet bear the disproportionate ecological and social costs. Together, Roat’s direct criticism and Mewar’s measured appeal signal growing discomfort with the appropriation of tribal and agrarian histories to serve entrenched economic and political interests.

Crucially, the RSS–BJP project today goes beyond appropriation. It increasingly involves the active invention of Hindu warriors, the rebranding of historical dynasties, and their institutionalisation through social media, popular literature, and state-backed infrastructure.

Understanding this is essential to grasp how both Hindutva and caste-based parties are together reshaping North India along caste-communal lines while steadily eroding historical literacy and public intelligence.

The Hindutva Factory of Manufactured History 

While the RSS and its Maharashtrian leadership have enlisted sympathetic scholars to sanitise figures like Savarkar and produce grand panegyrics—through novels and high-budget films—on Shivaji, Sambhaji, and the Peshwas, the Hindutva ecosystem has simultaneously generated a stream of previously unknown “historical” figures in North India. These fabrications are deployed to exploit caste fault lines and deliberately flatten historical consciousness among targeted communities.

In recent years, BJP-aligned platforms have circulated stories of King Sudhanwa Chauhan, an alleged ruler of Mahishmati said to have governed an empire larger than that of the historical Chauhansthat of the historical Chauhans of Ajmer–Sambhar, and portrayed as a disciple of Adi Shankaracharya. Other inventions include Kirandevi, claimed to have threatened Akbar with a dagger in a Meena Bazaar for his alleged misdeeds.

None of these figures are supported by inscriptions, chronicles, or even local oral traditions. By contrast, owing to long periods of political dominance—comparable to the Mughals or the Sikhs—the Rajput past is unusually well documented across Hindu, Islamic, and Sikh sources, making such fabrications relatively easy to expose. The scholarly rejection of the sixteenth-century Prithviraj Raso by figures such as G.H. Ojha, Namvar Singh, and Cynthia Talbot, in favour of the contemporaneous Prithviraj Vijaya Mahākāvya by Jayanaka, illustrates this point. As Cynthia Talbot notes, despite more than a century of scholarly dismissal, claims of the Raso’s twelfth-century authenticity persist in popular culture.

The real targets of this strategy are communities that lacked sustained political dominance and now seek a martial or regal past in the absence of historical records.

A Galaxy of Fiction against Phule–Ambedkarism 

Manoshi Sinha Rawal’s 2019 book Saffron Swords, published by Garuda Prakashan also mainstreamed several such fabrications by presenting unsubstantiated valour tales as authentic history.

Endorsed by RSS chief Mohan Bhagwat, Ratan Sharda, and Union minister Kiren Rijiju, the book exemplifies how myth is laundered into legitimacy. Among the promoted figures are Rampyari Gujjari, Jograj Singh Gujar, and Harvir Singh Gulia, who allegedly mobilised an army of 40,000 in western Uttar Pradesh and defeated Timur-i-Lang—who is even claimed to have died from wounds inflicted by Harvir Singh Gulia. This narrative was publicly echoed by then Vice-President Jagdeep Dhankhar. When Alt News sought scholarly verification, historian Heramb Chaturvedi dismissed the claim as “absolutely absurd.”

The correlation between such martial myth-making among landed castes and rising anti-Dalit violence in western Uttar Pradesh cannot be ignored. These narratives offer a fragile sense of caste superiority within the Brahminical Varna (caste) framework, deflecting attention from structural inequality while undermining solidarities forged through Phule-Ambedkarite politics.

Progress for the Rich, Pride for the Poor & Erasure of Muslim Past

Hindutva’s historical fabrication increasingly materialises through state infrastructure. In July last year, Yogi Adityanath unveiled a forty-foot bronze statue of Raja Suheldev Rajbhar in Bahraich. The Caravan has documented how the BJP and Hindu Yuva Vahini mobilised Rajbhar OBCs through Suheldev’s legacy, further popularised by Amish Tripathi’s novel Legend of Suheldev (2020).

Yet the Sangh Parivar’s engagement with Suheldev is older. In 2003, a dubious text, Tulsī Dohā Śatak, was promoted by Rambhadracharya—later debunked by Namvar Singh—as falsely attributing temple destruction narratives to Tulsidas. No eleventh-century inscriptions of the Gaharwar or Kalchuri dynasties, which dominated the region, mention any ruler named Suheldev. His first appearance occurs in the seventeenth-century Mirat-i-Sikandari, where he is depicted not as a benevolent king but as an oppressive Hindu ruler. Thus, a fictional oppressive ruler is reinterpreted in later narratives as a historical Rajbhar king to draw OBCs away from Jatav-led Bahujan politics.

Similar processes are visible elsewhere. In 2000, India Post issued a stamp commemorating Maharaja Bijli Pasi, inaccurately presenting him as a contemporary of Prithviraj Chauhan. Prof. Badri Narayan analysed such inventions in Inventing Caste History. More recently, the Yogi government renamed Nihalgarh railway station—named after the town’s  Nihal Khan, a Bhale Sultan chief—as Maharaja Bijli Pasi station.

Lucknow’s founding is variously attributed in official narratives to Lakshman, Lakhan Ahir, or Lakhan Pasi. As Sunita Sinha observes, this competitive deployment of “caste regal histories” by BJP responds to BSP’s Ambedkar Parks by substituting emancipatory politics with symbolic pride. This is approved with resounding applause by RSS leadership who have themselves promoted such works by likes of Bijay Sonkar Shastri.

These narrative interventions are not merely ideological; they are anchored in networks of patronage and publishing historically dominated by mercantile capital, which shapes both what histories are amplified and which identities are valorised.

Kshatriyaisation: From Arya Samaj to RSS 

As early as 1907, Denzil Ibbetson described the Arya Samaj as a movement with strong political tendencies, rooted in shared interests of middle-class Brahmins and urban mercantile castes, and aimed at reshaping rural landed communities, which coexisted as both Hindus and Muslims. While Hindu–Muslim solidarities fractured, Hindu rural castes were also pitted against one another through competing Kshatriya claims—a project inherited and expanded by the RSS.

Writing in Hans (March 1998), cultural critic Rajendra Yadav argued that landed OBCs sought Kshatriya status within the Varna system, not its dismantling, limiting the scope of caste transformation. Kshatriya history offers an easily appropriable symbolic resource for this which can be “gifted” to landed OBCs in exchange for collaboration towards Brahminical institutional and Bania capitalist hegemony.

The project of Kshatriyaisation has historically involved linking diverse castes to Puranic mythological figures or retroactively assigning them Rajput history and figures. For centuries, Brahmins and Banias functioned as the principal gatekeepers of Hindu mythological and historical narratives—largely enabled by royal patronage across regimes, irrespective of whether the ruling elites were Rajputs, Mughals, Marathas, Afghans, or Jats.

With the dissolution of the princely states and the consequent de-institutionalisation of the Rajput masses, the Brahmin–Bania intellectual elite decisively became gatekeepers defining Rajput history and identity itself. This monopoly over historical narration endowed them with at least two significant socio-political powers within public discourse.

First, through selective manipulation and strategic cherry picking of Rajput history, they could simultaneously vilify Muslims and shame Rajputs for past Rajput alliances with Muslim rulers —, thus imposing upon them a perpetual burden of dharm-raksha. Second, this control enabled the reassignment of Rajput kingship and symbols of martial legitimacy to other dominant castes, such as Jats or Gujjars, often in exchange for political alignment against both Muslims and Rajputs.

For instance, in Rajasthan, the projection of the uncorroborated Jhunjhar Singh Nehra serves to displace Nawab Mohammad Khan’s historical role as Jhunjhunu’s founder. Similarly, official claims attributing Churu’s founding to a Chuhru Jat lack contemporary evidence, while the erasure of local Muslim history continues to marginalise living communities. What unfolded at Rajasthan’s Gogamedi shrine recently exemplifies this.

At one seminar, Kapil Kapoor asserted that Emperor Harsha was a Jat, while Hindutva platforms routinely project Alexander’s contemporary King Porus and Yashodharman, a 6^th century ruler of Central India,  as Jat rulers—replicating Arya Samaj strategies of Vedic Kshatriyaisation.

The most contentious claims concern the Gujjars. Attempts to “Kshatriya-ise” them link early medieval Rajput dynasties to Gujjar origins. In 1997, NH-24 was renamed Gurjar Samrat Mihir Bhoj Marg, and in 2010, a statue at Akshardham identified Mihir Bhoj as a “Gurjar Samrat.” Right-wing political scientist Meenakshi Jain and archaeologist K.K. Mohammed have advanced similar claims, despite their refutation by Prof. Shantarani Sharma in Indian Historical Review.

In Fractured Forest, Quartzite City, Thomas Crowley notes that Gujjar history has been “retrofitted, made into a glorious (if doomed) struggle against vicious outsiders,” In his dissertation , Frank Charles Spaulding highlighted that “there were no traditions, written, oral or otherwise, among the Gujjars to suggest the existence of this medieval kingdom and of the contemporary Gujars’ link to it” (pg. 74), hinting at their recent origins. These competitive claims by Jats and Gujjars over Rajput dynasties, engineered first by the Arya Samaj and later by the RSS, have only fractured agrarian unity rather than empowering marginalised groups.

Conclusion

While Hindutva’s historical revisionism primarily fuels anti-Muslim polarisation, it also functions to manage Hindu society—countering Dalit-Bahujan movements, fragmenting agrarian solidarity, and substituting governance with spectacle. The manufacture of history has become an ideological crutch for policy failure, deepening caste and communal fractures while hollowing historical consciousness itself. In this process, history is reduced from a means of understanding the past into an instrument of control, competition, and political distraction.

(The author is a mechanical engineer and an independent commentator on history and politics, with a particular focus on Rajasthan. His work explores the syncretic exchanges of India’s borderlands as well as contemporary debates on memory, identity and historiography)

Disclaimer: The views expressed here are the author’s personal views, and do not necessarily represent the views of Sabrangindia.

Related:

Temple Leases, Food Morality: Rajasthan’s new Panchayat order

Galgotias University’s AI Expo Debacle: What it says about Contemporary Indian Education & Public Culture

Rajasthan: Gogamedi, a Rajput-Muslim shrine and the politics of communal capture

The post When History substitutes Governance: Hindutva’s Politics of Manufacturing Pasts appeared first on SabrangIndia.

These are not isolated disruptions. When read alongside official data placed before the Odisha Legislative Assembly in March 2026—where Chief Minister Mohan Charan Majhi acknowledged 54 communal riots and 7 mob lynching incidents since June 2024—and a recent audit by the Comptroller and Auditor General of India exposing the exclusion of over 160,000 Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group (PVTG) members from welfare schemes, a more systemic pattern begins to emerge.

Across districts and contexts, the incidents point to a convergence of communal polarisation, administrative inaction, coercive responses to dissent, and gaps in welfare delivery.

Church Vandalism in Keonjhar: Crime, silence, and communal retaliation

On April 6, 2026, a church in Murgagoth village under Anandpur police station in Keonjhar district was vandalised by a mob, as reported by The Hindu. The attack was triggered by allegations that a visually impaired minor girl had become pregnant after being sexually assaulted months earlier by a man from the same village—identified as her distant uncle.

Police officials confirmed that the alleged assault had not been reported prior to the incident. It was only when villagers recently became aware of the pregnancy that tensions escalated. In the early hours of April 6, when the church was unoccupied, a group of miscreants removed furniture, including chairs and an almirah, and set them on fire.

The accused was reportedly working in Tamil Nadu at the time. The delay in reporting the alleged sexual assault raises serious concerns about access to justice, barriers to reporting, and the vulnerability of the victim, particularly given her visual impairment. At the same time, the targeting of a place of worship reflects how criminal allegations were swiftly reframed through a communal lens.

The village itself, consisting of around 85 households, is almost evenly divided between Hindu and Christian residents. Police described the area as communally sensitive and deployed forces to prevent escalation. A complaint has now been filed regarding the alleged rape, but the sequence of events underscores a troubling dynamic—where due process is bypassed, and collective punishment is enacted before legal accountability is even initiated.

A State Under Strain: Rising communal violence and incomplete accountability

The Keonjhar incident is not an aberration. Data shared by Chief Minister Mohan Charan Majhi in the Odisha Legislative Assembly in March 2026 indicates that 54 communal riots and 7 mob lynching incidents have been recorded in the state between June 2024 and February 2026, according to Hindustan Times.

Nearly 300 individuals were arrested in connection with communal riots, and 61 people in lynching cases. However, the fact that chargesheets were filed in less than 50% of riot cases raises concerns about the effectiveness of investigations and the likelihood of convictions.

District-level data reveals concentrations of violence:

• Balasore: 24 riot cases
• Khurda (including Bhubaneswar): 16 cases
• Additional incidents in Koraput, Malkangiri, and Bhadrak

A government White Paper further recorded 122 communal incidents in 2025, including 16 involving Hindu-Christian tensions.

Yet, significant incidents appear underrepresented in official accounts. The October 2025 communal violence in Cuttack, which led to a three-day curfew following clashes during Durga Puja immersion, was not explicitly acknowledged in the Chief Minister’s reply. The violence reportedly escalated into arson and clashes involving members of right-wing organisations.

Over the past 20 months, multiple towns have experienced curfews, internet shutdowns, and mob violence, including incidents targeting Bengali-speaking Muslims. Officials have conceded that some cases may go unreported, particularly when victims are daily-wage earners reluctant to approach the police.

While the state has pointed to measures such as peace committees and strengthened intelligence gathering, the persistence of incidents and gaps in prosecution suggest a deeper issue of accountability and deterrence.

Rayagada Erupts: Tribal resistance, mining, and militarised policing

Tensions over land, resources, and consent erupted violently in Rayagada district in April 2026, where clashes broke out between tribal communities and security forces over a road construction project linked to the proposed Sijimali bauxite mine, as reported by Hindustan Times.

At least 70 people were injured, including 58 security personnel, after villagers allegedly resisted police with stones, axes, and other weapons. Police responded with tear gas, and prohibitory orders were imposed in the area.

The confrontation occurred in the context of long-standing opposition to the mining project led by Vedanta Limited, which secured rights to the Sijimali reserve in 2023. The project spans approximately 1,500 hectares, including over 700 hectares of forestland, and is expected to produce 9 million tonnes of bauxite annually.

For local tribal communities, however, the issue is existential. Residents have consistently argued that the project threatens their forests, water sources, livelihoods, and sacred landscapes. Central to the dispute is the requirement under the Forest Rights Act, 2006 that Gram Sabha consent must be obtained before forestland diversion.

Authorities have claimed that such consent was secured in 2023. However, multiple villages have since passed resolutions denying that these Gram Sabha meetings ever took place, alleging that approvals were fabricated.

The situation has been further aggravated by allegations of heavy-handed policing. Civil society groups and local organisations have reported:

• Night raids in villages
• Mass detentions, including women
• Use of tear gas and force in residential areas
• Deployment of drones and armed patrols restricting daily life

An open letter by the “Concerned Citizens Forum” described the police response as “barbaric” and called for withdrawal of forces, release of detained individuals, and cancellation of the mining project.

#Vedanta_Go_Back …..
Tribal people of Rayagada district #Odisha hv taken an oath to fight against corporate loot. pic.twitter.com/j0UJcTHSoB

— Amiya_Pandav ଅମିୟ ପାଣ୍ଡଵ Write n Fight (@AmiyaPandav) April 8, 2026

The clash is thus not merely a law-and-order issue, but part of a prolonged conflict over development, legality, and tribal autonomy.

Exclusion by design? CAG flags systemic welfare failures

Parallel to these conflicts, a structural crisis in governance emerges from the findings of the Comptroller and Auditor General of India. In an audit conducted between July 2024 and January 2025, the CAG found that 54% of Odisha’s PVTG population—around 160,000 people—remained excluded from welfare schemes.

Despite the Odisha PVTG Empowerment and Livelihood Improvement Programme (OPELIP), only 134,000 out of 294,000 individuals were covered as of March 2024. The exclusion was particularly stark in 1,138 newly identified villages, which were not integrated into the programme even years after recognition.

Key findings include:

• Three Micro Project Agencies (MPAs) created in 2020 remain non-functional, lacking both staff and funding
• Entire communities, such as the Birhor tribe (341 individuals), remain completely excluded
• ₹20.20 crore in funds remained unspent for over three years
• Basic data on infrastructure and services in tribal areas is missing or unavailable

The audit also flagged serious shortcomings in the Late Marriage Incentive Scheme, which reached only 58% of its target beneficiaries and covered just 43% of villages.

These findings reveal not just administrative inefficiency, but a pattern of systemic neglect, where even targeted interventions fail to reach the most vulnerable populations.

The complete CAG report may be viewed below:

Law, Power, and Impunity: MLA firing incident in Balangir

Questions of accountability were further sharpened by an incident in Balangir district in April 2026, where BJP MLA Naveen Jain was booked for allegedly firing blank rounds during a Ram Navami procession.

The firing, which took place in a crowded public setting, caused panic among attendees. Police registered a case under provisions of the Arms Act and the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, seized the weapon, and suspended the MLA’s Personal Security Officer.

Despite video evidence, the MLA claimed the weapon was a toy gun—a claim contradicted by police findings. Opposition leaders have argued that the incident reflects a broader pattern of political impunity, particularly given allegations of prior misconduct.

Conclusion

Taken together, the events across Odisha reveal a pattern that cannot be dismissed as episodic unrest. The Keonjhar church vandalism underscores how quickly allegations—particularly involving vulnerable victims—can be communalised in the absence of timely legal intervention. The Rayagada clashes expose the deep faultlines between state-led development and tribal rights, where questions of consent under the Forest Rights Act, 2006 remain unresolved and contested on the ground. The CAG’s findings on PVTG exclusion highlight a parallel reality of administrative neglect, where even designated welfare mechanisms fail to reach those most in need. Meanwhile, incidents like the Balangir firing case involving a sitting MLA raise troubling concerns about accountability and the uneven application of the law.

What binds these developments is not merely their occurrence within a short timeframe, but the institutional responses that follow—or fail to follow. Delayed complaints, incomplete investigations, underutilised funds, disputed consent processes, and selective enforcement together point to a governance framework struggling to maintain both legitimacy and trust.

In this context, the question is no longer limited to law and order. It is about whether state institutions can uphold due process, protect vulnerable communities, and mediate conflict without deepening it. The trajectory suggested by these incidents indicates that without structural course correction, Odisha risks moving further towards a landscape marked by normalised violence, contested authority, and systemic exclusion.

Related:

An Adivasi woman once in bonded labour now serves her village as a Sarpanch

Odisha: 18 months, 54 incidents of communal hate crimes, 7 mob lynchings

Odisha: Man forced to chant religious slogan, lynched by cow vigilantes

Publicly Tortured, Forced to Eat Cow Dung: No arrests in Odisha Pastor assault case

MP, Odisha, Delhi, Rajasthan: Right-wing outfits barge into 2 churches ahead of Christmas, attack vendors selling X’mas goodies, tensions run high

The post Fractured Fault lines: Violence, governance gaps, and rising tensions across Odisha appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Combining detailed regional overviews with independent commentaries by Anjuman Ara Begum and N P Chekutty, along with insights from academics and activists on Puducherry, the report offers a layered account of how dissent, media, and electoral processes intersect in contemporary India. It locates the upcoming elections within a broader pattern of shrinking civic space, contested electoral practices, and increasingly polarised public narratives—raising fundamental concerns about the conditions necessary for free and fair democratic participation.

The report situates the 2026 elections within a larger context: a shrinking space for dissent, increasing use of censorship, and the growing normalisation of hate speech. Across all three regions, it identifies a pattern where free expression is not only challenged through formal legal mechanisms, but also through intimidation, institutional pressure, and political messaging that reshapes public discourse.

It also highlights the controversy surrounding the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls, which has raised concerns about exclusion, transparency, and voter confidence—placing the very foundation of electoral participation under scrutiny.

Assam: Systemic curtailment and the centrality of hate speech

The report’s coverage of Assam is extensive and sharply critical, documenting a sustained pattern of restrictions on free speech alongside the institutionalisation of polarising rhetoric.

It details how journalists and media workers faced criminal cases, arrests, and direct intimidation. A prominent editor was charged with sedition in 2025, while earlier instances included the detention of journalists for reporting on communal violence and the arrest of reporters investigating corruption. Physical attacks and coercion—such as forcing journalists to delete recorded material—further reinforced an environment of fear.

The report also points to more subtle forms of suppression, including the discontinuation of critical columns addressing human rights violations, indicating a climate where self-censorship becomes necessary for survival.

A significant episode cited is the complaint by the CPI(M) alleging that state broadcasters censored portions of its election speech critical of the government, raising concerns about electoral fairness and the misuse of public broadcasting platforms.

At the centre of the report’s Assam analysis is the pervasive use of hate speech. Political rhetoric targeting Bengali-speaking Muslims—particularly the “Miya” community—is described as sustained, deliberate, and electorally mobilising. Statements invoking economic boycotts, branding individuals as “traitors,” and linking communities to national security threats are documented as part of a broader narrative strategy.

The report further highlights the role of technology and disinformation, especially the circulation of AI-generated videos depicting violent and dehumanising imagery aimed at Muslims. These instances are presented as evidence of how digital tools are being deployed to intensify polarisation.

Legal responses, including petitions before courts, are noted—but the report underscores that such interventions have not significantly curbed the continuation of hate speech.

Additionally, it records attacks on media institutions, including the burning of newspaper bundles, and raises concerns about attempts to influence journalists through state-sponsored distributions, such as the gifting of smartphones.

Taken together, the report presents Assam as a case where free speech is constrained both structurally and atmospherically, with fear, lawfare, and polarisation reinforcing each other.

Kerala: Contestation, censorship, and civil society pushback

In contrast, the report’s examination of Kerala presents a more layered and contested environment. It acknowledges that free speech conditions in the state remain comparatively stronger, supported by a vibrant media ecosystem and an active civil society. However, this relative openness coexists with increasing instances of censorship and legal pressure.

The report documents the use of legal mechanisms, including FIRs and defamation case, against journalists, activists, and protestors. It also recounts the ban on a Malayalam news channel by the Union government, later overturned by the Supreme Court, as a key example of institutional censorship.

Cinema emerges as a major site of conflict. The report details:

• Judicial interventions affecting film reviews
• Controversies around propaganda films released in the run-up to elections
• Attempts to block screenings at international film festivals

These developments are framed as indicative of a broader struggle over narrative control in a state where cinema plays a central cultural role.

The report also examines the delayed and redacted release of the Justice Hema Committee report on the film industry, highlighting how even institutional inquiries into gender justice faced forms of informational control.

On the electoral front, it notes the emergence of communal rhetoric—traditionally less dominant in Kerala politics—and the legal challenges that followed, including court scrutiny of campaign speeches. At the same time, the report emphasises the role of public resistance. Civil society interventions, media plurality, and a politically aware citizenry have consistently pushed back against attempts to curb free expression.

However, it also flags emerging concerns: increasing corporate influence over media, declining investigative scrutiny, and growing public dissatisfaction—particularly among younger populations.

Kerala, therefore, is portrayed as a space of ongoing struggle, where democratic safeguards remain active but are under pressure.

Puducherry: Suppression of dissent and structural pressures

The report’s coverage of Puducherry highlights a different but equally significant pattern—where free speech is shaped by administrative control, campus politics, and broader structural inequalities.

A central focus is the curtailment of student expression. The report documents:

• Disciplinary action against students protesting fee hikes
• Disruption and criminalisation of cultural performances
• A controversial university code of conduct that triggered widespread protests

It further records police intervention in student movements, including lathi-charges, detentions, and arrests—underscoring the use of state force in response to dissent.

Journalists in the region also faced violence and intimidation, including physical attacks and verbal abuse during reporting.

Electoral processes come under scrutiny through the report’s discussion of the SIR exercise, which led to significant deletions of voters before partial corrections were made, raising concerns about disenfranchisement.

Beyond censorship, the report situates free speech within a broader political economy. It highlights:

• High levels of youth unemployment
• The dominance of wealthy candidates in elections
• The prevalence of candidates with criminal cases

These factors, it argues, shape the environment in which speech and dissent occur, often limiting meaningful participation in democratic processes.

The report also draws attention to the influence of centralised political power in the Union Territory, suggesting that local democratic autonomy is constrained.

Conclusion: A fragmented but converging crisis

Across Assam, Kerala, and Puducherry, the report does not present a uniform decline—but rather distinct trajectories of constraint.

• In Assam, free speech is undermined by criminalisation, intimidation, and the centrality of hate speech in political discourse.
• In Kerala, it is shaped by institutional pressures and censorship, countered by strong civil society resistance.
• In Puducherry, it is limited through administrative control, suppression of student activism, and structural inequalities.

Yet, despite these differences, the report identifies a common concern: the erosion of the conditions necessary for meaningful democratic participation. Free and fair elections, it argues, depend not only on the act of voting, but on the ability of citizens to speak, question, and dissent without fear. The persistence of censorship, the spread of hate speech, and the controversies surrounding electoral processes together signal a deeper challenge—one that extends beyond any single state or election cycle.

The complete report may be read below:

Related:

AERO dies by suicide in Kolkata, family alleges extreme election duty pressure and humiliation

No Hearing, No Notice, Just Deletion: How Bengal’s SIR Erased a Decorated IAF Officer

Rights group files complaint over electoral roll purges in North 24 Parganas

Alleged Pattern of Denigration: High Court seeks response from Himanta Biswa Sarma on PIL against his alleged hate speeches

The post Censorship and the Drumbeats of Hate: Mapping the state of free speech ahead of the 2026 polls appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Just two days ago, the High Court quashed a petition seeking permission to re-conduct the Neja Mela in Sambhal, held in memory of Ghazi Mian, directing the petitioner instead to approach a lower court.[1] Notably, the very need to seek such permission did not arise from any explicit judicial ban, but rather from a discretionary determination by state authorities deeming the event “impermissible.”

Uttar Pradesh has long been home to such heterodox sects who made their presence felt across the hinterland, away from the metropolis dominated by traditional religious authority. Similar to Sufis of Maghreb their proponents often came from both communities —Rajputs in Hindus, Afghans, Syeds and Arabs among Muslims— who were primarily military adventurers as described by Christopher Bayly in his magnum opus Rulers, Townsmen and Bazaars. Engaging in agricultural administration and military occupations simultaneously these members of the landed class found themselves dwelling on socio-spiritual questions while living among the common peasantry compared to established, orthodox religious life.

The Syncretic Cult of Ghazi Miyan 

Originally venerated by pastoral communities across the Indo-Gangetic plain, the cult of Ghazi Miyan is tied to the lore of a horse-riding warlord—comparable in some respects to the Rajput Panch-Pir traditions of Rajasthan—believed to have arrived from the west and to have long-standing associations with cattle-rearing groups, particularly Ahīrs. Local tradition holds that when he laid claim to the area around Suraj Kund in Bahraich as his base, he encountered resistance from a regional chieftain.

According to legend, in the ensuing conflict he initially refrained from attacking cattle, and was eventually ‘martyred’ by a local Rajput chief identified as Suhel Dev. As Shahid Amin argues in Conquest and Community: The Afterlife of Saint Ghazi Miyan, the story of Ghazi Miyan represents a layered narrative shaped through repeated retellings—rooted in the idiom of the warrior-saint tradition and embedded within a local sacred geography marked by symbols such as the Mahua tree and betel leaf, both predominantly associated with Hindu cultural practices. In this sense, the myth reflects a shared, non-sectarian history of conflict, accommodation, and social realities rather than a rigidly communal past.

Besides the objections of Ulema, earlier one such attempt is credited to Sikanadar Lodi (Uttar Taimur Kaleen Bharat, S.A.A. Rizvi) who banned the procession of spears, citing orthodoxy. However, opposed to attempts post-1870s, the strategy changed to ‘nationalist’ social engineering post 1920s, which saw the valorisation of Suheldev. Evidently, contrary to claims of extremism, the tradition of Neja Mela (where Muslims replace the flag atop the pole of shape of the Neja i.e. spear) in Sambhal is no different than Zohra Bibi-Ghazi Miyan ka Mela, celebrated in Bahraich in the memory of their aborted marriage before which he was ‘martyred’.

Shivnarayanis 

In contrast to the more visible syncretic cults—many of which have been subjected to reinterpretation within Hindutva frameworks due to their prominence in public discourse—there exist other syncretic traditions in Uttar Pradesh that have largely evaded such interventions. The Shivnarayani, which is one such tradition, is a sect from eastern Uttar Pradesh with a history spanning nearly three centuries. Founded by Shivnarayan Singh—born in 1686 into a Narauni (Pratihara) Rajput family in Ballia—the tradition articulated what he called Sant Mat (the “creed of the Saints”), with individual adherents known as Sants. As his 10th direct descendant and head of the Panth, Jagatguru Amarjeet Singh explains, Santpati signifies that anyone who truly lives the path of ultimate truth can be considered a Sant. Rejecting the corruptibility of fixed hierarchies and institutional authority, Shivnarayan emphasized a deliberately non-ritualistic framework—eschewing temples and idols in favour of temporary chauris, often structured in seven steps symbolizing both the seven chakras and the seven heavens.

The sect’s founding narrative is tied to the Mughal emperor Muhammad Shah Rangila, who is said to have summoned Bagh Rai, Shivnarayan’s father, to Delhi over unpaid dues during a famine. Shivnarayan accompanied him to the imperial court around 1732. According to tradition, while imprisoned, news of his spiritual powers reached the emperor, who tested him by killing a cow and challenging him to restore it to life. The episode, as narrated within the sect, culminates not merely in a miracle but in a moral transformation: Shivnarayan compels the emperor to confront the futility of senseless violence, leading to a change of heart and his initiation into the fold. The enduring legacy of this encounter is reflected in the continued presence of Muslims as chharidars (ceremonial guards) for the head of the panth and its monastic institutions—an institutionalized symbol of the sect’s syncretic ethos.

Drawing upon his own feudal background—where the Naraunis had historically controlled clusters of villages under the ṭappas of Sukhpura, Bansdih, and Kharauni—Shivnarayan was uniquely positioned to challenge Brahminical orthodoxy. He is credited with opening the doors of organized religious practice, albeit stripped of conventional ritualism, and embedding within it a strong message of social equality. This appeal resonated particularly among marginalized communities, including Dalits, across eastern Uttar Pradesh, and later spread to regions such as Bihar, Nepal, Uttarakhand, Malwa, and Punjab.

Although the number of adherents and initiated Sants has declined over time, the sect’s message continues to find expression in its distinctive funerary practices: when a Sant departs for Nij Dham, the body is interred rather than cremated, accompanied by Bhojpuri verses from Sant Vilas. Such practices underscore a worldview that resists rigid religious binaries. As thinkers like Gail Omvedt have noted, the imposition of doctrinal divisions since early modernity has largely emanated from centres of power, while among marginalized communities, traditions emphasizing harmony over conflict, cooperation over coercion, and faith as a means of transcendence have remained more deeply rooted. This ethos finds parallels in imagined sacred spaces such as Anandpur associated with Guru Nanak, Begampura envisioned by Kabir, and Sant Lok articulated within the Shivnarayani tradition.

Arya Samaj’s war on syncretic beliefs

Influenced by a Protestant-inflected model of spiritual morality—marked by defined theology, rigid religious boundaries, hierarchical authority, and codified norms—alongside the transformative effects of print capitalism, 19th-century revivalist movements began to cast a suspicious eye on syncretic traditions. Reformist currents, particularly those associated with the Arya Samaj, as well as strands of both Hindu and Muslim orthodoxy, increasingly dismissed such blended practices with derision, often labelling them disparagingly as khichri. Emerging from metropolitan centres and gaining traction among the educated urban middle classes, these reformist voices promoted a Sanskritic, text-centred epistemology—albeit not without contesting traditional authorities—and advanced a more congregational, collectivist religious identity. This marked a departure from the diffuse, practice-based, and often individualized nature of older Hindu traditions, especially those shaped by karmic doctrine.

By the early 20th century, many of some reformist actors—especially those linked to the Arya Samaj—had entered the arena of electoral politics, positioning themselves as agents of reason and enlightenment within formations like the Indian National Congress, while simultaneously fuelling a parallel reformist zeal within right-leaning organisations. This ideological convergence across the political spectrum became particularly visible in events such as the 1950 fair commemorating Suheldev, organised by the Arya Samaj, and inaugurated by Congress leaders—despite the backdrop of communal unrest and the imposition of Section 144.

Khwaja of the Thakurs

Folk traditions of indebtedness often stem from simple ancestral memories. As noted by Sharique Ahmad Khan, the Bais Rajputs of Azamgarh trace one such episode to Khwaja Minhaj, a Mughal officer, who rescued a wounded man—Mainpar Dev—from a well after he had been left for dead. Dev later rose in Minhaj’s service, and upon the latter’s death, inherited his estate and built his tomb, giving rise to the name Minhajpur (Mehnajpur).

In a lasting mark of gratitude, Bais Rajputs adopted the Muslim style of tying the mirzai to the right, protected local Muslim communities, and continue to contribute to the annual urs at the shrine.

Conclusion 

While presenting itself as reformist, Hindutva remains tethered to a Brahminical cosmopolis. Even as it challenges ritual hierarchies and orthodox authority, it consistently targets syncretic traditions that unsettle its rigid binaries.

Across the Indo-Gangetic plain, however, long-standing, symbiotic belief systems—rooted in marginalised communities and distant from metropolitan influence—have persisted outside the frameworks of both organized religion and modern ideological constructs. Often overlooked or suppressed, these traditions continue to embody and transmit a lived ethos of interfaith and intercultural harmony. 

(The author is a post graduate scholar, a MA in History, specialising in medieval and pre-modern History from University of Delhi. His interests include heritage research, social and environmental histories)

[1] https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/meerut/sambhal-cops-deny-permission-for-historic-neja-mela-commemorating-plunderer-ghaznavis-commander/articleshow/119125961.cms; Note the contradictory even provocative headline in Times of India, on the one hand calling the Neja Mela “historic” and on the other hand almost legitimising the terms used by hardline objectors, “..commemorating plunderer Ghaznavis”!!

Related:

Rajasthan: Gogamedi, a Rajput-Muslim shrine and the politics of communal capture

The post UP’s syncretic warrior cults facing Hindutva challenge appeared first on SabrangIndia.

But what if we pause and think about the thousands of modern day slaves in India who continue to work under almost the same conditions? 

As India marks 50 years of the Bonded Labour System (Abolition) Act, 1976, cases of bonded labour still surface in states like Telangana. Many workers in sectors such as agriculture, brick kilns, fishing and construction remain trapped in debt and coercion. The only thing that has changed is that it is no longer the 3rd century BCE, but the 21st century. 

Pursala Lingamma’s story emerges from this reality. Once a bonded labourer, she later entered public life and today serves her village as its Sarpanch.

Pursala Lingamma, Sarpanch of Amaragiri village

“At night, our seth(master) locked our children in a separate room so that we would not run away. If we tried to escape, we would have to leave our children behind. That is how we remained trapped in slavery for nearly three decades.” – says Pursala Lingamma 

P Lingamma, once trapped in conditions of forced slavery, went on to become the Sarpanch of a village with hundreds of rescued individuals. Lingamma hails from Amaragiri village in Nagarkurnool district, Telangana. For over three decades, her family, along with 44 other families from the Chenchu tribe (an aboriginal community listed among the Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups in India) was trapped in bonded labour. 

“The community’s complete rescue was a miracle. We had to suffice in the given boat and equipment for fishery and had never imagined that we could ever be free. My parents and the whole community had lost all hope. ” – she adds. 

They were trapped by three local businesspersons who controlled most of the fishing trade in the area. Through debt and coercion, Lingamma’s family, along with many other families, were forced to sell the fish they caught at extremely low prices. While the market price was around Rs 60, they were made to sell it for just Rs5. They were denied access to fair markets and were even subjected to physical abuse, leaving constitutional guarantees only on paper.

Rescued from Bonded Labour 

However, the turning point came when a civil society organisation, the Foundation for Sustainable Development (FSD), stepped in. Established in 2004, FSD works to eradicate bonded labour across several Indian states, including Telangana, Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Odisha and West Bengal. 

“Due to migration and the search for a stable livelihood, these tribal groups, most of them illiterate, get trapped by local businessmen. They are often threatened and abused so that they do not speak against them.” – Dr. Kandasamy Krishnan, Executive Director of FSD and Convenor of the National Adivasi Solidarity Council (NASC)

Krishnan speaks about the deep fear among the survivors of Chenchu tribe in Amaragiri village. For generations, these families had been catching fish from the Krishna River and selling it locally for around Rs. 100 per kilogram. The same fish could earn up to Rs. 1,000 per kilogram in markets in West Bengal. In other words, they were getting barely one-tenth of its real value. Yet most of them were afraid to complain to officials, fearing they might lose even this small income, if they engage with officers. Krishnan adds that among the 106 people who were rescued, only two could read and write, which made it even harder for them to understand their constitutional rights and speak up against them in front of officers.

Lingamma’s Leadership Journey

Lingamma attended several leadership sessions conducted by the Foundation for Sustainable Development and waited for the right opportunity to show her abilities. She is one of the 2,900 rescued survivors by FSD, who has received leadership training. Today, many of them are leading participants in different fields such as local politics, markets, working at handicrafts and self-help groups. However, their journey, even after the rescue, is not easy. It is only their first step. 

For the first time, the position of Sarpanch in Amargiri village was reserved for a woman from a Scheduled Tribe. It was then that a cousin of Lingamma encouraged her to contest the election, thinking that the position could later be taken over by him. She hesitated at first, but eventually decided to step in and make use of the opportunity. However, she faced heavy criticism for contesting, especially because she was a woman and that too from the Chenchu tribe.

Lingamma says, “The village was already divided among different tribes. When I got nominated, it soon turned into a gender conflict as well. The toughest time for me was not the haunting decades of slavery, but the months before the election, when the men of my own community stood against me.” 

The villagers were deeply divided in their opinions about a woman’s capability to hold such a significant position in the political arena. They doubted a woman’s ability to conduct meetings with bureaucrats, negotiating and bargaining the interest of the community wisely. Many were sceptical, but she was confident. She went ahead and mobilised male voters by taking up their daily issues and also assured the women that she would be a strong and accountable leader. After conducting numerous local Sabhas to engage with opposing forces, the tribe slowly consolidated and she won the first election of her political journey. Later, despite being offered monetary bait of Rs10 lakh to transfer the real authority to her cousin, Lingamma declined to sell the trust of her own people. Today, she stands as an epitome of women’s empowerment for the whole of Amaragiri.

Developmental Road Ahead after Winning

Lingamma’s leadership as Sarpanch has played an important role in establishing the economic independence of Amaragiri. 

Lingamma is currently focusing on education and has been working to lay the foundation for school buildings in the village. She is also pushing for the establishment of a community hall for her community, which is still awaiting sanction. Along with this, she hopes to soon ensure access to drinking water and improve road infrastructure, as the village remains largely isolated from the outside world.

She says, “Amaragiri should not be known as a village of bondage, but for its progress and for the leadership of a tribal woman.”

Post-rescue, survivors have organised themselves into the Amaragiri Released Bonded Labourers Association (RBLA) in effort to secure government benefits, and launched initiatives like a fish-processing unit to ensure economic independence in their age-old profession. The Chenchu community of Amaragiri were able to obtain government funds as well, of approximately 40 lakh rupees, to start a Fishing Cooperative and purchase vehicles to take the fish to city markets. 

Her victory is historic, not just for her but for the entire community. It symbolises a complete reversal of decades of oppression and a beacon of hope for other marginalized communities. 

At the heart of this transformation stands Sarpanch P. Lingamma. 

Her journey is recently recognised in a feature by Eenadu, a Telugu newspaper, on March 18, 2026 titled “From Struggle to Recognition: An Inspiring Journey of Resilience.”

On the occasion of International Women’s Day, Lingamma was also among nine Elected Women Representatives from across the country who were felicitated by the Indian School of Democracy at the Constitution Club of India. ISD is a non-partisan organisation that works to nurture principled grassroots political leaders committed to strengthening Indian democracy.

(The author is a Political Science student at Lady Shri Ram College for Women, Delhi University, and an independent journalist writing on polity, governance, and social issues.)

Related:

Raid on Adivasi leader Manish Kunjam for ‘seeking investigation into the tendu patta bonu scam’, condemned by rights groups

Appeal to Political Parties, Visit Bastar, Initiate a Dialogue, Restore Fundamental Rights

Attack on Prof Sanjay Kumar Roundly Condemned

The post An Adivasi woman once in bonded labour now serves her village as a Sarpanch appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Across party lines, opposition Members of Parliament repeatedly demanded that the Bill be referred to a Standing or Select Committee to enable wider consultation with stakeholders, including transgender persons, legal experts, and civil society organisations. These demands were rejected without substantive reasoning. Civil society groups later highlighted that the Bill had been introduced through a supplementary list of business, limiting the time available for parliamentary scrutiny. In their joint letter to the President, the All-India Feminist Alliance (ALIFA) and the National Alliance for Justice, Accountability and Rights (NAJAR) characterised the process as one marked by “undue and unjustifiable haste,” arguing that the government had disregarded both parliamentary conventions and the Pre-Legislative Consultation Policy, 2014.

The Bill now awaits assent from President Droupadi Murmu, even as legal scholars, activists, and citizens urge her to exercise her powers under Article 111 of the Constitution to return the Bill for reconsideration.

The Core Legal Shift: From self-identification to state certification

At the heart of the amendment lies a fundamental transformation in how Indian law conceptualises gender identity. The Transgender Persons Act, 2019 was built upon the constitutional foundation laid down in NALSA v. Union of India, where the Supreme Court recognised the right to self-identify one’s gender as intrinsic to dignity, autonomy, and personal liberty. The judgment made it clear that gender identity is not contingent on medical procedures or external validation, but rather on an individual’s deeply felt sense of self.

The 2026 amendment departs sharply from this framework. By removing the provision for “self-perceived gender identity,” it replaces a rights-based approach with a certification regime. Under this system, individuals seeking recognition as transgender must undergo evaluation by a designated medical board. The recommendation of this board is then examined by a District Magistrate, who ultimately decides whether to issue a certificate of identity.

While the government has defended this mechanism as necessary for administrative clarity and targeted delivery of welfare benefits, according to Hindustan Times, many argue that it effectively places the State in the position of validating identity. This shift is not merely procedural—it alters the philosophical basis of the law, moving from recognition to regulation. The concern is that identity, which the Supreme Court treated as an aspect of personal autonomy, is now being reframed as something that must be verified, measured, and approved.

Redefining Transgender Identity: Inclusion, exclusion, and legal erasure

The amendment also introduces a narrower definition of “transgender person,” with significant implications for who is recognised under the law. It includes individuals with intersex variations or congenital differences in sex characteristics, as well as those belonging to certain recognised socio-cultural communities such as hijras, kinnars, aravanis, and jogtas. However, it explicitly excludes individuals whose identities are based solely on self-identification.

This definitional shift has been widely criticised as exclusionary. Activists and scholars argue that it risks erasing large sections of the transgender community, including trans men, non-binary individuals, and those who do not belong to traditional community structures. Media reports have noted that the amendment effectively restricts recognition to those who can either demonstrate biological markers or align with specific socio-cultural identities, as reported in Indian Express.

The implications are not merely symbolic. Legal recognition is the gateway to accessing rights, welfare schemes, and protections. By narrowing the definition, the law may render many individuals ineligible for benefits they were previously entitled to under the 2019 framework. This has led to fears that the amendment could create a hierarchy within the transgender community, privileging certain identities while excluding others.

Penal provisions and the question of criminalisation

Another significant aspect of the amendment is the introduction of new penal provisions, including offences related to “inducing” or “compelling” someone to adopt a transgender identity. The government has justified these provisions as necessary safeguards, particularly to protect minors from coercion and exploitation. It has also emphasised that the law introduces graded punishments to reflect the seriousness of offences.

However, the language of these provisions is vague and potentially overbroad, as such clauses may inadvertently criminalise support systems that have historically sustained transgender communities, including families, chosen kinship networks, and civil society organisations. There is concern that by framing transgender identity in the context of inducement or coercion, the law risks reinforcing the idea that such identities are not self-originating but externally imposed.

This concern is particularly acute in a social context where transgender individuals often rely on informal networks for survival and support. The fear is that these networks could come under legal scrutiny, further marginalising an already vulnerable community.

Government’s Position: Welfare, clarity, and control

Union Minister Virendra Kumar has consistently defended the Bill as a necessary step toward ensuring justice and protection for transgender persons. According to the government, the amendments are intended to ensure that welfare benefits reach those who genuinely need them, and that the absence of clear criteria does not lead to misuse. The emphasis on biological and verifiable markers is presented as a way to bring administrative clarity to the system.

Several ruling party MPs echoed this reasoning during parliamentary debates, raising concerns about the possibility of individuals falsely claiming transgender identity to access benefits, as reported by Hindustan Times. The government has also pointed to its broader initiatives—such as awareness programmes, job fairs, and helplines—as evidence of its commitment to the welfare of transgender persons.

Yet, these arguments fail to address the central constitutional issue: whether the State can condition recognition of identity on verification processes that undermine autonomy and dignity.

Opposition and Constitutional Challenge: Rights, dignity, and judicial precedent

The parliamentary debate on the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 was marked by an unusually unified and forceful response from opposition parties, who framed their objections not merely in political terms but as a matter of constitutional principle. Across party lines—including the Congress, DMK, AITC, SP, RJD, AAP, CPI(M), BJD, and others—Members of Parliament consistently argued that the Bill represents a fundamental departure from the rights-based framework established over the past decade, and risks violating core guarantees of equality, dignity, and personal liberty, according to The Hindu.

At the centre of this critique lies the removal of the right to self-identification, a principle that had been firmly recognised by the Supreme Court in NALSA v. Union of India. Opposition MPs repeatedly emphasised that this judgment was not merely declaratory, but transformative—it located gender identity within the domain of autonomy, holding that individuals have the right to determine their own gender without medical or bureaucratic validation. By replacing this framework with a system of medical certification and administrative approval, the amendment, they argued, effectively reverses a settled constitutional position.

DMK MP Tiruchi Siva articulated this concern in particularly stark terms, warning in the Rajya Sabha that even if the Bill were to pass through Parliament, it would likely be struck down by the Supreme Court for violating Articles 14, 15, 19, and 21 of the Constitution, as per Hindustan Times. His intervention reflects a broader apprehension that the amendment is not merely controversial, but constitutionally vulnerable. For many in the opposition, the issue is not one of policy disagreement, but of legislative overreach into areas already protected by judicial interpretation.

This constitutional framing was echoed by multiple MPs who raised concerns about equality and non-discrimination under Articles 14 and 15. By narrowing the definition of “transgender person” and excluding those who identify on the basis of self-perception, the law, they argued, creates an arbitrary classification within the community itself. Such classification, lacking a clear rational nexus to the stated objective of protection, may fail the test of reasonable classification under Article 14, reported Indian Express. Moreover, by conditioning recognition on medical criteria, the law risks discriminating against individuals who cannot or do not wish to undergo such processes, thereby indirectly penalising certain forms of gender expression.

“Even a person who is being hanged, is asked what their last wish is? Then why are we not asked about our wishes while creating this (Trans) Bill? Who will listen to our Mann ki Baat?” – BJD MP @SulataDeoMP from Odisha pic.twitter.com/M5XI8WGyaZ

— Yes, We Exist (@YesWeExistIndia) March 25, 2026

Honestly, give @RenukaCCongress Ally of the Year Award already.

What a speech in the Rajya Sabha! Laced with sarcasm, hitting where it hurts, she’s shown why we #RejectTransBill2026 – because it’s illegal, unconstitutional and illogical! pic.twitter.com/n3V3mhcLRg

— Anish Gawande (@anishgawande) March 25, 2026

Equally significant are concerns relating to personal liberty and dignity under Article 21. MPs such as Sandeep Pathak and Priyanka Chaturvedi questioned the logic of requiring transgender persons—unlike cisgender men and women—to subject themselves to medical boards for identity recognition, provided Times of India. This differential treatment, they argued, not only violates the principle of equality but also intrudes into the most intimate aspects of personhood. Gender identity, in this view, is not a fact to be verified but an experience to be respected. The requirement of certification thus transforms a deeply personal aspect of identity into an administrative hurdle, raising concerns about dignity, autonomy, and bodily integrity.

The debate also invoked the right to privacy, particularly in light of the Supreme Court’s landmark judgment in K.S. Puttaswamy v. Union of India. Opposition MPs argued that the process of medical evaluation and potential disclosure of sensitive personal information to state authorities may constitute an unjustified intrusion into privacy. The absence of clear safeguards regarding data protection, confidentiality, and purpose limitation further intensifies these concerns. In a constitutional framework that recognises privacy as intrinsic to dignity and autonomy, such provisions are likely to face rigorous judicial scrutiny.

BRS Party opposes the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026

The new bill excludes certain identities from the definition of “transgender” based on subjective perceptions.

Identity is personal, and the law should respect that.

The process of… pic.twitter.com/Q6JltuQIyp

— BRS Party (@BRSparty) March 25, 2026

Another strand of opposition critique focused on the penal provisions introduced by the amendment. MPs raised concerns about the vague and expansive language used to define offences such as “inducement” or “influence” in relation to transgender identity. There is apprehension that these provisions could be misused to target families, community networks, healthcare providers, and civil society organisations that support transgender persons as per Indian Express. This raises a classic constitutional issue of overbreadth and vagueness—whether a law, in seeking to address a legitimate concern, casts its net so wide that it captures protected conduct and creates a chilling effect on lawful activity.

The absence of a robust grievance redressal mechanism was also highlighted during the debate. MPs pointed to the fact that thousands of applications for transgender certification under the existing 2019 Act had already been rejected, with little clarity on the grounds for rejection or avenues for appeal, reported Hindustan Times. By strengthening the role of medical boards and district authorities without simultaneously enhancing accountability and transparency, the amendment risks institutionalising arbitrariness. This concern ties directly into the constitutional guarantee against arbitrary state action, which has been read into Article 14 by the Supreme Court.

Importantly, opposition leaders also situated the Bill within a broader pattern of legislative and executive action. Some MPs argued that the amendment reflects a growing tendency to privilege administrative convenience over fundamental rights, and to treat marginalised communities as subjects of regulation rather than holders of rights (The Hindu). This critique is not limited to the transgender context, but speaks to a wider constitutional anxiety about the erosion of rights-based governance.

Outside Parliament, political leaders reinforced these concerns in public statements. Congress MP and Leader of Opposition Rahul Gandhi described the Bill as a “brazen attack” on the constitutional rights and identity of transgender persons, arguing that it strips individuals of their ability to self-identify and subjects them to dehumanising scrutiny. Such interventions indicate that the constitutional critique of the Bill is not confined to legislative debate, but forms part of a larger political discourse on rights and governance.

The BJP government’s Transgender Persons Amendment Bill is a brazen attack on the Constitutional rights and identity of transgender people.

This regressive bill:
– strips transgender people of their ability to self identify, violating a Supreme Court judgement
– ⁠wipes out the… pic.twitter.com/et6lqpgTXw

— Rahul Gandhi (@RahulGandhi) March 24, 2026

Many also took to social media to convey their disagreement with the Bill.

Though I will miss Parliament because of the ongoing #KeralaElections, I am following reports of legislative developments there.

I’m deeply concerned by the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026, introduced in the Lok Sabha, which was tabled rather…

— Shashi Tharoor (@ShashiTharoor) March 22, 2026

The @BJP4India Govt’s Transgender Amendment Bill 2026 is a shameful rollback of rights. It kills self-identification, revives colonial-era suspicion, and erases trans men, trans women & non-binary citizens affirmed by the Supreme Court in NALSA.
I reject this bill outright. I…

— Karti P Chidambaram (@KartiPC) March 22, 2026

CPI(M) Polit Bureau demands the withdrawal of the Transgender Persons Amendment Bill pic.twitter.com/JJgvflFDvo

— CPI (M) (@cpimspeak) March 14, 2026

I stand in solidarity with the transgender community and will strongly raise these serious concerns in Parliament.

Met a delegation of transgender community members and civil society representatives regarding the Transgender Amendment Bill, 2026; a deeply regressive and… pic.twitter.com/WjVYVMZ7fq

— Renuka Chowdhury (@RenukaCCongress) March 20, 2026

Chandra Shekhar Azad @BhimArmyChief Lok Sabha MP of the @AzadSamajParty extends support to #RejectTransBill2026 pic.twitter.com/KeGjgqC4Sm

— Yes, We Exist (@YesWeExistIndia) March 24, 2026

Ultimately, what emerges from the opposition’s position is a coherent constitutional argument: that the amendment undermines the principles of equality, dignity, autonomy, and privacy that form the core of India’s fundamental rights framework. By departing from the jurisprudence established in NALSA v. Union of India and potentially conflicting with the privacy protections recognised in K.S. Puttaswamy v. Union of India, the law sets the stage for an inevitable judicial confrontation.

Institutional Dissent: Resignations and judicial alarm

Beyond parliamentary opposition and street-level protest, one of the most striking aspects of the controversy surrounding the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 has been the emergence of dissent from within institutional frameworks themselves. This is significant because it reflects not merely ideological disagreement, but a breakdown of confidence within bodies that were specifically created to represent, advise on, and safeguard transgender rights.

Our demand is clear: Take the bill back.

Lawyers Call Trans Amendment Bill “Unconstitutional,” Seek Withdrawal#RejectTransBill2026 pic.twitter.com/W4gfL9YXAE

— P // (they/them) (@pratzhell) March 22, 2026

A particularly visible manifestation of this institutional unease came through the resignation of two members of the National Council for Transgender Persons (NCTP)—Rituparna Neog and Kalki Subramaniam—immediately following the passage of the Bill in Parliament, as per Times of India. The NCTP, a statutory body constituted under the 2019 Act, is tasked with advising the government on policies affecting transgender persons and ensuring that the community’s concerns are meaningfully represented within governance processes. The resignations, therefore, are not merely symbolic acts of protest; they raise deeper questions about whether the consultative mechanisms built into the law are functioning at all.

I have officially resigned as the Southern States Representative of the National Council for Transgender Persons (NCTP).
The Ministry passed the #TransgenderAmendmentBill2026 without consulting the Council. I cannot hold a seat where our voices are silenced.
I stand with my… pic.twitter.com/Fkt9SGC2Ai

— Kalki Subramaniam (@QueenKalki) March 25, 2026

In their resignation letters, both members pointed explicitly to the absence of consultation as the central reason for stepping down. Rituparna Neog stated that attempts to engage with the Ministry as “the voice of the community” had gone unheard, suggesting that the institutional channels for dialogue had effectively been bypassed. Kalki Subramaniam went further, describing her continued presence within the Council as untenable in a situation where the “collective voice” of the community had been silenced. Her resignation underscores a fundamental contradiction: a body designed to represent transgender persons was neither consulted nor meaningfully involved in shaping a law that directly alters their legal status.

These resignations must also be understood in the context of prior attempts by NCTP members to engage with the government before the Bill’s passage. Reports indicate that community representatives had, in meetings with ministry officials, strongly reiterated that self-identification—recognised by the Supreme Court—must remain the foundation of gender recognition. They also raised concerns about the proposed definition of “transgender person,” the introduction of medical boards, and the potential for invasive verification processes. Despite these interventions, the final legislation appears to have incorporated none of these suggestions, reinforcing the perception that consultation was procedural rather than substantive, as reported by Times of India.

Parallel to this institutional dissent from within the executive framework is a significant expression of concern emerging from the judiciary itself—more specifically, from a Supreme Court-appointed advisory committee chaired by Justice Asha Menon. This committee, constituted to examine the implementation of transgender rights and recommend improvements, reportedly wrote to the government urging withdrawal of the Bill, Bar & Bench reported. Its intervention is particularly noteworthy because it represents a quasi-judicial assessment of the law’s compatibility with existing constitutional principles.

The committee’s concerns are both substantive and structural. At the core is the removal of self-identification as the basis for legal recognition of gender identity. The committee observed that by linking recognition to biological characteristics or medical processes, the amendment risks excluding individuals who identify as transgender but do not meet these criteria. This, in turn, could limit access to identity documents, welfare schemes, and legal protections—effectively rendering certain sections of the community invisible in the eyes of the law (Bar & Bench).

Equally significant are the committee’s concerns regarding privacy. The amendment’s requirement that details of gender-affirming procedures may be shared with district authorities raises serious questions about confidentiality and bodily autonomy. In a legal landscape shaped by the Supreme Court’s recognition of privacy as a fundamental right, such provisions are seen as potentially intrusive and lacking clear justification. The committee reportedly noted that the objective of such data collection remains unclear, further intensifying apprehensions about surveillance and misuse, according to Bar & Bench.

The advisory body also questioned the necessity of introducing new penal provisions, pointing out that many of the offences outlined in the amendment are already covered under existing criminal laws. This raises a broader concern about legislative redundancy and the possibility that the new provisions may be used in ways that disproportionately affect transgender persons or their support networks. By highlighting these overlaps, the committee implicitly challenges the rationale that the amendment is required to fill legal gaps.

Perhaps the most consequential aspect of the committee’s intervention is its implicit constitutional warning. By flagging the removal of self-identification, the committee draws attention to a potential conflict with the principles laid down in NALSA v. Union of India, where the Supreme Court affirmed that gender identity is a matter of personal autonomy and self-determination. This raises the possibility that the amendment, once enacted, could face judicial scrutiny for contravening established constitutional jurisprudence.

Civil Society and Community Voices: Law meets lived reality

If Parliament reflected the formal contest over the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026, it is within civil society and community responses that the deeper stakes of the law become visible. Across the country, a wide spectrum of actors—transgender collectives, queer rights groups, feminist alliances, parents’ networks, legal advocates, and independent activists—have articulated a layered critique that moves beyond doctrinal disagreement to foreground lived experience, structural exclusion, and everyday vulnerability.

One of the most organised interventions has come from coalitions such as the All-India Feminist Alliance (ALIFA) and the National Alliance for Justice, Accountability and Rights (NAJAR), which formally wrote to the President to return the Bill for reconsideration. Their critique extends not only to the substance of the amendments but also to the process of law-making itself. They argue that the Bill was pushed through without meaningful consultation, in violation of the Pre-Legislative Consultation Policy, 2014, and describe its passage as marked by “undue and unjustifiable haste”. Substantively, their concerns centre on the removal of self-identification, the imposition of medical certification, and the introduction of vague penal provisions—all of which, they argue, undermine constitutional guarantees under Articles 14, 19, and 21.

The statement may be read here.

Parallel to these institutional interventions are deeply personal responses emerging from families and support networks. The collective Sweekar, comprising parents of LGBTQIA+ individuals, has framed the amendment through the lens of care and lived reality. Their public appeal emphasises how the law transforms identity into a matter of scrutiny, forcing individuals to “prove” their gender before medical boards and administrative authorities. For families who have struggled to support their children in the face of stigma, this requirement is experienced as a form of state-imposed doubt—one that risks undoing fragile processes of acceptance and belonging.

The statement may be read here.

A recurring concern across civil society responses is the question of access and inequality. Activists have pointed out that the requirement of medical verification presumes access to healthcare, financial resources, and bureaucratic systems—conditions that are unevenly distributed across class, caste, and geography. For many transgender persons, particularly those in rural or economically marginalised settings, navigating a medical board and district administration may be practically impossible. In this sense, the law risks producing exclusion not through explicit denial, but through procedural barriers that render recognition inaccessible.

Another major strand of critique relates to the impact of the law on existing community support structures. Transgender communities in India have historically relied on networks of care—such as the guru-chela system, peer groups, and NGO support—for survival in the face of systemic exclusion. The introduction of penal provisions relating to “inducement” or “influence” has raised fears that these very networks could be criminalised if the provisions are interpreted broadly, reported Hindustan Times. Activists argue that the law, in attempting to regulate identity, risks destabilising the informal but essential systems that sustain transgender lives.

Protest and Public Resistance: From parliament to the streets, a nationwide rejection

The passage of the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 has not remained confined to parliamentary debate; it has triggered a widespread, deeply emotional, and sustained wave of resistance across the country. From organised marches to spontaneous gatherings, from formal resignations to cultural expressions of dissent, the response from the transgender community and its allies reflects not just disagreement with the law, but a profound sense of betrayal.

One of the most visible protests unfolded in Mumbai, where over 200 individuals gathered at Azad Maidan in a peaceful but charged demonstration, as reported by The Hindu. The protest was marked not only by slogans and placards, but by a striking use of cultural resistance. Participants sang a reworked version of a popular Bollywood song—“Bill toh kaccha hai ji”—turning satire into a tool of political critique. Slogans such as “Amka naka Trans Bill” (We don’t want the Trans Bill) and “Hum apna haq maangte hai, naa kisi se bheek maangte hai” underscored a central demand: recognition of rights, not conditional welfare. The gathering brought together transgender individuals, families, and allies, with many emphasising that family support remains crucial in a society where stigma continues to shape everyday life. Several speakers warned that the Bill could deepen fear and push individuals further into invisibility.

Transgender people, activists and supporters protested against the contentious Bill at Jantar Mantar, New Delhi.

Trans people, activists & supporters protest against Transgender Persons Amendment Bill, 2026 at Jantar Mantar, New Delhi. Bill has been passed in Parliament. Activist Kalki Subramaniam has resigned from National Council of Transgender Persons over the bill

Photos: @Surajbisht25 pic.twitter.com/2VeCFiKrRj

— ThePrintIndia (@ThePrintIndia) March 26, 2026

Standing room only for the Jan Sunwai on the Transgender Bill 2026!#RejectTransBill2026 #NoGoingBack pic.twitter.com/XvzUT0puGE

— Anish Gawande (@anishgawande) March 22, 2026

MP Manoj Kumar Jha, Renuka Chowdhury, John Brittas, NCP-SP Spokesperson Anish Gawande, Dalit & Trans Rights activists Grace Banu and several other community member — Krishanu, Tan, Nikunj, Samar, Abigail, etc. raised their voice to #RejectTransBill2026 at a Public Hearing, Delhi pic.twitter.com/mtBYWCdioe

— Yes, We Exist (@YesWeExistIndia) March 22, 2026

Protest also took place in Kolkata.

Beautiful images from Kolkata
The fight shall continue. Press conference tomorrow. #RejectTransBill2026 https://t.co/toD8t7m8i2 pic.twitter.com/WGwQpevV84

— Niloshka ☭ (@ruhunaxxine) March 15, 2026

In Thiruvananthapuram, protests took a more confrontational form, with demonstrators marching from Palayam to Lok Bhavan and publicly burning copies of the Bill, as per The Hindu. Organised under the Queer-Trans-Intersex Rights Joint Action Committee Keralam, the protest explicitly framed the amendment as a violation of constitutional guarantees and a reversal of the rights recognised in 2014. Protesters highlighted how the Bill’s definition fails to reflect regional diversity, noting that identities such as hijra or aravani do not capture the lived realities of transgender persons in Kerala. There was also a strong articulation of legal anxiety: participants warned that vague penal provisions could be weaponised against community networks, support groups, and even families who assist transgender individuals through transition and survival.

Today we met our comrade, a constant supporter of my trans community, Tmt. @ThamizhachiTh, to support our #RejectTransBill2026 campaign. She assured us of the entire DMK’s solidarity with the community. Thanks, Tholar.#transrightsnow #transrightsarehumanrights pic.twitter.com/5Opq2EFbpC

— GRACE BANU (@thirunangai) March 23, 2026

In Hyderabad, protests at Dharna Chowk echoed similar concerns, with demonstrators raising slogans such as “Our Body – Our Rights.” Speakers emphasised that gender identity is a deeply personal and experiential reality that cannot be determined by external authorities. Activists pointed out that the requirement of medical certification undermines dignity and autonomy, while also introducing new forms of surveillance and control.

Beyond these major urban centres, the protests have taken on a decentralised and expanding character. Community members have announced district-level mobilisations, beginning with demonstrations in Ernakulam and Kozhikode, signalling that resistance is likely to intensify rather than dissipate. The protests are not limited to metropolitan visibility; they are spreading into smaller cities and regional networks, reflecting the breadth of concern across the country.

What emerges from these multiple sites of protest is a pattern that goes beyond opposition to specific provisions. There is a shared perception that the law has been imposed without listening, that it redefines identity without consent, and that it transforms lived realities into categories subject to bureaucratic control. The protests reveal a community that is not fragmented but deeply interconnected—transgender persons, intersex individuals, non-binary persons, families, and allies standing together across caste, class, and regional divides.

Protests continue across the country against the (anti) Transgender Rights Bill introduced by the BJP government! #NoGoingBack The community is united to #RejectTransBill2026 pic.twitter.com/XLY600dErj

— Yes, We Exist (@YesWeExistIndia) March 23, 2026

At a deeper level, these mobilisations reflect a struggle over narrative. While the State frames the Bill as a measure of protection and administrative clarity, protesters articulate it as erasure, surveillance, and regression. The streets, in this sense, have become an extension of the constitutional debate—where questions of dignity, autonomy, and recognition are not argued in abstract terms, but lived, voiced, and contested in real time.

The Larger Constitutional Question: Who defines identity?

At its core, the controversy surrounding the Transgender Amendment Bill, 2026 is about the relationship between the individual and the State. It raises a fundamental question: can identity be subject to verification, or must it be recognised as an inherent aspect of personhood?

The Supreme Court in NALSA v. Union of India answered this question by placing identity within the domain of personal autonomy. The 2026 amendment, however, moves in a different direction, emphasising verification, classification, and administrative control.

Related:

Withdraw the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 NOW!

Maharashtra’s Anti-Conversion Bill: Legislating suspicion in the name of “love jihad”

Assam Government to table ‘Love Jihad’ and polygamy bills, CM Sarma says parents of male accused will also face arrest

‘Faith Is Not a Crime’: Mumbai’s Christians rise against Maharashtra’s proposed anti-conversion bill

The post A Law of Identity, Passed Without Listening: Inside the Transgender Amendment Bill, 2026 and the crisis it has triggered appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The incidents documented across India in 2025, when read collectively, mark a decisive shift in the nature of anti-Christian hostility. What was once episodic violence or localised discrimination has now hardened into a pattern of systemic persecution—socially legitimised, politically emboldened, and administratively enabled. Christians were not merely attacked as individuals or congregations; they were recast as a civilisational problem, a demographic threat, and a suspect population whose very presence required surveillance, regulation, and punishment.

This article undertakes a deep, incident-driven analysis of the violence, intimidation, discrimination, and institutional harassment faced by Christians throughout 2025. Drawing exclusively from the documented incidents provided, it traces how hate speech translated into physical violence, how law was repurposed as a tool of repression, and how everyday Christian life—worship, burial, marriage, education, and celebration—was progressively criminalised. The focus is not merely on what happened, but on how these events collectively reveal an architecture of otherisation that corrodes constitutional guarantees and reshapes citizenship itself. 

Manufacturing the Enemy: Christians as ‘foreign’, ‘anti-national’, and ‘dangerous’

A central pillar of anti-Christian mobilisation in 2025 was the persistent portrayal of Christians as outsiders to the Indian nation. Speakers across states repeatedly asserted that Christianity is inherently foreign—linked to the Vatican, Western powers, or colonial rule—and therefore incompatible with Indian culture. This rhetoric erased the long history of Indian Christianity, including indigenous traditions dating back centuries, and reframed faith as a marker of disloyalty.

The “holy land” disqualification: In Maharashtra and beyond, influential voices like Dhananjay Desai propagated a dangerous geopolitical argument: that because the “holy places” of Christians (the Vatican) and Muslims (Arabia) lie outside India, their loyalty to the Indian state is fundamentally compromised. This narrative effectively created a “Permanent Outsider” status, suggesting that a Christian can never be a “true” Indian.[1]

Public rallies and religious gatherings consistently advanced the idea that “true Indians” cannot be Christian. By redefining national belonging through religious identity, these narratives transformed Christians into conditional citizens—present but perpetually suspect. This framing proved crucial in legitimising subsequent acts of exclusion: if Christians are not truly Indian, then denying them burial rights, worship spaces, or legal protection can be portrayed as acts of cultural defence rather than discrimination.

The ‘foreign religion’ trope also intersected with anxieties about land, resources, and sovereignty. Christians—particularly among Adivasi communities—were accused of acting as agents of foreign interests, allegedly facilitating land grabs or undermining tribal traditions. These claims, devoid of evidence, circulated freely at public events, often in the presence of political leaders, lending them a veneer of legitimacy. 

The ideological framework – language as a weapon

Before the first stone was cast thrown in 2025, the groundwork was laid through a sophisticated linguistic campaign of dehumanisation. The “Otherisation” process relied on specific tropes designed to make the Christian community appear “un-Indian.”

The year 2025 saw the mainstreaming of derogatory slurs:

• “Rice bag” Christians: A trope used by figures like Kajal Hindustani to suggest that faith is a transaction and that converts are “purchasable” and thus lack integrity. (Also read CJP’s Hate Buster on this perennial slur against Indian Christians here.)
• “Chaddar and Father”: A rhyming slur used by Raju Das and Gautam Khattar to group Muslims and Christians into a single “alien threat,” often referred to as a “demonic illness” or a “cancer” that needs to be “cured” through violence.
• The “shoe” metaphor: In Haryana, Mahant Shukrai Nath Yogi explicitly stated he began wearing shoes specifically to “confront” missionaries, a metaphor for crushing and humiliating the “Other.” This was later echoed in Jhabua with slogans like “Isai ke dalalo ko, joote maaro saalo ko” (Beat the agents of Christianity with shoes). 

Conspiracy theories as political technology

Throughout 2025, conspiracy theories functioned as a key technology of mobilisation. The discourse of “love jihad,” initially directed at Muslims, was increasingly redeployed against Christians. Hindu nationalist leaders warned that Christian men were luring Hindu women into relationships to facilitate conversion, framing intimacy and marriage as weapons of religious warfare.

Equally pervasive was the narrative of “rice-bag conversions,” which cast Christian converts—especially Dalits and Adivasis—as morally weak, economically desperate, and incapable of exercising genuine choice. Conversion was framed not as conscience but as corruption. This discourse carried a deeply casteist subtext: it denied marginalised communities’ agency while reinforcing upper-caste paternalism.

Other conspiracies— “land jihad,” “drug jihad,” demographic replacement—were invoked to suggest that Christians operate through hidden networks aimed at destabilising Hindu society. The repetition of these narratives across regions points to ideological coordination rather than spontaneous fear.

Hate speech as infrastructure for violence

Hate speech in 2025 did not merely express prejudice; it actively prepared the ground for violence. Speeches openly called for social boycotts, forced reconversion, and the physical elimination of Christian presence. Chants advocating the destruction of missionaries crossed into explicit incitement.

Speakers frequently invoked mythological violence, comparing Christians to demons or invaders whose defeat was framed as a sacred duty. References to weapons, martial training, and vigilantism were common, signalling a shift from symbolic hostility to endorsement of physical force.

The impunity enjoyed by hate speakers is critical. Despite the public nature of these speeches, legal consequences were rare. The absence of state intervention functioned as tacit sanction, emboldening followers and normalising extremist rhetoric.

 Policing Worship: Raids, surveillance, and the criminalisation of Christian prayer

Throughout 2025, Christian worship—particularly prayer meetings held in private homes—became one of the most visible and repeatedly targeted sites of persecution. The incident record shows a consistent, cross-state pattern: Hindu nationalist groups would accuse Christians of engaging in forced or fraudulent conversions; mobs would arrive at prayer meetings, disrupt worship, and summon the police; law enforcement would then detain pastors or hosts, seize Bibles and religious material, and register cases under anti-conversion or public order laws.

These raids occurred across Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Bihar, Rajasthan, Maharashtra, Odisha, and Chhattisgarh. In Uttar Pradesh alone, multiple prayer meetings were raided following complaints by Bajrang Dal or VHP activists, even when attendees stated on record that they were participating voluntarily. In several cases, worship was forcibly stopped mid-prayer, with congregants verbally abused, threatened with violence, or compelled to chant Hindu religious slogans.

In Maharashtra, women attending Bible study gatherings were filmed and interrogated by Hindu vigilantes, accused of illegal religious activity, and pressured to disclose personal information. In Bihar and Rajasthan, elderly worshippers and women were forced to disperse while pastors were taken to police stations for questioning. In Odisha, prayer gatherings were followed by police violence against worshippers, including physical assaults documented by fact-finding teams.

These incidents collectively establish that Christian worship itself was treated as presumptively illegal. The home—constitutionally protected as a private sphere—was transformed into a surveilled space where religious expression invited state intervention. The cumulative effect of these raids was not merely disruption but deterrence: Christians learned that gathering to pray could lead to public humiliation, arrest, and long-term harassment.

Instances:

1. Location: Mayapur, Sidhi, Madhya Pradesh

Date: January 17

Bajrang Dal members, led by Rishi Shukla, raided a Christian prayer meeting held at a household. They harassed the attendees, accused them of engaging in religious conversions, and called the police.

2. Location: Fatehpur, Uttar Pradesh

Date: January 27

Members of Bajrang Dal, along with the police, raided a Christian family’s house accusing them of engaging in religious conversion. They presented the Bibles in the house as evidence and arrested the couple.

3. Location: Khargapur, Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh

Date: February 9

Members of the Akhil Bharatiya Hindu Mahasabha attempted to raid a Christian Sunday prayer meeting held in a church at a residence, accusing the attendees of religious conversion. The police confirmed that the church is registered and holds regular prayer meetings but directed them to suspend gatherings until the investigation is complete.

4. Location: Bargarh, Odisha

Date: February 9

Members of Bajrang Dal raided a Christian prayer meeting, alleging forced religious conversions and demanding it be stopped. The attendees pushed back, questioning their authority. https://t.me/hindutvawatchin/1444

5. Location: Bikaner, Rajasthan

Date: February 16

Members of Bajrang Dal and Hindu Jagran Manch raided a Christian prayer meeting at a private residence, assaulting attendees and vandalising the property while accusing them of indulging in religious conversion. During the attack, they chanted slogans of “Jai Shree Ram” and “Narendra Modi Zindabad” as part of their protest. The police detained 6-7 individuals on accusations of religious conversion.

6. Location: Bilaspur, Chhattisgarh

Date: March 20

Members of Hindu nationalist organisations, led by Thakur Ram Singh and backed by the police, raided a Christian prayer meeting at a conference hall. They alleged that attendees were being trained to brainwash and convert Hindus. The police arrested three individuals acting on their complaint.

Anti-Conversion Laws: Legal architecture of suspicion and control

Anti-conversion laws operated throughout 2025 as the primary legal framework through which Christian life was criminalised. While framed as safeguards against coercion, the documented incidents show that these laws were overwhelmingly used against Christians on the basis of unverified complaints by Hindu nationalist groups rather than testimonies of affected individuals.

Across Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, and Odisha, pastors, prayer leaders, and ordinary believers were arrested during or after prayer meetings. FIRs were registered even when alleged converts explicitly denied any force, inducement, or deception. In several Uttar Pradesh cases, police booked Christian couples or pastors under the state’s anti-conversion law solely because prayer was taking place in a domestic setting.

The first reported convictions of Christians under certain state anti-conversion laws marked a critical escalation. These convictions sent a chilling message beyond the individuals involved: Christian worship and evangelism—even when peaceful and consensual—could result in imprisonment. In Madhya Pradesh and Chhattisgarh, anti-conversion provisions were frequently combined with charges of unlawful assembly or public nuisance, enabling prolonged detention and heightened intimidation.

Rather than preventing coercion, these laws functioned as instruments of surveillance and discipline. They legitimised mob vigilance, emboldened police intervention, and transformed religious belief into a legally suspect activity.

Instances:

1. Location: Gokarna, Karnataka

Date: June 22

Far-right Hindu nationalists barged into a private Christian prayer meeting; instead of acting against the attackers, police filed an FIR against the worshippers over false conversion claims.

2. Location: Burhanpur, Madhya Pradesh

Date: June 25

Far-right Hindu nationalists brutally stripped, beat, and interrogated Adivasi Christians, falsely accusing them of religious conversions. Police filed an FIR against six Christians, while the attackers faced no action. As the video went viral, demands grew to prosecute the assailants, who, according to the victims, are upper-caste men affiliated with the Bajrang Dal.

Police complicity and administrative alignment

The role of the police across the documented incidents reveals a systemic collapse of institutional neutrality. In numerous cases, police arrived at prayer meetings alongside Hindu nationalist mobs or acted directly on their complaints without independent verification. Christians were detained, questioned, or arrested, while aggressors were rarely booked.

In Uttar Pradesh, there were repeated instances where pastors were detained while the individuals who disrupted worship faced no consequences. In one incident, a pastor’s wife was arrested following an attack on their prayer meeting, while those who assaulted the congregation went uncharged. In Odisha, fact-finding reports documented police assaulting Christian worshippers—including children and priests—during raids on church premises.

Administrative authorities also played a role in reinforcing exclusion. In Chhattisgarh villages where Christian families were denied burial rights, sarpanches and local officials justified the exclusion as adherence to “local custom.” Police were present during several burial denials yet failed to intervene, effectively endorsing the discrimination.

This alignment between police, administration, and vigilante groups produced a regime of structural impunity. Christians were left without effective legal recourse, trapped between mob violence and state hostility.

Institutional response and media coverage

Despite the violence, high-level official response was muted. Occasionally courts intervened (e.g. Supreme Court rebuked Chhattisgarh in the tribal burial case), but on the whole, police and governments largely upheld anti-conversion crackdowns. In regions where BJP governments held power, anti-Christian laws were zealously enforced (e.g. first UP conviction). BJP leaders voiced no regret over extremists’ speeches, and sometimes echoed the fear rhetoric themselves.

Mainstream media coverage of anti-Christian incidents in 2025 frequently diluted their communal character. Raids on prayer meetings were framed as routine law-and-order actions; burial denials were described as village disputes; arrests under anti-conversion laws were reported without scrutiny of evidentiary basis.

By contrast, independent media outlets and civil society organisations documented patterns across states, tracking hate speeches, arrests, and coordinated attacks. Their reporting reveals the scale, consistency, and ideological coherence of the persecution that mainstream narratives often obscured.

This narrative dilution played a crucial role in normalisation. When violence is fragmented into isolated events and stripped of its structural context, it becomes easier for society and institutions to accept persecution as ordinary governance rather than constitutional breakdown.

In summary, the institutional picture is one of complicity or wilful negligence. Police frequently treated Christian worship as a crime, and only rarely held Hindu attackers accountable. For example, after mobs raided an Odisha village burning Bibles, local police were slow to file charges; journalists had to push coverage for any action. Even when arrests were made, they were usually of Christians under anti-conversion laws (not the mobs). Several incident reports note explicitly that police either joined the persecutors (as at Bilaspur, CG) or simply failed to prevent ongoing intimidation.

Denial of Dignity: Burials, death, and civil exclusion

One of the most severe and symbolically devastating forms of persecution documented in 2025 was the repeated denial of burial rights to Christians. In multiple villages in Chhattisgarh and Madhya Pradesh, Christian families—often Dalit or Adivasi—were prevented from burying their dead in common burial grounds.

In several incidents, families were forced to transport bodies over long distances to find a place for burial, sometimes under police escort. In one prominent case, the denial of burial to an elderly Christian man in a tribal area prompted judicial intervention, with higher courts reprimanding the state for failing to protect basic dignity.

Other incidents reveal even harsher coercion: local leaders demanded that families undergo reconversion to Hinduism as a condition for allowing burial. These acts were not spontaneous expressions of social prejudice but organised practices of exclusion, enforced through threats and administrative inaction.

Denial of burial constitutes a form of civil death. It communicates that Christians are excluded from the moral and social community—not only in life, but even in death. These practices closely mirror historical caste-based exclusions, revealing how religious persecution in 2025 intersected with entrenched hierarchies of purity and pollution. The denial of burial is the ultimate expression of “Otherisation.” It suggests that the Christian body is so “alien” that it cannot even be permitted to decompose in the soil of its own homeland.

Instances:

1. Location: Surat, Gujarat

Date: February 1

Hindu nationalists, led by Narendra Choudhary, forced out a group of Christian individuals who had come to collect a man’s body for burial. The Christian group claimed that the man was Christian and the family called them. However, the goons accused them of forcefully converting Hindus, and made them leave along with the coffin.

2. Location: Sanaud, Durg, Chhattisgarh

Date: May 26

During the burial of a Christian woman, villagers—pressured by Hindu nationalists and a village sarpanch sympathetic to Hindu nationalist ideology—refused to allow her burial at the public Muktidham, claiming the land was reserved for Adivasi tribals. Despite the presence of police and the SDM, officials did not intervene. The family buried her 30 km away in Dhamtari.

3. Location: Parsoda, Durg, Chhattisgarh

Date: December 8

Members of VHP-Bajrang Dal, along with other villagers, staged a protest opposing the burial of an 85-year-old Dalit Christian man in the public cremation ground. Tension escalated as both sides refused to back down. Police intervened to control the situation. Authorities later directed the family to bury the body on their privately owned land instead of the public cremation ground.

Cultural Erasure: Festivals, symbols, institutions, and public space

Beyond physical violence and legal harassment, 2025 witnessed sustained attempts to erase Christian presence from public and cultural life. Christmas celebrations were repeatedly targeted. In Gujarat, shopkeepers were threatened and pressured to remove Christmas decorations and religious items. In other states, public displays associated with Christian festivals were portrayed as cultural provocation.

Educational institutions also came under pressure. Universities and colleges cancelled lectures or academic events following objections by Hindu nationalist groups alleging religious propaganda. These cancellations extended the logic of persecution into intellectual and cultural spaces, framing even discussion of Christianity as suspect.

Church structures and prayer halls were demolished or sealed in parts of Chhattisgarh and Madhya Pradesh, often with administrative backing. These actions were justified on technical or zoning grounds, masking their communal intent. The cumulative effect was the shrinking of public space available to Christians for worship, celebration, and community life.

Cultural erasure complemented physical violence by rendering Christianity increasingly invisible, reinforcing the message that Christian identity must remain private, silent, and subordinate.

A detailed report may be read here.

Territorial Warfare – Schools and the battle for the mind

In 2025, the “Otherisation” project moved into the classroom. Christian missionary schools—long respected for their contribution to Indian education—were reframed as “conversion factories.”

Forcible ritualism: In Hojai, Assam (Feb 14), the Rashtriya Bajrang Dal staged a Saraswati Puja at the gates of a Christian school. This was an act of “territorial marking,” asserting that the majority’s rituals must supersede the school’s private character.

Iconoclasm and dress codes: In Burhanpur, MP, the removal of a plaque with a quote from Jesus Christ illustrated a desire to scrub the public landscape of Christian thought. Furthermore, leaders like Suresh Chavhanke attacked the very attire of Christian teachers, labeling “Isai dress” as a psychological threat to children. By attacking the symbols and clothes of the community, the movement sought to make the Christian presence invisible.

Intersectionality: Caste, tribe, gender, and the differential impact of persecution

The incidents recorded in 2025 demonstrate that anti-Christian persecution operated through intersecting axes of vulnerability. Dalit and Adivasi Christians were disproportionately affected. In tribal regions of Chhattisgarh and Madhya Pradesh, Christian families faced threats of eviction, social boycott, denial of burial, and forced reconversion.

Conversion among marginalised communities was framed as betrayal—both of Hindu religion and of caste order. This framing justified intensified punishment and surveillance. The language used against Dalit and Adivasi Christians often echoed older casteist tropes of impurity and contamination.

Intersectionality magnified vulnerability: faith, caste, tribe, and gender converged to produce heightened exposure to violence and exclusion. Analysis of the data shows that Hindu militants often targeted socially vulnerable Christians. Tribal and Dalit Christians were singled out in multiple incidents. For example, in Durg (Chhattisgarh) villagers blocked the burial of an 85-year-old Dalit Christian man at the public ground, explicitly citing tribal land rights to exclude him. Similarly, a tribal Christian woman in Sanaud was denied a resting place at the village cremation ground. In Assam, Hindutva leaders accused Christian missionaries of undermining tribal society, part of a broader narrative of “protecting Adivasi culture” from conversion. In Madhya Pradesh and Jharkhand, Christian converts from local tribes or Dalit castes were especially vulnerable to accusations of “stealing” tribals from Hindu fold (for example the Khapabhat raid).

Gender was another axis. Women were often the direct targets of conversion gossip and social pressure. Incidents in Mumbai and West Bengal show women being publicly humiliated for their faith. Even when men were attacked, their Christian daughters and wives were threatened – e.g. a Kanker (Chhattisgarh) case where girls were shouted at to renounce Christianity under threat of eviction. The logic of “protecting Hindu women” underpinned many hate speeches and attacks. The intersection of gender and religion thus magnified the harassment of female Christians, who were portrayed as spoils of conversion conspiracies.

Caste bias intersected: several persecuted Christian families belonged to lower castes. In several villages, families were pressured to sign documents renouncing Christianity or face ostracism. A MaktoobMedia report notes tribal families in one Chhattisgarh village were forced to sign a “pact” to convert back within days. Even police actions showed caste dimensions: often the accused Christians were Tribals or Dalits, while the accusers were higher-caste Hindus. These layers of caste and gender made it harder for Christian victims to seek redress, as local power structures favoured the Hindu aggressors.

Geography and Escalation: From local attacks to a national pattern

The incidents span much of India, but some states saw particularly high frequency. Uttar Pradesh (37 incidents in the list) and Madhya Pradesh (35) were the worst-hit, reflecting both active VHP-Bajrang Dal chapters and strict anti-conversion laws. These states witnessed many police raids on pastors and prayer meetings, as well as major hate rallies. Chhattisgarh (26 incidents) was also notable, partly due to its large tribal Christian population and local Hindu chauvinist cells (Chhattisgarh saw everything from villages denying burials to BJP-minister-led hate speeches). In the West, Maharashtra (17 incidents) had frequent church raids (e.g. Mumbai and Nashik) and provocative temple ceremonies near Christian schools. Gujarat (9 incidents) saw actions like forcing shopkeepers to curb Christmas sales and at least one case of Bajrang Dal harassment of a Christian family. Eastern and southern states were not immune: Odisha and Bengal had mob attacks on Christians (Odisha families were violently threatened in June; a Bengal mob forcibly imposed a tulsi shrine on a Christian home). Even Nepal’s Terai region saw hate speeches against Christians in January, showing the cross-border spread of these narratives.

Temporally, incidents clustered around Hindu religious or national events. January (just after Ram Mandir consecration) saw several hate-speech gatherings (e.g. Garhwa, Jharkhand) and anti-Christmas actions. February–March featured VHP-sponsored school pujas and rallies (e.g. Saraswati Puja disruptions, several raids by Bajrang Dal). Notably, the highest count was in September (26 incidents) – a period when state elections (e.g. Chhattisgarh MP, Mizoram) and Hindu festivals like Ganesh Chaturthi took place, possibly spurring extremist visibility. Another spike came in December (19 incidents), reflecting year-end polarization (for example, arrests after Republic Day protests).

Overall, the pattern is escalatory and sustained: incidents continued each month with shifting focus (speech rallies give way to mob actions and police crackdowns). No period saw a complete lull. The unbroken string of events from January to December suggests a systemic campaign rather than isolated flare-ups.

Role of Hindu nationalist (read supremacist) organisations

A clear pattern emerges in the perpetrators: the vast majority are linked to Hindu nationalist groups. Bajrang Dal and VHP feature in almost every state account. Bajrang Dal cadres raided prayer meetings in UP, Bihar, MP and Maharashtra, often accompanied by police. The VHP sponsored large events preaching anti-Christian rhetoric (e.g. press conferences in MP, strategy meetings in Balaghat). RSS-affiliated outfits also took part: for example, at an Adivasi conference in Alirajpur (MP), BJP minister Nagarsingh Chauhan warned that Christian conversions among tribals would ignite conflict. The Ayodhya and Kumbh events were spurred by RSS leaders advocating armed “self-defense.”

Smaller groups like Hindu Jagran Manch (HJM) and Hindu Mahasabha were also active. In Mumbai and Assam, HJM members disrupted prayer services and harassed congregants. The Akhil Bharatiya Hindu Mahasabha attempted to storm a Lucknow church on February 9. These fringe groups often coordinate with VHP-Bajrang Dal outings (e.g. marking Trishul Deeksha ceremonies), using religion to justify street aggression.

Major BJP politicians and influencers lent indirect support. BJP MPs like Bhojraj Nag (Chhattisgarh) equated tribals converting to Christianity with “anti-national activities,” even misquoting the Supreme Court to forbid Christian cremations in Fifth Schedule areas. Some state BJP leaders shared or did not repudiate extremist podium speeches – in Maharashtra a BJP adviser sanctioned Dhananjay Desai’s hate speech on “holy places in Arabia and Vatican”. More subtly, no major party figure vigorously condemned these attacks; indeed, BJP-run state administrations have often defended anti-conversion laws or appealed for Hindu unity in the name of nationalism, tacitly encouraging extremists. Even government-published Hindu religious calendars made headlines by warning Hindus to avoid Christian places (e.g. Andhra Pradesh’s 2025 calendar, though not in our incidents list, followed this trend).

Outside activists have noted this complicity. Christian organisations have written to top officials (including Prime Minister’s office and Human Rights Commission), highlighting that “even the dead aren’t spared” – as one film-maker put it of Pastor Baghel’s burial case. These groups point out that ultra-right vigilantes enjoy de facto impunity in many regions, and allege that local administrations either support or ignore anti-Christian mobs.

Summary of patterns

The 2025 incidents demonstrate systematic persecution of Christians driven by organized hate ideology. Key patterns include:

• Recurring hate narratives: Leaders regularly invoked conspiracies (“love jihad,” “conversion rackets,” foreign backing) that framed Christianity as a national danger. These narratives guided the actions of mobs and organizers.
• Coordinated militant actions: Groups like Bajrang Dal, VHP, RSS-affiliates, and vigilante outfits colluded in raids on homes and churches across multiple states.
• State-sanctioned harassment: Many raids and arrests were carried out jointly by Bajrang Dal activists and police or by police on Hindutva complaints. This shows institutional bias in enforcing anti-conversion laws.
• Geographic hotspots: While nearly every region saw incidents, UP, MP, Chhattisgarh and Maharashtra stand out as epicenters of legal and physical assaults. Eastern states saw new forms of intimidation (e.g. forced religious homicides in Odisha and West Bengal).
• Cultural marginalisation: Attacks extended beyond physical violence to cultural exclusion: Christian festivals and symbols were suppressed (Christmas items banned), burials were obstructed, and Christian education was targeted.
• Intersectional targeting: Marginalised-caste and tribal Christians, as well as women, bore the brunt of violence. Social prejudices overlapped – e.g. Dalit Christians faced casteist burial bans, and women were singled out in conversion narratives.

In all, the compiled data from 2025 indicates an organised campaign of persecution rather than sporadic incidents. The interplay of hate speech (spread at public events and online), legal tools (anti-conversion laws, biased policing) and communal violence paints a picture of institutionalized harassment. Right-wing groups exploited narratives of national security and cultural purity to justify attacks. Without accountability or countervailing political will, Christians remained vulnerable to both mob violence and state repression throughout the year.

Conclusion: 2025 as a year of systemic otherisation and constitutional breakdown

The year 2025 was not just a year of “attacks”; it was a year of “erasure.” The data shows a community being systematically pushed out of the public square, the classroom, the legal system, and the graveyard.

The “Otherisation” of Christians in 2025 was achieved by:

1. Stripping Agency: Treating all conversion as “bribed” or “forced.”
2. Stripping Dignity: Using slurs and physical humiliation (shoes, sticks).
3. Stripping Territory: Removing Christian symbols from schools and bodies from villages.

The incidents of 2025 serve as a stark warning. When the state and the mob align to define who is a “true” citizen based on faith, the very concept of a secular, democratic India is under existential threat. The Christian community in 2025 became the “canary in the coal mine,” signalling a broader collapse of constitutional values and the rise of a majoritarian order that seeks to define India not by its diversity, but by its exclusions.

The incidents documented across 2025 do not describe a series of unfortunate excesses or isolated communal flare-ups. Taken together, they reveal a systematic process of otherisation in which Christians were progressively stripped of constitutional protection, civic dignity, and social legitimacy. What emerges is not episodic violence, but a patterned regime of control.

Christian worship was transformed into an object of suspicion; prayer became a trigger for police action. Anti-conversion laws supplied the legal vocabulary through which belief itself was criminalised, while vigilante accusations were absorbed seamlessly into state action. Policing practices collapsed the distinction between complainant and accused, allowing mobs to function as de facto extensions of law enforcement. Even death did not interrupt exclusion: burial denials marked the most extreme assertion that Christians could be expelled from the moral community altogether.

Equally significant was the attempt to erase Christianity from public and cultural space. Festivals were suppressed, symbols removed, institutions pressured into silence. This shrinking of visibility worked alongside physical violence to communicate a single message: Christian identity was permissible only if invisible, silent, and politically irrelevant.

The media’s fragmentation of these events into localised disputes completed the architecture of persecution. By denying structural context, public discourse neutralised outrage and normalised exclusion. Violence became governance; discrimination became administration.

The persecution of Christians in 2025 must therefore be understood as a constitutional failure. When freedom of religion is subordinated to majoritarian ideology, equality before law becomes illusory. When police and administration align with prejudice, citizenship fractures along religious lines. The question raised by 2025 is not merely about the safety of one minority, but about the survivability of secular democracy itself.

2025 stands as a warning year — a record of how swiftly constitutional guarantees can be hollowed out when law, institutions, and public narratives are mobilised against a community. Ignoring this record risks accepting a future in which belonging is conditional, rights are selective, and democracy itself becomes exclusionary by design.

The analysis above is based entirely on incidents documented in the provided compilation.

References:

The article also lists the following external references, which corroborate and expand on these events:

• https://maktoobmedia.com/india/sc-slams-chhattisgarh-govt-as-tribal-christian-man-unable-to-bury-father/
• https://www.livelaw.in/top-stories/were-pained-supreme-court-on-plea-of-christian-man-unable-to-bury-father-in-native-village-in-chhattisgarh-281453
• https://maktoobmedia.com/india/christian-collective-reports-245-incidents-of-violence-against-christians-within-the-last-3-months-in-india/
• https://thewire.in/communalism/chhattisgarh-christian-family-hounded-by-hindutva-mob-forced-into-hiding-police-refuses-fir#:~:text=Zeeshan%20Kaskar,church%20service%20was%20in%20progress.
•  https://persecution.org/2025/01/27/christian-husband-wife-first-to-be-convicted-under-anti-conversion-law/
• https://www.ucanews.com/news/police-arrest-7-indian-christians-for-conversion-on-republic-day/107706
• https://www.newindianexpress.com/states/tamil-nadu/2025/Mar/10/university-of-madras-cancels-lecture-on-christianity-after-social-media-backlash
• https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/kerala/pc-george-stirs-another-controversy-calls-for-early-marriage-of-christian-girls-citing-love-jihad/article69313391.ece
• https://sabrangindia.in/from-protectors-to-perpetrators-police-assaulted-women-children-christian-priests-in-odisha-fact-finding-report/    
• https://www.genocidewatch.com/single-post/hindu-extremists-threaten-genocide-against-christians
• https://persecution.org/2025/06/30/hindu-nationalist-mob-attacks-20-christian-families-in-odisha/
• https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/kerala/church-mouthpiece-slams-bjps-double-standards-amid-push-to-woo-christians-in-kerala/article69809988.ece
• https://indianexpress.com/article/cities/pune/christian-groups-protest-mla-padalkars-religious-leaders-10114467/
• https://muslimmirror.com/tamil-nadu-dalit-christians-allege-denial-of-entry-from-church-rituals-stage-protest-demanding-swift-action/ 
• https://cjp.org.in/no-rest-even-in-death-christians-in-india-and-the-growing-targeted-violence-in-chhattisgarh/
• https://www.christiandaily.com/news/church-members-in-india-afraid-to-attend-worship-after-assault

[1] This is a propaganda outcome of the original hardline far right argument for a ‘Hindu nation’originally conceived by Vinayak Damodar Savarkar in his book, written in the Cellular Jail under the title “Essentials pf Hindutva” in 1923. Characterising the ‘Hindu’ through Religion, Faith, Nationality and Belonging he coined the phrashes ‘Pitrabhoomi’ (Land of the Ancestors, Fatherland) and ‘Punyabhoomi’ (Holy Land). By extension of this exclusivist definition, the loyalty and belonging of ‘others’ like Christians and Muslims is forever in question because their points of worship and faith lie outside the geographical boundaries of the nation.

The post The Siege of Faith: A year-long analysis of the persecution and otherisation of Christians in India appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In a detailed critique of the amendments, the Coalition states that the dilution and destruction of the framework outlined in the historic 2014 judgement of the Supreme Court in its historic National Legal Services Authority-NALSA v Union of India verdict has been achieved in the amendment bill

“through its proposal to narrow the definition of transgender in Section 2 (k). As per the proposed definition, transgender person is limited to ‘socio-cultural identities such as kinner, hijra, aravani, jogta or eunuch’ or those with ‘intersex variations at birth’. It also includes persons who have by ‘force’ been made to ‘present a transgender identity’. It specifically excludes, ‘persons with different sexual orientations and self perceived sexual identities’. ”

The amendment seeks to take away the right of a transgender person to self-identification.  This is made clear by the omission of Section 4 (2) of the 2019 Act which read, ‘A person recognised as transgender under sub-section (1) shall have a right to self- perceived gender identity’.

The statement of objects and reasons makes clear that the aim of the amendment is to exclude. As it notes, ‘The purpose [of the amendment] was and is not to protect each and every class of persons with various gender identities, self-perceived sex/gender identities or gender fluidities.’  The 2026 amendment will ensure that protection of the law is only extended to ‘those who face severe social exclusion due to biological reasons for no fault of their own and no choice of their own.’

This amendment instead of expanding the rights of the transgender community contracts it. Under this amendment, all the rights which transmen enjoyed will be taken away as transmen are no more considered transgender as far as the law is concerned. Moreover, under the amendment,  no person can identity as a transwoman either. The only option for a transgender person under the law is a traditional identity. Those who see their identity on a spectrum fall outside this conservative new definition proposed by the amendment. These are the strong critical arguments advanced by the Karnataka State Gender and Sexuality Minorities Coalition for Convergence (the Coalition).

Even for those who fall within the narrow definition of transgender, the ability to change one’s gender is made far more difficult. The amendment makes it mandatory for a person to get a certificate from a medical board to be appointed by the government, essential for getting identity as a transgender. However, even after getting such a certificate, the District Magistrate has the discretion to grant recognition.

The Coalition has made a strong plea and pitch that this amendment should be opposed as it strikes at the root of self-identification and is therefore completely at odds with the rights recognised under NALSA v Union of India.  Finally, the press statement says that, the transgender community strongly asserts that it will not allow the rights recognised by NALSA and the Trasngender Act, 2019 to be taken away by an amendment.  Passing this amendment will put in jeopardy the rights of thousands and lakhs of persons who are currently recognised as transgender. It will limit the right to self-identification for newer generations and represents a set-back in the struggle for transgender rights.

Strong protests are likely against the union governments move. The statement has been issued by the Members, Karnataka State Gender and Sexuality Minorities Coalition for Convergence and Akkai Padmashali Prakashi Abeda Begum Pruthvi Rakshitha Monika.

Meanwhile, the People’s Union for Civil Liberties (PUCL) has also issued a statement condemning the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 as unconstitutional and demanding its immediate withdrawal. The PUCL statement says that the

amendments proposed in the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 constitute a gross dilution of valuable rights provided under the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019 and shall result in exclusion of a large number of Transgender Persons from its ambit, denial of their constitutional and statutory rights and targeting their support system.

The Union Social Justice and Empowerment Minister, Dr. Virendra Kumar introduced the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 (“the Bill”) in Parliament on March 13, 2026. The Bill was not released in the public domain for scrutiny and consultation. The Bill is regressive and nothing but a shocking attempt to take back the hard won rights of the transgender community. The aim of the proposed amendments, says the PUCL, also, is to destroy the framework set by the Supreme Court of India in its historic decision in  NALSA v Union of India (2014) which recognised the right to self-identification of gender by transgender persons and set in place the legal recognition of the rights of the transgender community.

Narrowing of the definition of transgender persons who are entitled to protection by the law

The Bill fundamentally alters the scope of the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019 (“the Act”) by diluting the existing definition of a transgender person under Section 2 (k) of the Act and replacing it with a reductive definition of a transgender person. This tantamount to changing the law altogether and excluding a large number of transgender citizens from the ambit of the law, which is a shocking development.

The amendment at its heart seeks to take away the right of a transgender person to self-identification, which was recognised under the 2019 Act.  This is made clear by  the deletion of  Section 4 (2) of the 2019 Act which  read, ‘A person recognised as transgender under sub-section (1) shall have a right to self- perceived gender identity’.

According to the new definition, only three groups are entitled to the protection of the law, namely

1)    Someone from the traditional socio-cultural Trans groups like Kinnars, Jogtis, Hijras, etc.

2)     Intersex people

3)     Or a person who has been “by force, allurement, inducement, deceit, or undue influence” been subject to “mutilation, castration, amputation or emasculation” and forcibly made to present “a transgender identity” can be considered a transgender person under this new bill.

A proviso has also been added to specifically exclude persons with different sexual orientations and self-perceived sexual identities.

This amendment instead of expanding the rights of the transgender community dilutes it significantly. By way of this amendment, all the rights which transmen enjoyed will be taken away as transmen are no more considered transgender as far as the law is concerned. Moreover, under the amendment, no person can exercise their right to identify as a transwoman either. The only option for a transgender person under the law is a traditional identity. Those who see their identity on a spectrum fall outside this conservative new definition proposed by the amendment. Thus the law expressly discriminates against Trans men, trans women, genderqueer and non-binary persons, because of the narrow definition of transgender persons which the proposed law adopts.

 Discriminatory intent of the 2026 amendment 

The Objects and Reasons of the Bill goes on to underline that the legislative policy has been formulated to only protect those who “face severe social exclusion due to biological reasons for no fault of their own and no choice of their own.” It then goes on to state that the purpose of the Act was not to “protect each and every class of persons with various gender identities, self-perceived sex/gender identities or gender fluidities.”

This goes against the historic NALSA judgement which recognised the right of transgender persons to determine one’s own gender identity as integral to lead a life with dignity as recognised  under Article 21 of the Constitution. It also emphasised that while discrimination on the ground of “sex” is prohibited under Articles 15 and 16 of the Constitution, sex here does not only refer to biological attributes but also one’s self-perceived gender.

Further, states the PUCL, the Bill is premised on an entirely false assertion that the intent of the 2019 Act was not to protect all categories of transgender persons, self perceived sex/gender identities and gender fluidities, in as much as the 2019 Act categorically included all transgender persons, including self-perceived gender identities and did not make any distinction or exclusion on the basis of self-perceived gender or sexuality. This is also clear from the Statement of Object and Reasons of the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Bill, 2019, which clearly acknowledged that it was being introduced in compliance of the directions of the Supreme Court of India in the NALSA judgment and further stated under clause 4 (c) that the 2019 Bill sought to “confer right upon transgender persons to be recognised as such, and a right to self-perceived gender identity”.

Accordingly, the `Statement of Objects and Reasons’ of the 2026 amendment Bill by itself reveals the falsely-premised regressive and unconstitutional intent of the proposed law. The Bill discriminates upon a large category of transgender persons by denying them the right to be legally recognised by their gender identity.

Till date only around 37000 people have been registered on their portal in the six years since the Act came into operation. There has been little intent displayed by the government to implement the Act. Instead of ensuring that the transgender persons are legally recognised and benefit from the provisions of the Act, the law is being diluted on the excuse of this very non-implementation and claiming that the object of the Bill is that the enactment “works towards only those who are in actual need of such protection”.

The 2026 amendment also introduced a fresh set of hurdles introduced for legal recognition of transgender identity.

Even for those who fall within the narrow definition of transgender, the ability to change one’s gender is made far more difficult, by bringing in amendments to Section 6 and 7 of the Act. The amendment makes it mandatory for a person to get medical certification, for getting a certificate of (transgender) identity. However even after getting such a certificate, the District Magistrate has the discretion to grant recognition or reject it.

The point to be noted is that even if the law is meant for  the restrictive category of so called traditional identities of ‘kinnar, hijra, jogta and aravani’, those who come within this category still have to go through the  hoop of getting a medical certificate. The question of mandating even hijras to get a medical certificate does grave violence to the notion of a traditional identity itself. This provision in effect puts forward a medical test to identity if a person belongs to a socio-cultural identity which has existed even prior to the advent of modern medicine!

This will make it highly difficult for transgender persons to obtain a certificate of identity and get legal recognition of their rights. Instead of making the process easier for transgender persons, so they can avail of and assert their rights under the Act, the government has increased the obstacles for transgender persons to gain legal recognition. This is highly discouraging and will only impede the implementation of the Act, which has in any case been poor.

By removing self-identification and introducing the requirement for medical certification, the state is taking over the role of deciding the gender identity of a transgender person. This not only stands in complete violation of the NALSA judgment and upturns the fundamental basis of the 2019 Act, but infringes upon the constitutional rights guaranteed to citizens under Articles 14, 15 and 21 of the Constitution.

Criminalisation of support groups and chosen family of transgender persons

Under the Offences and Penalties chapter, the Bill proceeds to amend Section 18 of the Act. Under the proposed Section 18 (e) and (f), an offence of kidnapping and abduction has been added under the pretence of protecting adults and children. However this provision can be weaponised to target support structures and individuals that provide help to transgender individuals facing abuse and rejection by their natal families. Thus, even with respect to traditional communities, the approach of the amendment is tinged with suspicion and capable of misuse to target chosen families. The offence of kidnapping and abduction introduced by way of the amendment should be with the intention to compel the adult / child to assume, adopt or outwardly present transgender identity through ‘force, allurement, deceit, undue influence or otherwise’ by ‘emasculation, mutilation, castration, amputation or any surgical, chemical or hormonal procedure’.  The broad wordings of the section enable its misuse against any person supporting a transgender person in their attempt to undergo sex change / reassignment procedures or to outwardly present themselves as transgender. Moreover, it infringes upon the right to privacy, choice and autonomy of transgender persons, foregrounding a stereotypical understanding of transgender identity as based on coercion, inducement, fraud and violence, and not on personal choice.

Similarly under the proposed Section 18 (g) and (h) new offences have been introduced for compelling an adult/child by ‘force, threat, coercion, allurement, deception, inducement, or undue influence’ to dress, present or conduct themselves outwardly as a transgender person. The irony of this offence sought to be introduced is that, it is in fact transgender persons who are often subjected to violence, discrimination and abuse, and are compelled to hide their transgender identity rather than to assume it. The provisions are reminiscent of the colonial Criminal Tribes Act, 1871 that criminalised transgender persons for appearing dressed or ornamented as women. The provisions are capable of misuse against the support systems of the transgender person, outside of their natal families, and can put the transgender person to further risk.

The approach of the amendment is thus tinged with suspicion even towards those it unequivocally claims to protect, namely the traditional communities. The amendment in fact defines transgender to include those who are ‘forced’ or ‘induced’ to ‘present a transgender identity’ by ‘emasculation, mutilation or castration’.  It seeks to punish such persons who cause ‘mutilation, emasculation, amputation or castration’. This amendment by foregrounding ‘coercion’ as an essential dimension of the transgender identity, does violence to the element of choice and foreground a stereotypical understanding of transgender identity as based on coercion, fraud and violence not on choice.

These newly added offences which can be misused against supportive individuals and chosen families of transgender persons are punishable with rigorous imprisonment from 5 to 10 years going up to life imprisonment, the offences of physical, sexual, emotional and economic abuse of transgender persons attracts a sentence of only six months to 2 years. Meanwhile with there being no provision in the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, 2024 for rape of transwomen, boys and men  (offence of sodomy), leaving no other recourse under criminal law for sexual assault of a transgender person. It is unfortunate that the government has lost a valuable opportunity to introduce changes in the law that were being demanded by the transgender community with a view to protect their rights, and have instead introduced this Bill curtailing their rights further and increasing the risk of criminalisation.

Passing this amendment will put in jeopardy the rights of thousands of persons who are currently recognised as transgender. It will limit the right to self-identification for newer generations and represents a setback in the struggle for transgender rights.

This amendment is a part of a wider framework of attack on rights

Related:

The discordant symphony: where does the transgender community go from here?

Transgender rights in India: stalled progress and a frustrated community

9 years since the passing of the NALSA judgment, has the cycle of discrimination and ostracism finally been broken for the transgender community?

No proposal for affirmative action in education or employment for transgenders: Govt

Madras HC issues guidelines for sensitisation of stakeholders in LGBTQIA+ matters

Telangana: Transgender individual brutally lynched by mob in Nizamabad

MAT relaxes age criteria, makes provision for grace marks for transgender community in public employment, refuses to direct state to grant reservation

How NRC further marginalises Transgender people

The post Withdraw the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 NOW! appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Press Statement by Indian Muslims for Secular Democracy (IMSD)

Indian Muslims for Secular Democracy (IMSD) wholeheartedly welcomes the recent observations made by the Supreme Court of India during the hearing of a petition filed by Poulomi P. Shukla. Argued by senior advocate Prashant Bhushan, the case seeks to rectify the long-standing disparity in inheritance rights for Muslim women—a move IMSD views as a vital step toward fulfilling the democratic promise of the Indian Constitution.

The Supreme Court Raises the Question of Gender Justice

A three-judge bench, led by Chief Justice Surya Kant and including Justices Joymalya Bagchi and R. Mahadevan, observed that a Uniform Civil Code (UCC) may be the “most effective answer” to removing gender bias in laws governing marriage, succession, and property rights. This observation came while examining a plea challenging the Muslim Personal Law (Shariat) Application Act, 1937, which the petitioners argue forces unequal inheritance outcomes for women compared to their male counterparts.

A Constitutional Challenge to Discriminatory Laws

Appearing for the petitioner, Adv. Prashant Bhushan argued that the inferior inheritance rights granted to women under the 1937 Act are a direct violation of constitutional guarantees. He emphasized that inheritance is fundamentally a civil and property right; therefore, it cannot be insulated from constitutional scrutiny by invoking religious freedom.

Addressing the Court’s concern that striking down discriminatory portions of the Shariat Act might create a “legal vacuum,” Bhushan proposed a pragmatic and immediate remedy: including Muslim women under the ambit of the Indian Succession Act, 1925. This would provide a robust, existing legal framework to ensure parity without leaving women in a state of legal uncertainty.

Gender Bias: A Problem Beyond One Community

Crucially, the Hon’ble Bench noted that gender discrimination in inheritance is not confined to Muslim personal law alone. The Court observed that inequalities persist within the structure of Hindu Undivided Families (HUFs) and various customary or tribal practices. As highlighted in various reports, inheritance rights remain skewed in Hindu law as well, indicating that the struggle for property rights is a cross-community challenge.

The Constitutional Framework: Equality and Dignity

IMSD believes the core of this petition is rooted in Constitutional Morality. The Constitution of India clearly guarantees:

* Article 14: Equality before the law and equal protection of the laws.

* Article 15: Prohibition of discrimination on grounds including religion and sex.

* Article 21: Protection of life, dignity, and personal liberty.

These guarantees must apply fully to Muslim women as equal citizens. While Islamic jurisprudence recognized women’s property rights over fourteen centuries ago, contemporary patriarchal interpretations and social pressures often compel women to relinquish their rightful shares.

Moving Toward Reform

IMSD reiterates that the debate on the UCC has often been politicized by forces seeking to target minority communities. However, gender justice cannot be postponed indefinitely due to identity politics or communal polarization. True reform must be a collaborative effort involving women’s organizations, legal scholars, and minority voices to ensure it is rooted in justice rather than stigmatization.

The Muslim community leadership must also reflect on its historical resistance to reform. This reluctance has often denied justice to women and strengthened communal narratives.

Conclusion: A Call for Constitutional Justice

IMSD supports the ongoing Supreme Court proceedings and calls for a resolution that guarantees equal inheritance rights for Muslim women across India. We advocate for a solution that addresses gender discrimination in all personal laws, ensuring that women from all communities are treated as equal citizens entitled to dignity and justice under the law.

List of Signatories

* Adv. A. J. Jawad – IMSD, Chennai

* Amir Rizvi – Designer, IMSD, Mumbai

* Arshad Alam – Veteran Journalist, IMSD, Delhi

* Askari Zaidi – IMSD, Mumbai

* Bilal Khan – IMSD, Mumbai

* Feroze Mithiborwala, IMSD Co-Convener, Mumbai

* Guddi S. L. – Hum Bharat Ke Log, Mumbai

* Hasina Khan – Bebaak Collective, Navi Mumbai

* Irfan Engineer – CSSS, Mumbai

* Javed Anand, Convener, IMSD, Mumbai

* Jeibunnisa Reyaz – Bharatiya Muslim Mahila Andolan, BMMA, Madurai

* Khatoon Sheikh – BMMA, Mumbai

* Adv. Lara Jesani – IMSD, Mumbai

* Mariya Salim – BMMA, New Delhi

* Nasreen M – BMMA, Karnataka

* Nasreen Rangoonwala – IMSD, Mumbai

* Nishat Hussain – BMMA, Jaipur

* Niyazmin Daiya – BMMA, Delhi

* Noorjehan Safiya Niyaz – BMMA, Mumbai

* Prof. Nasreen Fazalbhoy – IMSD, Mumbai

* Rahima Khatun – BMMA, Kolkata

* Salim Sabuwala – IMSD, Mumbai

* Prof. Sandeep Pandey – Magsaysay Awardee, Lucknow

* Sandhya Gokhale – Forum Against Oppression of Women, Mumbai

* Shabana Dean – IMSD, Pune

* Shafaq Khan – Theater Personality, IMSD, Mumbai

* Shalini Dhawan – Designer, IMSD, Mumbai

* Shama Zaidi – Scriptwriter, IMSD, Mumbai

* Shamsuddin Tamboli – Muslim Satyashodak Mandal

* Prof. Sujata Gothoskar – Forum Against Oppression of Women, Mumbai

* Sultan Shahin – Editor, New Age Islam, Delhi

* Dr. Sunilam – Farmer Leader, Gwalior

* Dr. Suresh Khairnar – Former President, Rashtriya Sewa Dal, Nagpur

* Yashodhan Paranjpe – IMSD, Social Activist, Mumbai

* Zakia Soman – BMMA, New Delhi

* Zeenat Shaukat Ali – Wisdom Foundation

The post Equal Inheritance Rights for Muslim Women: Upholding Constitutional Justice and Gender Equality appeared first on SabrangIndia.