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“The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.” This insight, often attributed to George Orwell, captures the anxiety surrounding India’s recently passed Waqf (Amendment) Bill—legislation that has stirred constitutional concerns, political suspicion, and fears of institutional encroachment. Waqf—Islamic charitable endowments—comprise a vast network of properties across India, historically governed by Muslim communities to support religious, educational, and welfare initiatives.
The new bill introduces several significant changes: mandating the inclusion of non-Muslim members on Waqf boards, granting government authorities expanded oversight on property validation, and requiring registration of Waqf lands with district officials. The Indian government has defended these provisions as transparency measures aimed at curbing mismanagement and ensuring public accountability. Shots Fired To understand the depth of the controversy, one must appreciate the legal and historical framework of the Waqf institution in India.
Waqf governance was formally codified in British India through the Mussalman Waqf Validating Acts of 1913 and 1930, and later integrated into post-independence India through the Wakf Act of 1954. This was replaced by a more comprehensive law in 1995—the Waqf Act—which established State Waqf Boards and the Central Waqf Council. These boards were created specifically to safeguard the autonomy of Muslim endowments and ensure their charitable intent.
Over decades, this structure evolved into one of the largest religious charitable landholding systems in the world, with more than 872,000 registered properties, serving millions across India. Yet critics across the political spectrum—including the All India Muslim Personal Law Board and major opposition parties—argue the new legislation violates constitutional protections. Article 26 of India’s Constitution guarantees religious denominations the right to manage their own affairs.
Altering the composition and control of Waqf Boards, they argue, amounts to unwarranted state interference in religious institutions. The move to include non-Muslims in the administration of explicitly Islamic endowments is viewed not as reform, but as an erosion of legal and spiritual autonomy. Heatwave Incoming Concerns are further amplified by the timing.
The bill’s passage has coincided with a media vacuum around the ethnic violence in Manipur, where months of unrest have displaced thousands and revealed deep administrative failures. Observers suggest the Waqf controversy has become a convenient distraction from a festering humanitarian crisis—redirecting public attention toward a more ideologically charged issue. In this view, the amendment serves dual political purposes: reframing the national conversation and solidifying support among Hindu nationalist constituencies.
This pattern is not new. Critics view the bill as part of a continuum, citing earlier measures such as the revocation of Article 370 in Jammu and Kashmir, the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), and the National Register of Citizens (NRC) in Assam—each of which has disproportionately affected India’s Muslim population. The consistent targeting of Muslim institutions, whether through legal restructuring or discursive vilification, suggests not administrative neutrality but a larger project of demographic and cultural reordering.
Political Theatre Equally concerning is the narrative emerging from some quarters of the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), which portrays Waqf holdings as vast and opaque—claiming, without consensus, that Waqf land occupies over five percent of Indian territory, more than the landmass of Mumbai, Delhi, and Bengaluru combined. These numbers, repeated frequently but often without context, frame Waqf as an unchecked privilege rather than a centuries-old charitable mechanism. The political utility of such framing is clear: it mobilizes resentment and justifies state intrusion.
But what’s often lost in the public debate is the function of Waqf itself. These properties are not private wealth; they support graveyards, mosques, schools, and clinics, particularly in underserved communities. Weakening the Waqf infrastructure may not only alienate a vulnerable population—it could dismantle one of the few remaining welfare channels for millions.
Moreover, the regulatory argument rings hollow when framed against the reality that mismanagement exists across many public and private institutions in India, not solely within the Muslim charitable sector. Cartoon The opposition’s concern is not based on communal sentiment alone, but constitutional substance. Parties such as the Congress, Trinamool Congress, and AIMIM have voiced alarm over what they describe as a “backdoor nationalization” of minority assets.
Asaduddin Owaisi, a Member of Parliament and one of the most vocal critics of the bill, argued that “allowing non-Muslims to administer Muslim endowments is not secularism—it is coercion.” Legal experts, too, have questioned the constitutional viability of enforcing religious administrative participation through legislative decree. India’s secular character is predicated on pluralism, not uniformity.
The challenge of managing religious endowments in a modern democracy is real, but it cannot be met by blurring the lines between reform and control. True transparency requires dialogue, consent, and trust—not unilateral legislation. Reform, if it is to be meaningful, must emerge from consultation with the communities affected—not imposed over their objections under the guise of inclusivity.
For external observers, including those in Pakistan, this bill is not merely an internal legal adjustment. It signals how a secular democracy can, under prolonged majoritarian rule, shift toward institutional homogenization—subtly, legally, and persistently. The danger lies not in the letter of the law alone, but in the cumulative erosion of constitutional intent.
Hasnain Chaudhry The writer is a freelance journalist from Lahore. Tags: indian waqf takeover.
