Conversion Politics and the Challenge to Indian Secularism, Between Manufactured Narratives and Genuine Grievance

Conversion Politics and the Challenge to Indian Secularism, Between Manufactured Narratives and Genuine Grievance

Recent months have witnessed a flurry of media reports detailing the arrests of Muslims from diverse social and professional backgrounds across North India, particularly in Uttar Pradesh and Uttarakhand. The allegation is grave: participation in organised networks that facilitate religious conversion from Hinduism to Islam. Most of these cases remain under investigation, their factual basis yet to be tested in court. Yet, they have already ignited a familiar and ferocious debate about religious conversion, secularism, and the role of the state in regulating religious practice. If substantiated, such developments could indicate a new form of ideological churn within segments of Muslim society in India—a genuine, if controversial, assertion of religious agency. If not, they risk being perceived as manufactured narratives driven by an ideologically motivated state, weaponising conversion allegations to stigmatise a minority community. Navigating this terrain requires historical clarity, constitutional understanding, and a sober reckoning with India’s long, unresolved struggle over the meaning of secularism.

The Historical Precedent: When Conversion Spoke of Caste, Not Conspiracy

The last widely acknowledged instance of mass conversion to Islam occurred in February 1981 in Meenakshipuram, Tamil Nadu, where 558 Dalits embraced Islam. The trigger was not external proselytisation but internal oppression: entrenched caste discrimination within the Hindu social order. Dalits in Meenakshipuram faced humiliation, economic exploitation, and social exclusion. Islam, with its egalitarian theology that explicitly rejects caste, offered an escape. Reflecting on the episode, the late Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee observed that Hindu society suffered from long-standing ills, particularly distinctions based on birth and caste. The conversions were thus rooted in inequalities internal to Hindu society, not external conspiracy.

This historical lens is crucial. It reminds us that conversion in India has often been a form of social protest, a search for dignity, rather than a product of inducement or coercion. Dr. B.R. Ambedkar’s conversion to Buddhism in 1956—the most symbolically powerful conversion in modern Indian history—was precisely such an act of emancipation. On October 13, 1935, at the Depressed Classes Conference in Yeola, Ambedkar had declared his intention to leave Hinduism. For him, conversion was not a betrayal of nationhood but a rejection of a religious order that sanctified untouchability. Mahatma Gandhi opposed Ambedkar’s departure, arguing that Dalit followers would abandon him once he ceased to be a Hindu. History has proven Gandhi profoundly mistaken. The enduring reverence for Ambedkar among Dalits, despite, and indeed because of, his conversion, stands as a powerful rebuttal. Ambedkar did not lose his people; he gave them a new identity.

The Constitutional Framework: Freedom of Conscience and Its Limits

The question of religious freedom and conversion was debated in the Constituent Assembly, culminating in the formulation of Article 25(1) of the Constitution, which guarantees “freedom of conscience and the right freely to profess, practise and propagate religion.” The inclusion of the word “propagate” was contentious. Critics feared it would license aggressive proselytisation. Proponents argued it simply meant the right to spread one’s faith through persuasion, not coercion or fraud. The final text reflected a compromise: propagation is permitted, but forced or fraudulent conversion is not.

However, constitutional recognition of religious freedom did not produce lasting political or social consensus. Concerns surrounding conversion—particularly from Hinduism to Christianity and Islam—have persisted, and legislative attempts to regulate conversion began even under colonial administration. The Raignar State Conversion Act (1936) and the Patna Freedom of Religion Act (1942) sought to monitor conversions, reflecting anxieties that the colonial state itself harboured about religious change.

The Legislative Trajectory: From Missionary Concerns to “Love Jihad”

In independent India, a series of anti-conversion laws were enacted and periodically amended by various secular governments, well before Hindu nationalists emerged as a dominant electoral force. These were primarily in response to concerns over Christian missionary activities, particularly among tribal and Dalit communities. The Orissa Freedom of Religion Act (1967) and the Madhya Pradesh Dharma Swatantrya Adhinivyam (1968) are prominent examples. These laws required individuals to declare their conversion before a magistrate, ostensibly to prevent coercion or inducement.

However, Hindutva right organisations argued that these laws were inadequate to effectively curb religious conversion. Consequently, several States ruled by the BJP have amended existing legislation or enacted new laws. The scope has expanded beyond concerns about Christian missionary activity to include conversions to Islam, particularly in the context of allegations framed as “love jihad” —a conspiracy theory alleging that Muslim men target Hindu women for marriage and conversion.

The Uttarakhand Freedom of Religion Act, 2018, illustrates this trajectory. The law was further tightened in 2022, with enhanced penalties. In 2025, the Uttarakhand Freedom of Religion (Amendment) Bill, 2025 proposed increasing punishment from three to 10 years, extending up to 20 years or even life imprisonment in extreme cases. However, these have not yet been notified, as the Bill was returned by the Governor for reconsideration. The implementation of these laws has generated significant legal disputes. Under the 2022 Act, reports indicate that 20 cases were filed in 2023 and 18 more by September 2025. Of the cases brought to full trial under the 2018 Act, several have resulted in acquittal—suggesting either weak evidence or overzealous prosecution.

The Bipartisan Consensus: Conversion Laws Across Ideological Lines

Crucially, anti-conversion legislation has not been confined to BJP-ruled States. The Himachal Pradesh Freedom of Religion Act (2006) , for example, was enacted under a Congress government. The Tamil Nadu Prohibition of Forcible Conversion of Religion Act 2002 was introduced by the J. Jayalalitha-led AIADMK government and later modified in 2006 by the M. Karunanidhi-led DMK government. This underscores a broader political consensus across ideological lines on regulating religious conversion. Even secular and regional parties, when in power, have seen fit to legislate against what they perceive as coercive or fraudulent proselytisation.

This consensus reflects a genuine unease in Indian society about the ethics of conversion, particularly when it involves vulnerable communities—tribals, Dalits, the poor—who may be susceptible to inducements. However, it also reflects a majoritarian anxiety about demographic change and religious identity. The challenge is to distinguish legitimate regulation (preventing coercion and fraud) from illegitimate restriction (infringing on the fundamental right to choose one’s faith).

The Current Moment: Manufactured Narrative or Genuine Churn?

Returning to the recent arrests in Uttar Pradesh and Uttarakhand: how should we interpret them? The article offers two possibilities.

First, they could indicate a genuine, if controversial, ideological churn within segments of Indian Muslim society. Just as Dalits in Meenakshipuram turned to Islam in 1981 to escape caste oppression, some Muslims today might be engaging in organised efforts to invite Hindus to Islam—not through coercion, but through persuasion, argument, and social service. This would be a form of legitimate religious propagation, protected by Article 25. The fact that it alarms Hindu majoritarians does not make it illegal. If substantiated, these cases would test the boundaries of what “propagation” means in a pluralistic society.

Second, they could be manufactured narratives driven by an ideologically motivated state. The allegations—organised networks, foreign funding, large-scale conversions—echo classic conspiracy theories long circulated by Hindutva organisations. The arrests have predominantly targeted Muslims, with little evidence of parallel action against Christian missionaries or Hindu proselytisers. Several cases have already resulted in acquittal. In this reading, the state is weaponising conversion laws to stigmatise Muslims, create a climate of fear, and divert attention from other issues.

The truth likely lies somewhere in between. There may be isolated instances of over-zealous proselytisation, perhaps even inducement, on the part of some Muslim organisations. But the scale and organisation implied by the allegations—massive networks spanning multiple states—remain unproven. The risk is that legitimate religious freedom (the right to persuade and be persuaded) is conflated with illegitimate coercion (inducement, fraud, force). The burden of proof must rest on the accuser, not the accused.

The Ambedkar-Gandhi Debate Revisited

The conversion debate inevitably returns to the Ambedkar-Gandhi disagreement. Gandhi opposed Ambedkar’s departure from Hinduism, believing that reform should come from within. He also feared that conversion would fragment the nationalist movement. Ambedkar argued that a religion that sanctified untouchability was beyond reform and that self-respect required leaving it.

Had Gandhi been alive today, the article notes, he would have realised how profoundly mistaken his assessment of Ambedkar’s leadership was. The enduring reverence for Ambedkar among Dalits—despite, and indeed because of, his conversion—stands as a powerful rebuttal. Ambedkar did not lose his people; he gave them a new political and religious identity. The lesson is that conversion, when chosen freely, is an act of dignity, not betrayal.

The Path Forward: Review, Not Retrenchment

The article concludes with a sobering observation: anti-conversion acts, in practice, have often encouraged vigilantism, leading to instances of violence and disruptions to India’s secular social fabric. Neighbourhood watch groups have morphed into moral police. Suspicion of interfaith relationships has led to harassment, assault, and even murder. The laws intended to prevent coercion have themselves become instruments of coercion.

Therefore, it is imperative that governments review these acts. Not necessarily repeal them—there is legitimate space for regulation against forced or fraudulent conversion—but review their implementation, their evidentiary standards, and their potential for misuse. A few principles should guide this review:

1. Burden of proof must remain on the prosecution. Allegations of conversion should be proven, not presumed.

2. Consent must be respected. If an adult freely chooses to change their religion, that is their constitutional right. The state has no business questioning the sincerity of that choice.

3. Anti-conversion laws should not be used to harass interfaith couples. “Love jihad” is a conspiracy theory, not a proven phenomenon. The vast majority of interfaith marriages are consensual.

4. The state should focus on genuine coercion and inducement—such as offering material benefits for conversion, or using force—not on persuasion or argument.

5. Legal safeguards against misuse—such as requiring magistrate approval before registering a case, or imposing penalties for false complaints—should be strengthened.

Conclusion: Secularism as Process, Not Possession

India’s secularism has always been contested. It is not a static possession but an ongoing process of negotiation between communities, between individual rights and group identities, between the state’s duty to be neutral and society’s demand for regulation. Conversion sits at the heart of this tension. It is the moment when individual religious choice challenges communal boundaries. It is also the moment when the state is most tempted to intervene, often at the behest of majoritarian sentiment.

The recent arrests in North India must be investigated thoroughly and fairly. If genuine networks of coercive conversion exist, they must be dismantled. But if the allegations are manufactured—if they are part of a broader strategy to stigmatise Muslims and restrict religious freedom—then they represent a profound challenge to India’s constitutional order. The test of secularism is not how it protects the majority, but how it protects the minority. The test of religious freedom is not how it preserves the status quo, but how it accommodates change. India must pass that test.

Q&A: Conversion Politics and Indian Secularism

Q1: What was the Meenakshipuram conversion episode of 1981, and why does it remain relevant today?

A1: In February 1981, 558 Dalits in Meenakshipuram, Tamil Nadu, publicly embraced Islam. The trigger was not external proselytisation but entrenched caste oppression within the Hindu social order. Dalits faced humiliation, economic exploitation, and social exclusion; Islam’s egalitarian theology offered an escape. The episode is relevant because it reminds us that conversion in India has often been a form of social protest and a search for dignity, rather than a product of inducement or external conspiracy. Atal Bihari Vajpayee, reflecting on the episode, observed that Hindu society suffered from long-standing ills, particularly distinctions based on birth and caste. The lesson is that addressing conversion requires addressing internal inequalities, not merely criminalising the act of conversion itself.

Q2: What is the constitutional framework governing religious conversion in India?

A2: Article 25(1) of the Constitution guarantees “freedom of conscience and the right freely to profess, practise and propagate religion.” The inclusion of the word “propagate” was contentious, with critics fearing it would license aggressive proselytisation. The final text reflected a compromise: propagation is permitted, but forced or fraudulent conversion is not. The Constitution does not explicitly ban conversion; it bans coercion and fraud. However, the boundaries between legitimate persuasion (protected) and illegitimate inducement (unprotected) have been debated ever since. Several states have enacted anti-conversion laws requiring individuals to declare their conversion before a magistrate, ostensibly to prevent coercion. The constitutional validity of these laws has been challenged but largely upheld, provided they target fraud and force, not sincere religious choice.

Q3: How have anti-conversion laws evolved in India, and which political parties have supported them?

A3: Anti-conversion laws began even under colonial administration (Raignar State Conversion Act, 1936; Patna Freedom of Religion Act, 1942). In independent India, the Orissa Freedom of Religion Act (1967) and Madhya Pradesh Dharma Swatantrya Adhinivyam (1968) were early examples, primarily in response to concerns over Christian missionary activity. Critically, these laws were enacted by secular governments, not just Hindu nationalist ones. The Himachal Pradesh Freedom of Religion Act (2006) was enacted under a Congress government. The Tamil Nadu Prohibition of Forcible Conversion of Religion Act (2002) was introduced by J. Jayalalitha’s AIADMK and later modified by M. Karunanidhi’s DMK. This underscores a broader political consensus across ideological lines on regulating conversion. However, BJP-ruled states have recently amended these laws to expand their scope, increase penalties, and include allegations of “love jihad” (conversion through interfaith marriage).

Q4: What was the Ambedkar-Gandhi debate on conversion, and who does the article argue was proven correct?

A4: When Dr. B.R. Ambedkar declared his intention to leave Hinduism in 1935, Mahatma Gandhi opposed him. Gandhi argued that Dalits should reform Hinduism from within rather than abandon it. He also feared that Dalit followers would abandon Ambedkar once he ceased to be a Hindu. Ambedkar argued that a religion which sanctified untouchability was beyond reform and that self-respect required leaving it. He converted to Buddhism in 1956. The article argues that history has proven Gandhi profoundly mistaken. The enduring reverence for Ambedkar among Dalits—despite, and indeed because of, his conversion—stands as a powerful rebuttal. Ambedkar did not lose his people; he gave them a new identity. The lesson is that conversion, when chosen freely, is an act of dignity, not betrayal.

Q5: What are the risks of current anti-conversion laws, and what reforms does the article suggest?

A5: The article identifies several risks:

• Vigilantism and violence: These laws have encouraged moral policing, neighbour watch groups, and harassment of interfaith couples.

• Misuse against minorities: The laws are disproportionately used against Muslims, often on flimsy evidence, with several cases ending in acquittal.

• Chilling effect on religious freedom: Even legitimate religious propagation (persuasion, argument) can be criminalised if labelled “inducement.”

The article suggests five reforms:

1. Burden of proof must remain on the prosecution — allegations should be proven, not presumed.

2. Consent must be respected — if an adult freely chooses to change their religion, the state has no business questioning that choice.

3. Anti-conversion laws should not be used to harass interfaith couples — “love jihad” is a conspiracy theory, not a proven phenomenon.

4. The state should focus on genuine coercion and inducement (material benefits, force), not on persuasion or argument.

5. Legal safeguards against misuse should be strengthened, including penalties for false complaints and magistrate approval before registering cases.