Why is the Waqf Act a stress test for Indian secularism

By Syed Ali Mujtaba*  

The recently introduced Waqf Amendment Act has stirred a hornet’s nest, not just within legal and political circles, but across India’s diverse social fabric. At its core, the Act attempts to redefine who can contribute to Waqf endowments—a move critics argue chips away at the constitutional promise of secularism.

One of the most debated clauses of the Act stipulates that only Muslims who have practiced Islam for a minimum of five years may donate land or property for religious or charitable purposes under Waqf. In principle, this restricts non-Muslims from making endowments toward the welfare of Muslims—something that has historically occurred in the spirit of India's secular ethos. Critics say this provision isn't just exclusionary, it is deeply symbolic of a changing India, one where state policy may be inching toward religious segregation in public life.

This development begs the question: What does secularism mean in today’s India? The preamble of our Constitution is unambiguous. India is a secular republic—not merely in name, but in the spirit of governance, in the legal framework, and in the everyday lives of its citizens. By drawing religious boundaries around charitable acts, the Waqf Act could be seen as narrowing this vision.

Moreover, the Act mandates that donors "prove" they have been practicing Islam for at least five years. This raises serious ethical and legal concerns. How does one prove faith? Who is authorized to verify it? These are not just bureaucratic queries—they touch upon the fundamental right to religious freedom. If faith becomes a matter for documentation and certification, we are looking at an unsettling future where belief is policed.

Adding to the controversy is the inclusion of non-Muslim members on Waqf Boards, despite their exclusion from the right to contribute to Waqf endowments. This inconsistency has prompted questions about the intent and logic behind the law. In comparison, Hindu temple boards like those governing Vaishno Devi or Amarnath are managed exclusively by members of that faith—a precedent rooted in autonomy and respect for religious governance. So why the deviation in the case of Waqf?

There is also a political undercurrent that cannot be ignored. The government, already under scrutiny for its handling of minority issues, faces skepticism about whether this legislation is aimed at administrative reform or serves a larger ideological agenda. For a government that has managed to push critical bills through Parliament with razor-thin margins, the passage of the Waqf Act has become yet another flashpoint in India’s evolving secular discourse.

The broader fear is that this Act may normalize state intervention in religious identity. Critics argue it reinforces the idea that Indian Muslims must constantly prove their loyalty, their faith, even their citizenship. That is a dangerous road, and one that runs counter to the values enshrined in our Constitution.

India has always been a country of layered identities and shared spaces. The Constitution was crafted not just to manage diversity, but to celebrate it. Legislation that restricts who may contribute to the well-being of a religious community—based solely on faith—risks reversing decades of inclusive growth.

The Waqf Act, as it stands, is more than a legal amendment. It is a signal. Whether it becomes a turning point or a cautionary tale will depend on how the courts, the public, and ultimately, the electorate respond.

In the end, it’s not just the Waqf Act that’s on trial—it is Indian secularism itself.

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*Journalist based in Chennai