- Born into a Muslim family in Karachi, Pakistan, Arif Aajakia grew up influenced by the harmonious stories of his parents’ life in Gujarat, instilling in him respect for India and its culture, despite the prevalent anti-Indian sentiments in Pakistan. His experiences in Europe further reshaped his views, particularly when he learned about the historical conflicts involving his so-called heroes like Mahmud Ghaznavi.
- Arif is widely recognized as a Human Rights Activist. His career took him from Saudi Arabia to Belgium, where his experiences with European freedoms greatly influenced his perspectives on human rights and political advocacy.
- Influenced by the teachings of the Bhagavad Gita, Arif formally returned to Hindu Dharma in 2022, embracing the inclusive and compassionate philosophy of Sanatana Dharma, which starkly contrasted with the fear and control he perceived in Islam.
- Arif’s conversion and critical stance on Islam have led to estrangement from his extended family and the broader Muslim community in the UK. Despite threats and challenges, he remains a vocal advocate for rethinking religious teachings and their impacts on society.
- Through his popular YouTube channel, Arif shares his views on politics and civilization, engaging with thousands of followers and influencing public discourse on religious and cultural integration, particularly discussing the challenges faced by Muhajirs in Pakistan and the broader implications of religious extremism.
Arif Aajakia is a fascinating figure with a rich mix of global influences. Born into a Muslim family in Pakistan, he now holds French citizenship and lives in the UK. His roots go back to Gujarat in Bharat, with his last name coming from his father’s hometown, Ajak, which makes him feel a strong connection to Bharat rather than Pakistan.
Aajakia has worked as the mayor of Jamshed Town, a suburb of Karachi, but he is best known as a Human Rights Activist. He has actively supported Sanatan Dharma and distanced himself from the religion he was born into, formally returning to Hindu Dharma in February 2022. He also has a popular YouTube channel where he discusses his political and civilizational beliefs with thousands of dedicated followers.
This article is based on his interview on the Dharma Explorers platform. The full video recording of his interview can be accessed here.
Could you share some details about your upbringing in Pakistan, including the atmosphere at home, society, and educational institutions during your formative years?
I was born into a strict Muslim family in Karachi, Pakistan, following my parents’ move from Gujarat during the partition of India. My father worked at the Central Bank of Saudi Arabia, so our family moved to Saudi Arabia when I was nine.
Unlike many others, I didn’t attend the usual schools or madrasahs in Pakistan, which are known to teach hatred towards Hindus and Indians. Instead, I received my early education at home. This was a blessing because my parents fondly remembered their childhoods in Gujarat. Their stories were filled with memories of living harmoniously alongside Hindus. This instilled in me a deep love and respect for India and its rich cultural heritage rather than feelings of hatred.
My mother often shared stories about her Hindu friends from childhood, which made me feel connected to India and its people. I never harbored any hatred towards India or Hindus. However, like many Pakistanis, I grew up admiring Mahmud Ghaznavi, considering him a hero.
It dawned on me that my so-called hero [Mahmud Ghaznavi] had inflicted great suffering on my ancestors. Women from my ancestors’ community were subjected to atrocities and sold in places like Ghazni and Baghdad, and their homes were destroyed—all by the man I had admired.
This view changed dramatically after I moved to Europe. One day, while researching my ancestral village, I made a shocking discovery. I learned that Somnath, a site repeatedly destroyed by Mahmud Ghaznavi, was only 25 to 30 kilometers from where my father was born. It dawned on me that my so-called hero had inflicted great suffering on my ancestors. Women from my ancestors’ community were subjected to atrocities and sold in places like Ghazni and Baghdad, and their homes were destroyed—all by the man I had admired.
In 1994, while living in Belgium, I started working in human rights and learned more about the conflicts between India and Pakistan. It became clear to me that the Pakistani army played a significant role in instigating conflicts in India, often engaging in acts of terrorism and initiating wars. This realization shifted my perspective about the real antagonists in these situations.
Years later, in 2017, someone sent me a copy of the Bhagavad Gita. The Bhagavad Gita is a complex book, and initially, I only understood a fraction of its teachings. However, whatever I picked up from it profoundly affected my thinking. I began to compare the messages in the Bhagavad Gita with those in Islam. For instance, in Islam, the followers are warned of severe consequences if they do not adhere to its teachings. In contrast, in the Bhagavad Gita, Lord Krishna imparts wisdom to Arjuna but ultimately leaves the decision to embrace this wisdom up to him, emphasizing personal responsibility and the importance of karma—actions and their effects on the world.
This fundamental difference in approach led me to appreciate the universal and inclusive philosophy of Sanatana Dharma, which the Bhagavad Gita represents. Sanatana Dharma encourages followers to live in harmony with the world and its creatures, supporting a life of freedom, personal responsibility, and respect for all forms of life. This was in stark contrast to the fear and control I perceived in the teachings of Islam as I understood them. The more I studied, the more I embraced the values of tolerance, respect, and personal choice advocated by Sanatana Dharma, seeing it as a more humane and universally applicable way of life.
During India’s partition in 1947, many Muslim families moved to Pakistan and were called Muhajirs (immigrants or refugees). How were they treated and integrated into Pakistani society?
The decision of Muslims to migrate to Pakistan has had lasting adverse effects across generations. This became even clearer when I visited my ancestral village in 2022. It was my first visit, and I was surprised to see many Muslims still living there. Curious, I asked if they had faced any persecution that might have justified my parents’ or grandparents’ decision to migrate. They told me no, they hadn’t. The migration was mostly due to fear of potential riots and the possibility of being harmed, not because of actual persecution.
Growing up in Pakistan, I directly experienced the impact of this migration when I finished my secondary education and began applying for college. I was asked to provide a domicile certificate, a standard procedure, but the questions quickly became personal. The official asked where I was born, and I said Karachi. Then he asked where my parents were born—I said India. He responded by labeling me an “Indian,” despite my protestations that I was born in Pakistan and thus Pakistani by birth.
This experience of being labeled a ‘Muhajir,’ a term used for Indian migrants and their descendants, was new to me. It took on a significant meaning when I tried to enroll in college. The admissions officer informed me that Muhajirs needed a higher academic score to qualify. While my classmate, a Baloch, needed only 47% to get admitted, I needed 65%. I questioned this disparity, especially since we both lived in Karachi, where the college was located. The officer explained that this was due to a quota system, a form of institutionalized discrimination I encountered for the first time.
This wasn’t the end of the discrimination. I faced the same quota system when I started looking for a job. Despite Muhajirs like me comprising 60% of Karachi’s population, we were only allotted a 2% share in job opportunities. This was particularly frustrating, considering most of these jobs went to Punjabis and others from somewhere other than Karachi but could still apply and relocate if they got the job.
Such discrimination extended beyond educational and professional realms to everyday life, where derogatory terms like ‘Hindustani’ were commonly used against us. Faced with such persistent discrimination, I left Pakistan at the age of 19. I moved to Saudi Arabia, then to Dubai, and eventually to Europe in search of better opportunities and a society where I could integrate more fully.
The difference in treatment between those who migrated from Pakistan to India and those who migrated from India to Pakistan was glaring. Muhajirs in Pakistan have been maltreated consistently, and this has not improved over time.
Interestingly, in my recent visit to India, I met some Sindhis who had migrated from Pakistan to India in 1947. Sharing my experiences with them, they revealed that they faced no such discrimination in India. They described a safe and welcoming environment, starkly contrasting what Muhajirs experienced in Pakistan.
The difference in treatment between those who migrated from Pakistan to India and those who migrated from India to Pakistan was glaring. Muhajirs in Pakistan have been maltreated consistently, and this has not improved over time. In fact, in 1992, a military operation was launched against Muhajirs, branding them as ‘foreign agents.’ This political repression targeted the Muhajir community’s leaders and activists.
During this period, Altaf Hussain, a leader of the Muhajirs, contacted me from London while I was in Belgium. He encouraged me to start raising awareness internationally about the plight of Muhajirs in Pakistan. Heeding his call, I began to engage with international bodies such as the United Nations Human Rights Council in Geneva, the European Parliament in Brussels, and the British Parliament. My goal was to inform the global community about the atrocities Muhajirs faced at the hands of the Pakistan Army, hoping to garner international support and intervention.
Please tell us about your professional journey, including your moves from Saudi Arabia to Belgium, France, and eventually the U.K., and how all that came about.
My career began humbly as an assistant at the Bank of Tokyo in Karachi, where I worked for a year before moving to Saudi Arabia in 1984 to join my father. I worked for Riyadh Bank there for three years. However, life in Saudi Arabia during that time was stifling for someone like me, who valued free thought and expression. The societal norms and regulations felt restrictive, so I relocated to Dubai, hoping for a more liberal atmosphere. However, I soon realized that despite Dubai’s modern facade, the freedom to speak one’s mind still needed to be considerably curtailed.
This insight made me want to find a place that appreciated free speech. I thought Europe and America would be perfect. By 1992, I had moved to Belgium, a new experience with challenges and opportunities. Since most people in Belgium spoke French and Flemish, the language barrier was the first big challenge. As a result, I ended up taking basic jobs like washing dishes and cleaning cars.
When I began working in the human rights section at the United Nations in Geneva, I would spend about 12 weeks a year attending sessions at the Human Rights Council and lobbying in the European Parliament. This experience helped me grow and learn.
My political and human rights activities slowed somewhat when the Musharraf government came to power in Pakistan in 1999. Partly, this was because the MQM party, to which I was aligned, was a partner in the government, reducing the urgency of our lobbying efforts.
In 2005, during a meeting I attended, Altaf Hussain, our party leader, brought up the upcoming municipal elections in Karachi. On impulse, I volunteered to return to Pakistan after a 15-year absence to run for the mayor of Jamshed Town, a suburb of Karachi. I won the election and hoped to bring the lessons and values I had learned in Europe to my role in Pakistan. However, I quickly discovered that even within the government, freedom of speech was limited. My candid discussions and criticisms were not well-received, particularly regarding the military.
A stern warning came from a colleague in London after I had been overheard making critical remarks about the military’s dominance in Pakistan. He cautioned me about the severe consequences of my outspokenness, implying that continuing my political career in such an environment could be dangerous. Heeding this warning, I resigned just two years into my tenure and returned to Belgium with my family, disillusioned by the lack of change and the continuous oppressive presence of the military in Pakistan.
Since then, I have resumed my work in human rights and remain dedicated to human rights advocacy despite the personal and professional challenges of confronting entrenched powers and advocating for the voiceless. My journey reflects a continual struggle for justice and equality, rooted in the belief that everyone deserves to live in a society that respects their fundamental human rights.
What made you become such a strong proponent of Hindu Dharma? What aspects of Hindu Dharma resonate with you that were absent in the religion of your birth?
I’ve always believed that just like every product comes with a manual explaining how to use it, religions also have their manuals. For instance, Islam follows the Quran, Christianity has the Bible, and Hinduism has texts like the Bhagavad Gita. These religious texts are like guides on navigating life, but the Bhagavad Gita holds a special place in my heart because of its inclusive and humane messages.
The teachings of the Gita are encompassing, advocating for a way of life that respects even the smallest creature and the natural world, which aligns with modern concepts like organic foods and environmental conservation—ideas discussed in the Gita thousands of years ago.
The Gita doesn’t exclude anyone; whether you believe in Krishna, Rama, or Shiva, it welcomes all beliefs, including those who may not believe in any deity. The teachings of the Gita are encompassing, advocating for a way of life that respects even the smallest creature and the natural world, which aligns with modern concepts like organic foods and environmental conservation—ideas discussed in the Gita thousands of years ago.
When I first started exploring Hinduism, I was deeply inspired by the life of Lord Rama, whom I viewed as a model figure, similar to other religious figures such as Jesus, Moses, or Muhammad. However, my understanding and personal journey dramatically shifted one night in London. Living modestly in a rented home, caring for my children, and navigating financial constraints, I experienced a profound moment of realization. Suddenly, I felt a deep connection to the deity Somnath, which seemed to emerge from nowhere yet felt incredibly right.
This experience led to an unexpected opportunity when I received a call from the New Delhi Times inviting me to India—a lifelong dream of mine. They offered to sponsor my stay in Delhi, and I quickly applied for a visa. Soon after, another call came, offering me an airline ticket to India. Upon announcing my planned visit, the support continued to grow; a group of Gujarati Americans offered to cover my expenses to visit Gujarat, Somnath, and my ancestral places, reaffirming my belief that divine forces were at play, listening to my innermost longings and responding.
My trip to India was filled with spiritual visits; I planned to visit Kashi Vishwanath on March 1, 2022. However, due to a massive gathering there for Shivaratri and coinciding political events, I was advised to avoid the crowd. Respecting this advice, I postponed my visit, yet my spiritual journey continued. Later, a friend from Arkansas called about the opening of the Ram Mandir (January 22, 2024) and offered to sponsor my trip, which I gratefully accepted after some visa delays.
Upon returning to India, I visited several holy sites, including Ujjain Mahakal, Kashi Vishwanath, Mathura, Dwarka, and Somnath. Each visit reinforced my connection to these sacred places and my belief that Shiva was guiding my path. These experiences deepened my faith in Shiva, strengthening his powerful and transformative presence.
Through these travels and experiences, I’ve realized the profound impact of faith and the support of the divine in my life. From being Ram bhakta (devotee of Shri Ram), focused on the ideals of Lord Rama, to becoming a devout follower of Shiva, my spiritual journey reflects a deep personal transformation influenced by the teachings of Hindu scriptures and the blessings I’ve received. I truly believe there is no greater power in the universe than that of Shiva, who has shown me the immense possibilities of faith and the strength it can provide in navigating life’s challenges. This belief is not just theoretical; it is a lived experience, evidenced by the serendipitous events and spiritual insights that have marked my journey.
You’ve been highly critical of the religion you were born into, and you converted to Hindu Dharma in 2022. How has the Muslim community, especially in the U.K. and within your own family, reacted to your conversion?
I have become estranged from the Muslim community, including my own family in Pakistan—my brother and sister do not acknowledge me. They disowned me because I had changed my religion. As a result, I no longer maintain any contact with them. This situation became even more complicated when I began receiving threats from various groups, leading me to seek advice from the British police. They recommended that I avoid contact with Muslims, especially close relatives, for safety reasons.
For instance, a cousin called me around August or September last year, claiming he was in London for a short visit and wanted to meet. He reminded me of our childhood connection, appealing to our past friendship. However, I was wary. I couldn’t help but suspect his motives might not be purely familial. Perhaps, influenced by extremist views, he considered harming me—a perceived apostate—as a ticket to paradise. So, I refused to meet him, explaining that police advisories and the risk of betrayal made it impossible.
Turning to my personal life, especially with my wife and children, it’s clear that changing deeply ingrained beliefs is profoundly challenging. I actively campaign for a broader understanding of religion and its impacts through platforms like YouTube. My children often ask insightful questions. About a year ago, we were discussing various topics in our living room when one of my children asked about the issues with Islam.
Moreover, I brought up how women are often perceived in Islamic teachings, discussing troubling Quranic verses that describe women comparably to fields owned by men, to be used as they see fit.
I took this opportunity to explain using very personal examples. I told them about the different practices when a boy and a girl are born—how a goat is sacrificed for a girl and two for a boy, highlighting the inherent gender discrimination. I further explained the inheritance laws where daughters receive less than sons, which could mean a substantial financial disparity based on gender. I questioned aloud, if Islam is a religion for all humanity, why does it embed such inequality?
Moreover, I brought up how women are often perceived in Islamic teachings, discussing troubling Quranic verses that describe women comparably to fields owned by men, to be used as they see fit. This objectification reduces women to mere property under male control. I also discussed the guardianship laws that restrict a woman’s movements without a male relative’s permission, essentially making women perpetual minors under male authority.
I presented these points not to disparage anyone’s beliefs but to encourage critical thinking and dialogue about these serious issues. My goal was to illustrate the discrepancies between Islam’s proclaimed universality and the actual practices that often undermine the rights and dignities of certain groups, particularly women.
Despite these discussions, if my children still identify as Muslim, I respect their choice as long as they practice their faith peacefully and do not impose their beliefs on others. Thankfully, they haven’t shown tendencies toward violence or extremism, which is a significant concern for me, especially given the experiences of many others.
For instance, a Gujarati couple visited me last month, distressed about their son. He had converted to Islam, and this change was not just religious but had altered his entire lifestyle and ideologies. He became actively involved in political movements, donated substantial parts of his income to causes he believed in, and distanced himself from family traditions and practices. His parents were heartbroken and sought my help to reconnect with him and possibly persuade him to reconsider his drastic transformations.
This conversation echoed my worries about the influence of radical ideologies on young minds, making them susceptible to drastic changes that align with extremism. This fear is not unfounded. I recall a liberal friend from my political days whose son, influenced by radical groups, ended up in Guantanamo Bay (a U.S. prison where many post-9/11 Islamic terrorists were incarcerated). Such stories reinforce my vigilance regarding my children’s influences and friendships.
I always advise them to avoid toxic ideologies and surround themselves with positive influences, like their Hindu friends, who promote peace and understanding. They must grow up in an environment that fosters respect and tolerance rather than hatred and division.
Islam is often seen as an egalitarian faith with a strong sense of global brotherhood. However, we know that there is strong stratification within the Muslim community. What is your perspective on this perceived egalitarianism and the universal brotherhood in Islam?
Yesterday, I received a video of an Indian mosque where people were physically fighting each other. This violence happened within a Brelvi (a sect of Islam named after the Indian town of Bareli) mosque, a place where, sadly, sectarian strife is not uncommon. In Brelvi mosques in Pakistan, there are signs explicitly forbidding Shias from entering, underscoring the deep sectarian divides within the community. Similar exclusions exist in the Deobandi sect.
There is a hierarchy even among those considered descendants of the Prophet Muhammad, referred to as the Syeds, who are seen as a kind of superclass and are traditionally discouraged from marrying outside their status. This segregation is seen as a way to maintain their purity but ends up fostering division and elitism within the community.
This is just a snapshot of the absence of egalitarianism that persists in many parts of the Muslim world, even as places like Saudi Arabia attempt to reform and modernize their interpretations of Islam. On social media, I’ve seen many from the Indian and Pakistani communities accuse the Saudis of becoming infidels, or “kafirs,” simply because they are adopting changes. Such rhetoric shows how deeply entrenched and resistant some of these attitudes are to change.
Labeling Islam as an egalitarian society is particularly ironic when you consider the treatment of women… In Islam, by contrast [with Sanatan Dharma], women are treated as property or even as sex slaves, governed by harsh and restrictive rules.
This morning, I received another video involving a religious gathering of Brelvi-s that turned violent. During a speech about the religious inappropriateness of certain traditional practices, the speaker, who was from a different sect, was attacked by the audience, who called him a “kafir” before assaulting him.
Labeling Islam as an egalitarian society is particularly ironic when you consider the treatment of women. In Sanatana Dharma, we honor deities and many revered female figures; for instance, in my ancestral village in Gujarat, we have one of the few Sita temples in the world, a place where women are worshipped and revered. In Islam, by contrast, women are treated as property or even as sex slaves, governed by harsh and restrictive rules.
These examples highlight how deeply divided the Muslim community can be, not just by religious sects but also by ethnicity and gender, undermining any notion of true egalitarianism. Today, the divide has reached such extremes that Sunni Saudi Arabia and Shia Iran both face accusations of apostasy from various factions within their own and each other’s communities.
While many Muslims practice their faith in peace and equality, the overarching structural divides and the frequent intolerance shown towards different interpretations within the faith paint a different picture. It’s a picture of a community at odds with itself, struggling with the concepts of reform and modernity while clinging to interpretations and practices that may no longer serve them well in a rapidly changing world.
Recently, we’ve seen some unprecedented events, such as opening a grand mandir in Abu Dhabi, Srimati Smriti Irani visiting Medina, and Chief Imam Ilyasi participating in the Shri Ram Mandir inauguration. These events would have been unimaginable in the past. Are these just anomalies, or do they signify a fundamental change within the Islamic world?
Over the years, the leadership dynamics in the Arabian Gulf have seen significant changes. Initially, the region was governed by older leaders who were more authoritarian and extreme. They ruled with an iron fist, strictly following traditional interpretations of Islam that heavily influenced their policies and governance.
However, a notable shift occurred as the next generation of leaders emerged. These leaders are well-educated and deeply understand global politics and economics. They recognize that for their countries to thrive in the global market, they must adopt more inclusive policies. They understand that holding onto extremist ideologies repels investors, businesses, and tourists, all of whom are essential for economic growth.
In the past, leaders from countries like Pakistan would go to Saudi Arabia or the UAE seeking financial aid, and they usually received it generously. However, the current leaders, like Mohammed bin Salman, have changed their strategy. They are indicating that the era of unlimited financial aid is over. They focus on significant investments in countries like India, adopting a clear, business-minded approach with plans for major economic activities.
These leaders have created a more open atmosphere than was permitted under traditional extremist Islamic rule, where questioning and exploring other religions was often discouraged to prevent challenges to Islamic doctrines. Today’s rulers are more open to other ideologies and discovered that ideas from religions like Hinduism or Sanatana Dharma are benign and support human rights. We see these progressive leaders encouraging the study of diverse religions and cultural practices even during religious periods like Ramadan in Western countries, something that is not happening in more traditionally conservative Muslim countries like Bangladesh, Pakistan, or even India.
Reform within Islam is as essential as the transformations Christianity underwent in Europe from the 16th to the 18th centuries. During that time, the Church had considerable power and often persecuted individuals for blasphemy, a practice even more severe than some extremist behaviors observed in today’s Islamic world. However, through sustained reforms, Christianity was eventually confined to the Church, leading to modernization and development in Europe and America. Those who were persecuted for their beliefs often fled to America, seeking freedom from religious extremism.
This historical shift in Christianity could serve as a model for potential changes within Islam. Although there may be resistance to reforming Islam, rooted in deep-seated traditionalism and resistance to change, leaders like Mohammed bin Salman are pushing forward with such reforms. This indicates that change is indeed achievable. Additionally, modern tools like social media can spread these reforms more broadly. Social media is a powerful platform where individuals can instantly access a wealth of information and diverse viewpoints, enhancing education and broadening perspectives.
The push for reform in Islam is a gradual process, but the religion needs to coexist peacefully in a globalized world. It’s about respecting human beings of any belief, caste, creed, culture, or ethnicity and ensuring that everyone can live in harmony without the imposition of extremist ideologies.
In some of your YouTube videos, you mention that civil wars might be imminent in Europe, yet politicians appear to ignore this, fearing being labeled as Islamophobic. Why do you think they are missing reality on the ground? Is there a change happening in their approach to political thinking?
Around four years ago, while attending a United Nations session in Geneva, I spoke with an Indian intellectual who emphasized the dangers of exacerbating Hindu-Muslim tensions in India. With over 200 million Muslims spread across the country, he feared that any significant conflict could be unmanageable and lead to widespread chaos. He urged avoiding any actions that could inflame these tensions, highlighting the government’s fear of a civil war that would be difficult to control.
…the risk of civil war seems imminent, as suggested by a well-known British journalist named David Vance, who recently stated that England might need to deploy the army on its streets.
This concern is not isolated to India. In conversations with British journalist friends, who are often labeled as extreme right but consider themselves nationalists, the same fears were echoed. They wanted to protect their country’s integrity without escalating to violence. These journalists also mentioned that their government is keen on preventing civil unrest at all costs.
Moreover, the risk of civil war seems imminent, as suggested by a well-known British journalist named David Vance, who recently stated that England might need to deploy the army on its streets. He argued that the police had failed to protect the nation’s ideology and security against what he described as an “Islamist mob,” suggesting that military intervention might be the only viable solution.
These discussions also remind me of the recent turmoil in France, where before October 7, civil unrest led to the burning of around 5000 cars and numerous buildings. France was engulfed in flames for about nine days until President Macron was forced to call in the army, resulting in people dispersing and returning home.
Given these examples, it seems that the last resort to prevent a civil war is often to enforce laws strictly, possibly by military force. This approach was evident when the Citizen Amendment Act was implemented in India. The key is to enact legislation and ensure its effective implementation, even if it requires force. This is necessary in India and Europe to maintain order and prevent potential civil wars.
Considering the violence we’re witnessing, which is disrupting social order not only in Bharat but also in Europe and potentially America, it seems the media is either unaware of or ignoring the societal dangers. They might even appear supportive of what is happening. Why do you think the media is responding this way?
There is a widespread anti-Hindu bias built into the Western ecosystem. When several American universities organized the ‘Dismantle Global Hindutva’ conference, neither the administration nor the general public expressed concerns. However, following the anti-Semitic incidents that occurred after October 7, there was an immediate reaction. Prestigious universities such as Harvard, MIT, and UPenn were quickly summoned to a U.S. Senate hearing to address the increase in anti-Semitic sentiments on their campuses.
The bias in the media is readily discernible in how it covers different incidents. For instance, if a Muslim faces some form of mistreatment in India, it quickly becomes headline news across major Western publications like The New York Times, The Washington Post, and the BBC. In contrast, issues such as the forced conversion of Hindu girls in Pakistan or the plight of people in regions like Baluchistan, where thousands have disappeared, receive scant attention from these same media outlets.
Similarly, media coverage of the farmers’ protests in India typically lacked depth and context. Although the protests were primarily concentrated in Punjab, they were portrayed as widespread across India. Meanwhile, other states with significant agricultural sectors were completely ignored in these reports.
This selective reporting and focus indicate an agenda-driven approach within the global media ecosystem. As a major global power, the U.S. wields considerable control over international media narratives, a tactic used to maintain its global dominance. Unfortunately, this results in stories of injustice not aligned with the popular narrative do not receive the attention they deserve.
Bharat has historically been a sanctuary for refugees like the Jews, Parsis, Baha’is, and others, all of whom have integrated well into society. In contrast, Islam, which entered Bharat as an aggressor, still seems to hold onto aggressive stances even after many generations. Why do you think there is this continued aggression and a lack of common sense in acknowledging the historical context and current implications of their actions?
Unfortunately, in countries like Pakistan or India, many Muslim children are exposed to divisive religious teachings from an early age. For instance, when a four-year-old child attends a madrassa, one of the first lessons might include gratitude for being born into a Muslim family, which is portrayed as true believers. This indoctrination may also include messages that discourage befriending or dealing with non-Muslims, except with non-Muslim women, who are considered permissible (“halal”) for Muslim men. Such teachings from a young age cultivate a worldview that emphasizes religious separation and superiority.
This conditioning is evident in various societal behaviors. For instance, in London, it’s not uncommon to see young boys in traditional Arabic dress being led to madrasas by older men while young girls clad in hijabs follow. What they learn in secular schools about egalitarianism and equality can be quickly overshadowed by the teachings in madrassas, which advocate a different set of values, prioritizing religious doctrine over universal human rights.
It’s an intriguing fact that in Saudi Arabia, the birthplace of Islam, madrassas are not permitted. Yet, in India, thousands of madrassas continue to operate, each potentially reinforcing divisive ideologies. This raises serious questions about why these religious schools are banned in many Arab countries yet flourish in South Asia and even in Western nations, where they often operate alongside cultural assimilation challenges.
By banning madrassas and confining religious activities strictly to non-educational, non-political roles within mosques, societies can work towards diminishing the influence of extremism.
Some European countries have taken steps to ensure that religious indoctrination does not interfere with national identity or societal cohesion. For example, Belgium offers alternative religious classes in schools, allowing parents to choose moral education over religious instruction. France has implemented laws prohibiting religious symbols in educational institutions to foster a unified French identity rather than division along religious lines.
Such an approach may be a pathway to mitigate the impact of extremist ideologies perpetuated through madrassas. By banning madrassas and confining religious activities strictly to non-educational, non-political roles within mosques, societies can work towards diminishing the influence of extremism. However, changing deeply ingrained beliefs and practices is a generational challenge. It requires sustained effort over decades to shift perspectives and achieve a more inclusive, peaceful society. Implementing such changes will not yield immediate results but could pave the way for a future where religious harmony and coexistence are the norm rather than the exception.
Thank you so much for joining us and sharing your insights.
Thank you!
