By NOUSHEEN BABA KHAN, Activist, academician
In the wake of yet another horrific act of violence — this time in Pahalgam — people across India mourned the loss of 26 lives and rightly condemned the brutality. But for Indian Muslims, grief is never enough. They are expected not only to mourn but to perform their condemnation, to prove their distance from terrorism, to grieve in a manner that comforts others and reassures the nation of their loyalty. And we do, time and again.
Social media is flooded with unequivocal condemnations from Indian Muslims expressing shock, horror, and heartbreak. I, too, mourn the lives lost, the trauma inflicted, and the deep scars left behind. The visuals from Pahalgam refuse to leave the mind — the image of families on vacation, only to have their joy shattered by sudden, senseless violence. What kind of ideology justifies such horror? Religion? Power? Identity? There is no answer that can make this acceptable, no scripture that can sanctify such cruelty. And when this tragedy is brought to mainstream media[1] then amid this grief, one story remains absent from most headlines — that of Adil Shah, a 26-year-old Muslim pony operator from Hapatnard in Anantnag, who was killed while reportedly trying to shield tourists during the attack. Thousands turned up in his village to mourn him. He was not a statistic; he was the only breadwinner for his family. A Muslim man, a Kashmiri, killed by terrorists, the very kind whose actions so many disown time and again. And yet his faith, his courage, his humanity is quietly omitted from the dominant narrative.
Adding to this, we witness how, insidiously, ordinary expressions of faith are now weaponized. A video, recently went viral, of a zipline operator named Muzammil, who was heard saying “Allahu Akbar” during the chaos of the Pahalgam attack. He was interrogated by the NIA. The phrase, an exclamation that can mean awe, surprise, relief, or alarm, has been used by Muslims across cultures and generations in countless non-violent contexts. NIA sources themselves confirmed that the chant was a natural reaction, akin to how a Hindu might say “Hey Ram” in shock. But the fact that such a phrase, spoken spontaneously during a moment of terror — could become grounds for suspicion is deeply troubling. It reflects how deeply[2] prejudice has infected our responses. We have reached a point where a Muslim’s natural utterance is interpreted not as panic, but provocation? Jubilation in times crises? So on and so forth.
This is exactly how corrupt ideologies operate — not just those who commit the violence, but also those who benefit from the vilification that follows. Terrorists invoke Islamic phrases to give their violence a deceptive sanctity, knowing how such acts will deepen the public association between Islam and terror. And those who seek to marginalize Muslims reinforce that false connection, ignoring the billions of peaceful believers who use the same words every day in love, hope, and routine devotion. It is a collaboration of cruelty — between those who terrorize and those who use that terror to justify systemic exclusion. The result is that a community is forced not only to mourn, but to constantly defend its right to be seen as human. Saying “Allahu Akbar” in a moment of shock—is criminalized or pathologized. And yet, when violence is perpetrated by those aligned with ideologies like Hindutva or Zionism, the dominant communities are rarely asked to respond. There is no national introspection. No social media outrage. No celebrities offering apologies on behalf of their faith or cultural group. Those who dare to speak up—labelled as “liberals,” “sickulars,” or “anti-nationals”—are quickly pushed to the margins, trolled, and sometimes harassed both legally and unlawfully.
According to a detailed report by The New York Times (April 30, 2025)[1], post Pahalgam attacks, widespread detentions and demolitions targeted Muslims under the pretext of cracking down on illegal migrants and national threats. In BJP-ruled states, local authorities escalated their crackdown, labelling people “Bangladeshis” or “Rohingya” based on religion, not evidence. Gujarat led the charge with a staggering 6,500 arrests—only 450 of which were later found to be undocumented migrants. The rest were Indian citizens. This pattern of aggressive state action, razing slums, denying due process, and ignoring documentation, is part of a larger pattern of communal scapegoating[2].
In places like Uttar Pradesh and Karnataka, Muslims faced mob attacks and hate crimes. A Muslim restaurant worker was gunned down, another lynched, both under the pretext of patriotism or revenge. For instance, a 30-year-old Muslim man named Akhtar Ansari was lynched in Jharkhand in July 2024[3].The state’s own institutions, instead of offering protection or justice, often doubled down on the narrative of Muslim culpability. In Kashmir, students across the country reported being harassed. In Gujarat, demolition drives destroyed entire communities overnight. All this unfolded while nationalist media channels and right-wing influencers cheered it on, using social media to incite further hate. The consequences of these go beyond arrests or violence—they feed a political culture where citizenship becomes conditional, where belonging is questioned, and where Muslims are forced to constantly prove their loyalty. Harsh Mander rightly observes that the state’s targeting of Muslims is both “unlawful and unconstitutional,” yet normalized through media complicity and judicial inaction[4]. Collective punishment masquerades as patriotism. Constitutional protections fade into the background, drowned out by chants of vengeance and jingoistic fervour.
Examples abound of how Muslims are routinely vilified, be it the public lynching in Jharkhand and Uttar Pradesh, the targeting of Tablighi Jamaat during the COVID-19 pandemic, the branding of Muslim vendors as “corona jihadis,” or the boycott calls against Muslim businesses. In Karnataka, a hijab became a symbol of “radicalism.” In Delhi, riot victims were blamed for their own suffering. The media played a pivotal role, not in diffusing tensions, but in stoking them. Prime-time debates turned into theatres of hate, with anchors running shows that openly called for revenge, linked entire communities to terrorism, and offered uncritical platforms to hate speech.
When bulldozers raze Muslim homes without due process, when cries of “desh ke gaddaron ko…” resound through political rallies, and when the deaths of Muslim men in police custody[5] are dismissed without investigation—what message does the state send? It becomes painfully clear: hate is no longer incidental. It is being systematically cultivated. Festivals are weaponised, and isolated incidents are swiftly repackaged as communal flashpoints[6]. What we are witnessing is not spontaneous bigotry, but an organised architecture of Islamophobia—engineered through the mechanism of vilification of the Muslim community, turning every tragedy into a tool for polarisation.
This is because mainstream Indian media act as the echo chamber of prejudice rather than the conscience of a democracy. Muslims are repeatedly forced to prove their patriotism, even as their suffering is rendered invisible by a system that refuses to acknowledge their pain. This relentless cycle of violence and retaliation is sustained through the mechanism of vilification, fuelling alienation, radicalization, and, ultimately, more tragedy. And all this unfolds while Muslims themselves are often the victims of these very systems. This process is not merely unjust—it is dangerously insidious. It constructs a hierarchy of mourning, where certain lives are grieved, while Muslim lives are not only dismissed but often met with calls for revenge. Statements like “Kashmir will be turned into Gaza” are not just threats—they reflect a mind-set that normalizes injustice elsewhere to justify brutality at home. What is happening in Gaza is widely condemned, yet such comparisons reveal not a universal outrage, but a morally bankrupt, selective ethics of grief. In this framework, the gulf between the ideals of democracy and the reality of institutional bias only deepens. And when those who shape public opinion choose propaganda over truth, they ensure that the cycle of hate remains unbroken.
And so, when I posted my fears for Kashmiris after the Pahalgam attacks, I wasn’t speculating. My fears proved tragically accurate. Kashmiri students were attacked, homes vandalized, and families intimidated — not because they did were proven by law of doing anything wrong, but because of who they are.
This leads us to the real nature of Islamophobia. All these are a part of a broader ideological design, where power is sustained not merely through institutions but through manufactured consent. As Marx argued, ideology is not simply a set of ideas; it is the process by which the dominant class makes its worldview appear natural, inevitable, and morally superior. In this context, hate is not just a feeling, it is an instrument of retaining power.
This fusion of religion and political identity isn’t new. Islamism, Hindutva, and Zionism are not organic expressions of faith but modern ideological projects, forged in the fires of post-colonial anxieties. Each arose with the claim of protecting a people from existential threats. But over time, they evolved into vehicles of power, legitimizing domination through a selective reading of religion. The scriptural justifications for violence are not rooted in spiritual ethics but in political expediency. Verses are quoted, but their values are betrayed.
Even Christianity, long before the rise of modern ideologies, had already fused with empire. Unlike other traditions, it didn’t need to create a political form, it became the state. From the Crusades to colonial conquest, Christianity shaped the moral and political framework of European imperialism.
In all these cases, what we witness is not a clash of civilizations or the purity of religion under threat. What we see is ideology at work, securing the power of the dominant by sanctifying their narrative, obscuring injustices, and erasing the voices of the marginalized. The question, then, is not whether religion can coexist with democracy. It is whether we can deconstruct the ideological apparatus that manipulates religion to fracture society and uphold structural violence.
Unlike Islamism or Hindutva, Islamophobia is not an ideology — it is a prejudice. It is a choice made consciously and politically. It refuses nuance. It does not distinguish between a devout Muslim and a secular one, a reformist, a progressive, an atheist Muslim or a conservative. It sees 1.8 billion people as a threat. A monolith. A convenient enemy. Its power lies not just in fear — but in the utility of hate. Hate wins elections. Hate silences opposition. Hate distracts from real crises.
In India, Islamophobia manifests violently. The USCIRF continues to list India as a “Country of Particular Concern[7].” But statistics don’t even begin to capture the lived experience. Laws like the CAA-NRC, bulldozers razing Muslim homes, and surveillance of activists are not aberrations — they are blueprints. According to Human Rights Watch, over 50 people — mostly Muslims — were lynched between 2015 and 2021 for alleged cow-related offenses[8]. In 2023, India ranked first on the Pew Research Center’s Social Hostilities Index[9].
But beyond violence, Islamophobia leaves deeper scars — moral, emotional, psychological. After each attack, Muslims aren’t just mourning — they’re bracing. Grieving quietly, lest their sorrow be misconstrued. I wasn’t only mourning the victims of Pahalgam. I was mourning the silence that followed. I was mourning the fear that crept into Kashmiri households across the country. This is the cruelty of our times — people grieve not only for the dead but for what their identity might cost them tomorrow.
And even grief, if Muslim, is policed. When Muslims mourn Palestinian children or victims of lynching in India, they are asked to justify it. Are you anti-national? Are you a sympathizer? Are you selective? Grief becomes a test. A declaration. A trap. The tragedy here is not just political — it is profoundly moral. Once, those who spoke up were called freedom fighters. Today, they are branded anti-national, urban Naxals, or worse — terrorists.
Islamophobia is not some irrational fear. It is a calculated structure — fed, sustained, and weaponized for power. It justifies silence as loyalty and bigotry as patriotism. It conditions people to look away. To choose comfort over conscience.
[1] https://www.nytimes.com/2025/04/30/world/asia/india-muslims-detentions-demolitions.html
[2] https://www.nytimes.com/2025/04/30/world/asia/india-muslims-detentions-demolitions.html
[3] https://cjp.org.in/another-mob-lynching-of-muslim-men-in-jharkhand-and-up
[4] https://www.nytimes.com/2025/04/30/world/asia/india-muslims-detentions-demolitions.html
[5] https://maktoobmedia.com/india/bihar-muslim-man-dies-in-police-custody-family-alleges-brutal-assault-by-cops/
[6] https://enewsroom.in/saffron-and-israeli-flags-ram-navami-in-bengal-bjp/
[7] https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/what-does-the-uscirf-report-say-about-india-explained/article68734004.ece
[8] https://www.hrw.org/news/2019/02/19/india-vigilante-cow-protection-groups-attack-minorities
[9] https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2024/12/18/government-restrictions-on-religion-stayed-at-peak-levels-globally-in-2022/
[Dr Nousheen Baba Khan holds an MA, MPhil, and PhD in Political Science, with academic specializations in research methodology, political ideology, religion, and gender. A committed rights activist, she participated in a six-month Interfaith Youth Leadership Programme, where she led a Social Action Project and was selected as one of eight participants, all over India, to visit the UK. This exposure to the UK’s academic and civic space further deepened her commitment to bridging scholarly research with on-ground social change.]