Religious Rhetoric And Divisiveness Threaten India’s Democracy—Here’s How We Can Safeguard It

As election rallies in India increasingly echo with religious slogans rather than policy promises, one is reminded that the Indian Constitution’s pillar and pledge—secularism—is under siege. The freedom fighters and the builders of our Republic knew, from the bitter memory of Partition, that mixing religion with politics corrodes both democracy and faith. Yet, seven decades later, the temptation to invoke religion for electoral gain continues to lure political actors. What appears to deliver short-term victories carries serious long-term costs: it fractures society, erodes fraternity, and undermines equality; the very foundations on which Indian democracy rests.

This dangerous trend is evident in the Bihar election campaign, where the ruling party has increasingly weaponised religion to rally voters. BJP leader Giriraj Singh’s recent remark calling those who take government benefits but do not vote for his party as “namak haram” (traitors), exemplifies the extent to which religious divisiveness has poisoned electoral discourse. Such rhetoric, designed to polarise, risks deepening social fractures and undermining the inclusive spirit of India’s democratic culture, where religion has always been a deeply personal matter.

Religion shapes identities, offers moral guidance, and provides continuity across generations. Karl Marx described it as “the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions”. For millions, religion is a refuge in times of uncertainty, a moral compass in times of confusion.

Religious pluralism, as political theorist Robert Dahl has argued, actually strengthens democratic institutions—if kept separate from electoral politics. The transition from small-scale city-state democracy to large-scale nation-state governance fundamentally transformed the nature of political pluralism from a threat to be contained into an essential democratic asset. As Dahl observed, the shift to nation-states brought inevitable diversity—regional, ethnic, religious, ideological, and occupational—that made the classical vision of a homogeneous citizenry united around a singular common good practically impossible. Rather than viewing this multiplication of interests as a democratic defect, modern democratic theory recognises organisational pluralism as both inevitable and necessary for large-scale democracy to function effectively.

That is why, the strength of modern democratic systems lies not in eliminating competing interests but in creating institutional mechanisms—competitive elections, freedom of association, protection of opposition voices—that allow diverse groups to pursue their legitimate concerns within a constitutional framework.

Indeed, it would be a travesty if democratic politics became subservient to any single set of interests, whether religious, economic, or ideological, for such capture would violate the fundamental democratic principle that government must remain responsive to the full spectrum of citizen concerns. Politics, in this understanding, serves as the vital mediating force that prevents any one faction from dominating others while ensuring that all voices have channels for peaceful expression and influence.

The framers of the Constitution were acutely aware of India’s pluralism. In India, this private sphere of religion has been further enriched by an extraordinary multiplicity of traditions, rituals, and philosophies. Faiths have coexisted here for centuries, producing a mosaic of mutual influence alongside tolerance. This coexistence is no historical accident—it is central to the idea of India itself. The Constitution, with its explicit commitment to secularism, sought to preserve this mosaic by ensuring that faith remained a matter of individual conscience rather than a political instrument.

It did not demand the absence of religion from people’s lives. Instead, it insisted that religion should not dictate the terms of citizenship or political legitimacy. Political scientist Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, in their work “How Democracies Die”, identify the weaponisation of religious identity as one of the key warning signs of democratic backsliding, noting that politicians who abandon mutual toleration and forbearance in favour of existential rhetoric about religious communities cause democratic norms to begin to erode.

India did not adopt the Western model of a rigid separation of church and state. Instead, the makers of the Constitution forged a uniquely Indian model: the state would respect all religions equally but remain neutral in matters of faith. This approach echoes what political scientist Alfred Stepan terms “twin tolerations”—the idea that democratic institutions and religious institutions must be willing to give each other sufficient autonomy to function within their respective spheres. This balance was not theoretical but born of necessity. The trauma of Partition had shown the dangers of religious mobilisation. Secularism was chosen not merely as an ideal but as a guarantee of national survival. Without it, the wounds of division would only deepen.

Articles 14, 15 and 16 of the Constitution guarantee equality before the law and prohibit discrimination on the grounds of religion. The Preamble commits India to be a “sovereign, socialist, secular, democratic republic”. The Representation of the People Act, 1951, goes even further: Section 123(3) explicitly prohibits candidates from soliciting votes in the name of religion. The constitutional and legal framework is unambiguous—religion is a matter of personal belief rather than a weapon of political mobilisation.

Blurring of Boundaries

Yet, over the years, this boundary has been repeatedly blurred. Parties and leaders have calculated that religious appeals consolidate vote banks more effectively than promises of governance. Election campaigns have often seen religious symbols, processions, and rhetoric woven into their fabric. In 1989, LK Advani’s Rath Yatra from Somnath to Ayodhya explicitly used religious symbolism to mobilise Hindu votes, leading to widespread communal tensions and riots across northern India. The 1992 Babri Masjid demolition followed extensive political mobilisation around religious identity, with leaders like Bal Thackeray openly calling for Hindu unity against perceived Muslim threats.

More recently, the 2017 Gujarat elections witnessed explicit religious polarisation, with campaign speeches referencing “love jihad” and “vote jihad”, terms that directly targeted religious communities. In Uttar Pradesh’s 2017 Assembly elections, the establishment of the “Anti-Romeo squads” and rhetoric around protecting Hindu women from Muslim men demonstrated how religious anxieties could be manufactured and exploited for electoral gain. This also reveals a crucial dimension often overlooked in discussions of religious politicisation: the deliberate use of women’s bodies and representations as symbols of community honour, where women are framed as carriers of tradition who require protection from perceived threats. The politicisation of religion thus reinforces gender hierarchies by casting women primarily as symbols of community purity rather than autonomous political actors, making genuine democratic participation even more challenging for half the electorate.

The costs of this practice are grave. It undermines equality. In a secular democracy, all citizens are equal regardless of their faith. But if elections are fought on religious lines, some communities are portrayed as more representative of the nation than others. We have seen on multiple occasions that use of religion in politics and public life weakens fraternity; the civic sense of belonging to a common community that is indispensable for democracy.

If politicians pit one community against another, bonds of trust are replaced by suspicion and resentment. As a result of which such appeals and mobilisation on religious basis distracts from governance. Once debates are consumed by religious identity, questions of economic justice, healthcare, education, and employment recede. Democracy becomes less about solving people’s problems and more about dividing them. The “Hindutva” ideology, as articulated by VD Savarkar in 1923 and later operationalised by political movements, exemplifies how religious identity can be transformed into a political project that seeks to redefine citizenship itself. French political scientist Christophe Jaffrelot, a serious observer of Indian history and politics, has documented in detail how this ideology gradually moved from the cultural sphere into electoral politics, fundamentally altering the nature of Indian political discourse.

India is not alone in facing this dilemma. Across the world, religion has been harnessed for political ends, with devastating consequences. In the United States, right-wing religious mobilisation has polarised society for decades. Political scientist Thomas Frank, in his 2004 book, What’s the Matter with Kansas? demonstrated how the Republican Party successfully used religious and cultural issues to mobilise working-class voters against their economic interests, creating a template for religious political mobilisation that has been studied worldwide. In West Asia, sectarian politics has fuelled violence and destroyed states. The rise of Sectarian politics in Iraq post-2003, where several political actors explicitly favoured Shia religious identity over national Iraqi identity, led to the marginalisation of Sunni communities and ultimately contributed to the rise of the ISIS.

Wherever religion enters politics, polarisation follows; wherever sectarianism defines electoral competition, violence is not far behind. What is common across these cases is that religion—meant to bind individuals in a shared moral community, turns into a source of exclusion if weaponised. Instead of inspiring compassion, it legitimises hostility. Instead of elevating politics, it debases it.

Sociologist José Casanova distinguishes between religion’s legitimate public role in civil society and its problematic politicisation. He argues that while religious voices can contribute to public ethical debates, the moment religious institutions or symbols become directly instrumentalised for electoral purposes, they cease to serve their transcendent function and become tools of worldly power. Our own history offers ample warning. Partition itself was the tragic outcome of communal mobilisation. These episodes leave behind a lingering pall of bitterness, alienation, and mistrust that endure for generations.

Equally troubling is how religious polarisation narrows political imagination. If elections are reduced to contests of identity, little room is left for debates on inclusive growth, gender equality, or environmental sustainability. The political arena shrinks from being a marketplace of ideas into a battlefield of identities. This narrowing transform citizenship itself. Instead of being treated as equal individuals, people are reduced to religious categories. One group is cast as the “true nation”, while others are relegated to second-class status. The democratic promise of equal citizenship is hollowed out.

The challenge of managing deep religious and ethnic divisions in democratic societies finds a normative response in what political scientist Arend Lijphart terms consociational democracy. Unlike the majoritarian model that dominates much democratic theory, consociationalism recognises that in deeply segmented societies, where religious, ethnic, racial, or linguistic cleavages coincide rather than cross-cut, traditional majority rule can become a recipe for permanent minority exclusion and democratic breakdown. The consociational alternative rests on four institutional pillars: government by grand coalition that includes representatives from all significant segments in decision-making; segmental autonomy that allows communities to govern their own affairs in matters closest to their identity; proportionality in electoral systems, civil service appointments, and public resource allocation; and minority veto powers to protect vital interests from majoritarian tyranny.

This model has enabled democratic stability in several countries, demonstrating that religious and ethnic diversity need not be democracy’s death knell if appropriate institutions channel competition away from zero-sum winner-takes-all contests toward power-sharing arrangements. The strength of consociationalism lies in its recognition that in heterogeneous societies, political leaders must actively coordinate to prevent the politicisation of deep social cleavages from spiralling into democratic collapse. However, the model’s success depends critically on leaders’ commitment to democratic norms and their willingness to moderate demands in service of system stability, a commitment that can erode if political leaders find electoral advantage in inflaming rather than managing societal divisions.

If religious or ethnic identities become weapons of political mobilisation rather than identities to be accommodated within democratic frameworks, even the most carefully crafted consociational institutions may prove insufficient to preserve democratic peace.

Equality and Fraternity in Peril

The Constitution enshrines justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity as foundational ideals. Among these, equality and fraternity are essential for a diverse society like India to coexist peacefully. Equality ensures equal treatment under law. Fraternity binds people together beyond caste, creed, or religion. Dr BR Ambedkar, while introducing the draft Constitution, warned that without fraternity, equality and liberty themselves would remain fragile. Fraternity is the moral glue of democracy, assuring dignity and unity. Religion-based campaigns tear at this glue. They transform fellow citizens into rivals, neighbours into adversaries. Ambedkar’s own experience with religious conversion to Buddhism in 1956, undertaken as a form of social protest against caste discrimination, illustrates the complex relationship between religion and social justice.

However, crucially, Ambedkar never sought to politicise his religious choice or use it as a tool for electoral mobilisation. His vision was of a society where religious faith would be a matter of individual conscience rather than political strategy. Ambedkar's warning remains chillingly relevant: political democracy cannot last without social democracy. If liberty, equality, and fraternity collapse under the weight of sectarian mobilisation, the Republic itself will stand on shaky ground.

The law already prohibits religious appeals in elections. But enforcement has often been weak, and political will even weaker. The Supreme Court's landmark judgement in SR Bommai vs The Union of India clearly established that secularism is part of the basic structure of the Constitution and cannot be altered even by constitutional amendment. However, the Court’s subsequent decisions in several cases have created ambiguity by distinguishing between religion as a “way of life” versus religion as faith, inadvertently providing space for political manipulation.

The challenge is not merely legal but moral and political and we seem to be carrying the business-as-usual approach. Courts and the Election Commission can restrain religious campaigning, but the deeper responsibility lies with political actors and citizens. Leaders must rediscover constitutional morality; the recognition that democracy thrives if citizens are addressed as equals rather than as members of antagonistic faiths. Citizens, in turn, must resist being reduced to communal vote banks and instead demand accountability on issues that affect all: jobs, healthcare, education, climate resilience, and justice.

It is important to underline once again that secularism does not mean hostility to religion. Freedom of religion is itself a fundamental right under Articles 25 to 28. Religion will and should continue to inspire individuals, shape values, and guide cultural traditions. Its strength lies in its intimacy—in the quiet faith of individuals, in the rituals that give continuity to communities, in the moral guidance it offers across generations. But if dragged into political campaigns, religion loses this spiritual power. It becomes a tool of division rather than a source of meaning. Politics must not be guided by religious dogma but by constitutional morality. Philosopher John Rawls argued that in a pluralistic democracy, public political discourse should be conducted in terms that all citizens can reasonably accept, regardless of their particular religious or philosophical commitments—a principle he called “public reason”.

The Way Forward

The choice before India is stark. Either we reaffirm the secular promise of the Constitution, or we allow religion-based politics to hollow out democracy. To safeguard the Republic, three steps are urgent. Parties must commit to keeping religion out of electoral campaigns. Every time faith is invoked for votes, it corrodes the secular foundations of our democracy and deepens social fault lines. Leaders should be judged on their ideas, vision, and record of governance rather than on sectarian appeals. The successful model of the Dravidian parties in Tamil Nadu, which have largely kept religious appeals out of electoral politics while focusing on social justice and regional identity, demonstrates that secular politics can be both principled and electorally successful. What is more, it can also deliver economic and social goods. India’s Constitution envisions equality and fraternity, and that promise can be safeguarded if politics is cleansed of religious manipulation.

The Election Commission and the judiciary carry a special responsibility to guard the secular fabric of Indian democracy. To allow the misuse of religion in campaigns is to weaken both the Constitution and the Representation of the People Act. These institutions must act with greater rigour and consistency, ensuring that violations are not reduced to mere formalities but are met with decisive consequences. The Election Commission's failure to take decisive action against hate speech during campaigns, as documented in reports by the Association for Democratic Reforms, has emboldened political actors to push the boundaries of acceptable electoral discourse. Only then can the promise of free, fair, and secular elections be upheld.

Ultimately, the greatest safeguard of democracy lies with the citizens themselves. Voters must refuse to be reduced to religious vote banks and reject the lure of sectarian rhetoric. Instead, they should demand as Gen Z, as students, as job seekers, as workers and employees, and so on, policies that confront real challenges—employment, healthcare, education, equity, and justice. The work of political scientist Ashutosh Varshney demonstrates that cities with strong civic associations that cut across religious lines are more resistant to communal violence, suggesting that citizen engagement in secular civic life is crucial for maintaining democratic resilience. Only if citizens insist on substance over symbolism can politics be reclaimed for the common good and the democratic promise of equality and fraternity be truly realised.

A Republic at the Crossroads

Religion ennobles the soul if it is personal; it debases democracy if it is politicised. India's founders understood this truth. That is why they enshrined secularism in the Constitution, not as an abstract idea but as the foundation of national unity. Today, as religion increasingly intrudes into political campaigns, the very idea of India is at risk. Equality is compromised if citizens are divided by faith. Fraternity is destroyed if communities are pitted against each other. Democracy itself is weakened if civic debate is replaced by sectarian calculations.

If democracy is to flourish, politics must rest on the pillars of equality, fraternity, and justice rather than on the fragile ground of religious mobilisation. Only then can India preserve the delicate balance that allows democracy and faith to coexist in harmony. As constitutional scholar Granville Austin noted, the Indian Constitution represents a revolutionary document precisely because it sought to create a secular, egalitarian society from a deeply hierarchical and religiously divided social base. To safeguard India's democracy, we must insist that in the political domain, we are not Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Sikhs, or others. We are, above all, equal citizens bound together in fraternity.

Manoj Kumar Jha is Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha), Rashtriya Janata Dal and the author of In Praise of Coalition Politics and Other Essays on Indian Democracy (Speaking Tiger Books, Delhi, 2025).

The views expressed are personal.