When Faith Becomes a Political Weapon

“Religion teaches us how to live with one another, but politics sometimes teaches us why we should live apart.”

Anil K. Sharma
In my previous article, Religion, Region and Political Rhetoric, I raised some questions that generated encouraging responses as well as criticism. I welcomed both because a society grows intellectually when people are willing to question, discuss and disagree. The responses encouraged me to take this discussion a little further. Perhaps the real issue is not religion or region itself, but the way we understand these identities and the manner in which political leadership uses them to influence our thinking.

Today, we live in an age of communication where geographical boundaries no longer prevent us from hearing the voices of people living in different countries. We can listen to ordinary citizens, intellectuals and social commentators in India, Pakistan and elsewhere without crossing a border. When I follow these voices, I often find that people share remarkably similar concerns about their children’s future, livelihood, dignity, peace and quality of governance. Yet, when political discourse enters the picture, these common concerns are frequently overshadowed by religious differences, historical grievances and competing claims of national superiority.

This makes me wonder whether religion, which should ideally help us become better human beings, is increasingly being used as a political instrument to strengthen the authority of rulers and mobilise the masses. I am not questioning an individual’s faith. Religion is deeply personal and, for millions, a source of comfort, discipline, compassion and hope. My concern begins when political ambition takes shelter behind religion, when rulers or political organisations claim to represent the exclusive interests of a particular faith, and when people are persuaded that their religion is superior to others.

History offers enough examples of how religion and political power have influenced one another. Rulers have often invoked religious identity to unite their followers, legitimise authority or mobilise support. But history also tells us that political relationships do not always follow religious boundaries. Kingdoms fought wars against others of the same faith, while rulers sometimes cooperated with people belonging to different religious traditions. The history of the Indian subcontinent itself is far more complex than a simple division of rulers and people into religious camps.

The reign of Emperor Ashoka offers an interesting illustration. Following the Kalinga war, his inscriptions emphasised restraint, respect for other religious traditions and the avoidance of unnecessary criticism of other faiths. His message was that people should respect different beliefs rather than glorify their own traditions by disparaging those of their neighbours. Similarly, Emperor Akbar’s efforts to encourage dialogue among different religious traditions and accommodate diverse communities demonstrate that political leadership can use its authority either to deepen divisions or to create space for coexistence.

These historical examples are not meant to portray any ruler as perfect, but they remind us that religious diversity need not be a political obstacle to good governance.

The question becomes even more relevant when we examine the relationship between religion and nationhood in the modern era. The Partition of India in 1947 remains one of the most painful examples of how religious identity became intertwined with political ambitions. The two-nation theory contributed to the creation of Pakistan, although the circumstances leading to Partition involved several political, constitutional and colonial factors. The tragedy was that millions of people who had shared the same geographical, linguistic and cultural world suddenly found themselves separated by a border.

But history did not end there. In 1971, East Pakistan became Bangladesh. Despite sharing the same religion with West Pakistan, differences over language, political representation, economic inequality and regional identity contributed to its separation. This experience demonstrated that a common religion alone cannot guarantee national unity when people’s language, dignity and political aspirations are neglected. A nation requires justice, equal representation and a genuine sense of belonging.

This brings me to another aspect of our social existence that, in my view, deserves greater attention: the importance of region, language and local customs.

Long before modern political boundaries and organised religious identities assumed their present forms, people developed distinctive ways of living in response to their geography, climate, occupations and social relationships. They created languages, folk traditions, festivals, music, crafts and customs that gave their communities a sense of continuity. These regional identities often coexist with religion, enrich it and give it a distinctive cultural expression.

I often recall my student days in Jammu during the 1970s and 1980s, when our everyday life reflected a shared regional culture. Our dress, food habits, language and social interactions had much in common. It was often difficult to identify a person’s religious background merely by looking at them. Religious identity was certainly present, but it did not always occupy such a visible place in our everyday social relationships.

Over the years, I feel that the visible distinction between communities has become more pronounced. There is absolutely nothing wrong with expressing one’s faith through dress, symbols or religious practices. Everyone has the freedom to do so. What concerns me is whether, alongside this growing visibility of religious identity, we are also becoming more conscious of our differences and less connected through our shared cultural experiences.

Are we gradually moving from a society where religion was one aspect of our identity towards one where it increasingly defines how we present ourselves and perceive others? The real issue is not what a person wears or how one practises faith, but whether these expressions bring greater humility, compassion and mutual respect into our lives or become markers of separation and competing claims of superiority.

In our own Jammu and Kashmir, the Dogra, Kashmiri, Pahari, Gujjar, Bakarwal and other communities have distinctive linguistic and cultural traditions. Their experiences differ, but their histories are also connected through geography, trade, social interaction and shared regional life. To understand this society only through the prism of religion would be to overlook much of its richness. Our languages, folk songs, traditional hospitality and collective memories are important parts of who we are.

I would therefore argue that regional identity deserves recognition as an organic expression of society, not as a political boundary that separates people from one another. But region, too, can be misused. When regional pride becomes hostility towards other communities or when local identity is used to deny fellow citizens dignity and opportunity, it loses its constructive purpose.

There is another interesting dimension to this argument which we can observe in the growth and prosperity of our metropolitan cities. Cities such as Mumbai, Delhi, Bengaluru and Hyderabad bring together people belonging to different religions, regions, languages and cultural backgrounds. People arrive with different customs and beliefs, but their everyday concerns are remarkably similar. They want a job, a better business opportunity, good education for their children and a dignified life for their families.

In the daily struggle for survival and progress, the first question is often not which religion a person follows or which region they come from, but what opportunities they can create and how they can grow. A businessman looks for customers, an entrepreneur looks for markets, and a young professional looks for career advancement. Their success depends on trust, competence, cooperation and the ability to recognise opportunities beyond social identities.

Of course, metropolitan life is not free from religious prejudice, regional discrimination or social inequality. But the economic dynamism of these cities demonstrates what becomes possible when people from diverse backgrounds work, trade, innovate and build enterprises together. Their mutual economic interests often bring them closer than divisive political narratives ever could.

This raises a question for our society. Why should we allow religion and regional identity to dominate our public discourse when the everyday realities of economic progress demand cooperation? Instead of repeatedly debating whose culture or faith is superior, should we not be discussing how to create more employment, encourage entrepreneurship, improve education and healthcare, and build better opportunities for our citizens?

Prosperity does not ask people to abandon their faith or forget their cultural roots. It asks them to work together, respect one another and recognise that progress becomes more sustainable when its benefits reach people across communities. Perhaps our metropolitan cities are teaching us a lesson that our politics still struggles to learn: people may differ in their beliefs, but they can share the same dreams, work towards the same opportunities and build a better future together.

Another question that has occupied my thoughts is whether the core moral teachings of different religions are as different as political rhetoric sometimes suggests. Religious traditions certainly differ in their beliefs about God, worship, salvation and spiritual practices. These differences are real and deserve respect. Yet, when we examine their ethical teachings, we repeatedly encounter common concerns: truthfulness, compassion, charity, restraint, justice, forgiveness and responsibility towards others.

The Bhagavad Gita discusses selfless action and the importance of performing one’s duty without attachment to its rewards. The Buddha’s teachings emphasise compassion, non-harm and the reduction of suffering. The Quran repeatedly stresses justice, charity and responsibility towards the vulnerable. The Bible teaches love of one’s neighbour and compassion for those in need. Sikh teachings emphasise honest living, service and sharing with others.

These traditions are not identical, but their ethical teachings offer considerable common ground for humanity. If truth, compassion and good conduct occupy such an important place in these traditions, why do we so often allow religious identity to become a source of hostility? Why should a person who follows a different faith automatically be considered less moral, less trustworthy or less entitled to respect?

Perhaps the answer lies partly in our tendency to confuse faith with the political interpretation of faith. An individual may practise religion sincerely while disagreeing with a political leader who claims to speak in its name. A person may be deeply attached to regional culture without supporting every demand made by a regional political organisation. Our identities are not single compartments. We are members of families, communities, linguistic groups, professions and nations, while each of us also carries individual convictions and experiences.

The danger begins when political narratives encourage us to surrender this independence of thought. People are told that their religion is under threat, that their region is being neglected by design, or that another community is responsible for their difficulties. Complex social and economic problems are reduced to simple emotional explanations. The promise of dignity becomes a slogan, and the demand for justice becomes an instrument of political mobilisation.

Meanwhile, the everyday concerns of ordinary people remain unanswered. Young people need employment, children need good schools, families need affordable healthcare, and citizens need institutions that treat them fairly. These problems cannot be solved by declaring one religion superior to another or by turning regional pride into a contest for political dominance. They require competent governance, honest public debate and the willingness to work together.

I do not suggest that religion should disappear from public life or that people should abandon their cultural identities. That would neither be realistic nor desirable. Religion can inspire charity, service and courage, while regional traditions preserve the diversity that gives a society its character. The need is to ensure that neither becomes an instrument of exclusion and that political authority remains accountable to the public good.

The real test of any religious or political ideology should be the quality of human life it helps create. Does it encourage people to speak the truth, treat others fairly and help those in need? Does it protect the vulnerable, promote education and enable communities to live peacefully? Or does it encourage suspicion, prejudice and the belief that one group can prosper only at the expense of another?

These are questions we must ask of our leaders, but also of ourselves. It is convenient to blame political figures for exploiting public sentiments, yet their influence depends partly on our willingness to accept every claim without examination. We must learn to distinguish genuine faith from political manipulation, legitimate regional aspirations from divisive rhetoric, and patriotism from the demand for unquestioning agreement.

I believe our future depends on our ability to preserve the best of our religious and regional identities while refusing to become prisoners of them. We should be proud of our traditions without assuming that others are inferior. We should defend our faith without denying another person’s freedom of belief. We should love our region without turning our fellow citizens into outsiders.

Ultimately, religion should help us become more humane, regional identity should remind us of our shared cultural roots, and politics should create the conditions in which these differences can coexist with dignity and equality.

Perhaps it is time to ask ourselves a simple question: if the purpose of faith is to make us better human beings, why do we allow those who seek political power to use it to make us suspicious of one another?

Let us not measure the greatness of a religion by the political power claimed in its name, but by the humanity it inspires. Let us not measure the worth of a region by whom it excludes, but by the richness of the life it offers its people. And let us judge our leaders not by the identities they invoke, but by the justice, dignity and prosperity they deliver.

Our faiths may differ, our languages may vary and our regions may have their own histories. But the tears of a mother, the anxieties of a father, the dreams of a young person and the desire for a dignified life are not confined to any religion or region.

Faith should deepen our humanity, culture should enrich our society, and politics should improve our lives. The day we reverse this order, we lose sight of what truly matters.

(STRAIGHT TALK COMMUNICATIONS EXCLUSIVE. The Author is a Columnist | Former Banker | Social Commentator. Email: anil.kumar.sharma9419@gmail.com)