By Ahan S. Prakash
When you look at how majoritarian political organizations operate on the world stage versus at home, it’s almost impossible not to feel like you’re watching two different realities unfold side by side. Take the transnational cultural groups tied to India’s ruling party, for example. In Western democracies, in international policy circles, at academic panels, at diaspora gatherings, you’ll hear constant talk about pluralism, brotherhood, and building bridges between cultures. Representatives of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) and their affiliates put ancient philosophical ideals front and center, making their movement seem gentle, inclusive, even benevolent, a supposed force for global peace and harmony.
But go back to India and the story turns inside out. Life for minorities, especially under state governments led by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), which is the political face of the RSS, is a far cry from the idealistic language declared abroad. Here, those noble declarations unravel into persistent hostility and vigilante violence, especially against minority communities. The steady stream of assaults on Christians across India, from cities to villages, makes this disconnect painfully clear. The language of universal love and harmony that’s carefully packaged for international audiences ends up working mainly as a shield, a way to fend off criticism, while, under the radar, the actual strategy at home leans heavily on dividing communities by religion to secure political power.
Human rights groups keep track of these patterns, and their data isn’t subtle about what’s happening. India Hate Lab, among others, found at least sixty anti-Christian incidents spread over thirteen districts in West Bengal during just four months, mid-May to late September. Out of these, fifty-two were direct attacks: raids on private prayer meetings, churches, or gatherings at people’s homes. The other cases involved physical assaults, mob violence, or vandalism of religious property. The map of these attacks is telling: both rural and urban areas are hit, and places like South 24 Parganas and Paschim Medinipur each saw more than a dozen raids in that short time frame.
Specific cases drill even deeper. In June, members of the Hindu Jagaran Manch vandalized a church in South 24 Parganas, and in Subhashgram, supporters tore down a church under construction, smashing crosses and chanting religious slogans. In Sandeshkhali, things escalated further, activists barged into Christian-majority neighborhoods, grilling residents for citizenship documents and mocking their faith as some leftover colonial relic. These aren’t a few bad actors; they reflect a pattern, with incidents springing up in many districts, each episode reinforcing the chilling message.
The violence isn’t gender-neutral, either. Christian women have been singled out for humiliation and even assault. In Barrackpore, members of the Vishva Hindu Parishad and Bajrang Dal accused several women of conversion activities, physically attacked and tied them up, all while others watched. Women in Purba Medinipur were forced to remove traditional jewelry, bangles, and publicly mocked for their beliefs. Leaders from the Bangiya Christiya Pariseba, the main Christian body in the state, keep saying: these stories about mass conversion aren’t organic, they’re just invented to justify bullying and intimidation.
A striking part of all this is how so-called ‘anti-conversion’ vigilance works. It’s not about the law, it’s about letting mobs break into people’s homes, disrupt bible studies or family prayers, and terrorize worshippers. The excuse given is almost always political, people say the new regime means Christians shouldn’t be allowed to gather anymore. And the police? They’re often in the room. In Purulia, Kulpi, and Bhatpara, police watched as mobs stormed into houses; sometimes, officers turned around and detained worshippers themselves, grabbed religious literature, and justified it as an ‘investigation’ into conversions. No evidence, just aggressive policing that sides with vigilantes rather than protecting constitutional freedoms.
The language of universal love and harmony carefully packaged for international audiences ends up working mainly as a shield to fend off criticism.
The bigger picture across India is just as grim, and it’s getting worse. Groups like the United Christian Forum (UCF) and the Evangelical Fellowship of India’s Religious Liberty Commission (EFIRLC) compile the numbers: in 2021 there were 486 reported anti-Christian incidents. In 2022, that jumped to 601. 734 in 2023, 834 in 2024, and by 2025, close to 900 verified attacks. It’s not just the numbers, these cases include pastors getting assaulted, mobs raiding homes during Christmas or Easter, destruction of property, and even organized efforts to refuse Christian families burial rights in tribal communities.
When police and local officials look the other way, or directly participate, these vigilante groups get a clear signal: they can act with impunity. State anti-conversion laws in places like Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, and Gujarat, which are supposed to prevent coercion, have mostly become tools to intimidate and imprison minority leaders. Monitoring by Christian Solidarity International found that, at the start of 2026, over 110 Christians were still behind bars under these anti-conversion rules, with hundreds more having cycled in and out in recent months. Far from protecting freedom of belief, the state machinery is criminalizing basic religious practices.
What’s remarkable is how sharply this Indian reality diverges from the rosy stories told overseas. Diaspora groups, often long settled in the West, present themselves as beacons of diversity and defenders of multicultural rights. They draw on civil rights language to argue for representation and anti-discrimination protections, all the while sidestepping or recasting the attacks going on back home. This keeps the financial and moral support of the diaspora flowing, lets India’s political project win legitimacy abroad, even as it grows ever more intolerant at home. The world gets an image of harmony; the grassroots get a campaign built on exclusion.
The personal cost of this climate comes through in the words of veteran activist John Dayal. He’s watched anti-Christian hostility shift from headline-grabbing riots to a more bureaucratic, drawn-out kind of pressure. Daily life for many minorities means living with harassment that’s become routine, worship services disrupted, social boycotts, endless legal battles for rural pastors. EFIRLC’s reports underline the same reality: these days, the main threat isn’t just dramatic violence, but the constant administrative harassment and intimidation, which quietly wear people down and create an atmosphere of permanent vulnerability.
Ultimately, this two-faced approach chips away at India’s constitutional promises. After independence, the country’s laws were rooted in secularism, equal rights, and state neutrality toward religion. Now, by letting vigilante groups call the shots over how minorities live and worship, and standing by while violence goes unpunished, state institutions quietly create a new hierarchy of citizenship. When vandalism, graveyard desecrations, or threats get met with silence or bureaucratic foot-dragging, it sends a message: majoritarian aggression is tolerated, maybe even encouraged.
Real religious freedom isn’t measured by polished speeches or diaspora campaigns, it comes down to safety, equality before the law, and whether minorities can live their faith openly.
For anyone outside India, whether you’re in government, academia, or just watching global politics, it’s vital to see through the soft-power PR. Diplomatic engagement that swallows the positive messaging while ignoring clear, documented persecution only makes the problem worse. Real religious freedom isn’t measured by polished speeches or diaspora campaigns, it comes down to safety, equality before the law, and whether minorities can live their faith openly. Unless the world insists on holding India to the same standard at home and abroad, the gap between the glowing language of inclusion and the harsh reality of exclusion will only get wider.
About the Author
Ahan S. Prakash is a Geopolitical analyst and columnist covering South Asian affairs, strategic security, and international relations.