[ Ashok Sonam Tajo ]
The Arunachal Pradesh Freedom of Religion Act (APFRA), 1978, is a contentious piece of legislation that has sparked polarised views in the state. Its merits and drawbacks hinge on the perspectives of indigenous communities, religious minorities, and constitutional scholars. Below is an analysis of whether the Act is good or bad, based on its objectives, implementation concerns, and broader implications.
Arguments in favour of the APFRA
Proponents, including groups like the Indigenous Faith and Cultural Society of Arunachal Pradesh (IFCSAP) and Donyi Polo believers, argue that the Act safeguards the state’s rich tribal heritage. By restricting conversions through “force, fraud, or inducement,” it aims to preserve indigenous faiths like Donyi Polo, which are seen as integral to tribal identity.
Chief Minister Pema Khandu has emphasised that the Act protects cultural festivals and traditions, ensuring they are passed down in their “purest form.”
Supporters claim that the Act addresses concerns about coercive or fraudulent conversions, particularly by so-called foreign missionaries. Historical records suggest that the Act was initially designed to curb aggressive proselytization by Christian missionaries, which some indigenous groups perceived as a threat to their traditions. The Supreme Court’s ruling in Rev Stainislaus vs State of Madhya Pradesh supports the legality of such laws, affirming that the right to propagate religion does not include a right to convert others through improper means.
The Gauhati High Court’s directive to frame rules for the Act underscores its legal necessity. After lying dormant for over four decades, the Act’s revival is seen by some as a step towards fulfilling a long-pending legislative obligation, aligning with the state’s responsibility to protect its unique socio-cultural fabric.
Arguments against the APFRA
Critics, including the Arunachal Christian Forum (ACF) and the Arunachal Law Students’ Union (ALSU), argue that the Act infringes on Article 25 of the Indian Constitution, which guarantees the right to freely profess, practice, and propagate religion. The vague definitions of ‘force’, ‘fraud’, and ‘inducement’ create ambiguity, potentially criminalising voluntary conversions and subjecting individuals to bureaucratic scrutiny or harassment.
The Act is widely perceived as discriminatory, particularly against Christians, who constitute about around 30% of state’s population. Historical accounts document instances of violence, church demolitions, and harassment of Christians under the Act’s pretext, raising concerns about its misuse to suppress minority faiths. The ACF’s protests, including hunger strikes and demonstrations, highlight fears that the Act could curtail religious freedom and foster social division.
The Act’s 45-year dormancy suggests it was not essential for maintaining social harmony. Critics argue that existing laws, like the Indian Penal Code, already address coercion or fraud, rendering the APFRA redundant. Its sudden revival, without clear evidence of widespread forced conversions, raises suspicions about political motives, especially given its alignment with similar anti-conversion laws in states like Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh, which have been deemed unconstitutional.
The Act’s enforcement risks escalating religious tensions in a state known for its diversity and peaceful coexistence. The Arunachal Indigenous Tribes’ Forum (AITF) has warned that polarising rhetoric and protests could disrupt the state’s tranquillity and hinder development. Policies that sow mistrust among communities contradict India’s secular ethos and may set a precedent for similar restrictive laws elsewhere.
Critical examination
The APFRA, 1978, reflects a complex tension between cultural preservation and individual rights. On one hand, protecting indigenous faiths in a region with unique tribal identities is a legitimate concern, especially given historical anxieties about external influences. On the other hand, the Act’s broad language and potential for misuse threaten constitutional guarantees and minority rights. The lack of clear evidence for mass coercive conversions weakens the case for its necessity, while its revival after decades of dormancy suggests possible political motivations rather than urgent social need. The Act’s alignment with similar laws in other states, which have been criticised for violating Article 25, raises red flags about its constitutional validity.
True preservation of indigenous culture, as critics suggest, could be achieved through positive measures- like cultural education and support for tribal institutions – rather than restrictive legislation that polices personal beliefs.
Conclusion: Good or bad?
The Arunachal Pradesh Freedom of Religion Act, 1978, stands at a crossroads of cultural pride and personal liberty, sparking a debate that’s as vibrant as Arunachal’s diverse heritage. Its noble aim to shield indigenous faiths like Donyi Polo, Buddhism, etc, from erosion is a rallying cry for tribal identity, yet its shadowy potential for misuse casts a chill over constitutional freedoms.
Is it a guardian of religious protection or a gatekeeper of division? The answer hinges on execution. For the Act to shine as a beacon of ‘good’, it demands crystal-clear definitions to curb abuse, compelling evidence of its need, and a chorus of voices -Christian, Donyi-Polo, and beyond – shaping its path, as Chief Minister Pema Khandu has pledged. Without these, it risks tipping toward ‘bad’, fraying the state’s tapestry of unity and dimming its secular spirit.
Let Arunachal choose harmony over discord, weaving a future where culture and choice dance hand in hand.
