I Love Muhammad” Controversy: A Constitutional Crossroads for Faith, Freedom, and the Fragile Secularism of Uttar Pradesh
September 24, 2025 | Kanpur, Uttar Pradesh
In the industrial city of Kanpur, a city long known for its coexistence of cultures and communities, a symbolic expression of devotion—“I Love Muhammad”—has become a national flashpoint. The events that unfolded following Eid-e-Milad-un-Nabi have moved beyond a local dispute to expose deep fissures in India’s constitutional commitment to secularism, minority rights, and the equal application of law. What began as a spiritual celebration has morphed into a constitutional litmus test—one that critics argue the Uttar Pradesh state apparatus has failed.
The Incident: Devotion or Disruption?
The controversy erupted on September 4, 2025, in the Syed Nagar locality of Kanpur. During a peaceful Barawafat procession commemorating the Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) birth, a lighted banner bearing the phrase “I Love Muhammad” was temporarily displayed. The installation, situated along a common procession route used by both Hindu and Muslim festivals, was removed by police following objections from local Hindu groups who called it a “new custom” and a disturbance to communal harmony.
Yet, observers argue that similar public religious displays—particularly during Hindu festivals like Ram Navami or Kanwar Yatra—rarely face such swift police action or legal reprisal. That double standard, say constitutional experts, underscores the dangerous normalization of selective secularism.
The Legal Overreach: Law as a Tool of Suppression?
Instead of quelling tension, the state’s response amplified it. On September 9, a sweeping FIR was lodged by Sub-Inspector Pankaj Sharma at Rawatpur police station, invoking stringent sections of the Indian Penal Code—153A, 295A, and 505—against nine named individuals, two vehicle drivers, and 15 unnamed persons.
The charges, typically reserved for inciting religious violence, were applied to what multiple legal analysts describe as a non-violent, constitutionally protected act of religious expression. Advocate Mohammad Imran Khan stated pointedly:
“Where is the provocation? Where is the incitement? To label an expression of love for one’s Prophet as criminal is not law enforcement; it is religious persecution.”
This, he argued, is a direct affront to Article 25 of the Indian Constitution, which guarantees the right to freely profess, practice, and propagate religion.
Selective Policing and Systemic Bias
The situation intensified with videos and testimonies surfacing of disproportionate police action, particularly in Muslim-majority areas. In Kanpur, FIRs were filed against dozens, many of whom were not even present at the scene. Across the state—in Unnao, Bareilly, Lucknow, Kashipur, and Godhra—protests, mostly peaceful, were met with lathi charges, FIRs, and mass detentions. In some cases, accused individuals were publicly paraded and humiliated—an act that legal scholars argue violates Article 21, which enshrines the right to dignity.
Critics have drawn comparisons with the unimpeded celebration of Hindu festivals, which often involve public processions, temporary installations, and religious slogans. No FIRs are typically filed for “Jai Shri Ram” banners, even when they obstruct public roads. “This is not about law and order,” said rights activist Nadeem Khan. “This is about which community gets criminalized for devotion.”
Protests, Solidarity, and Pushback
The police action catalyzed an unprecedented show of solidarity—both online and offline. On social media, the hashtag #ILoveMuhammad trended globally, with posts from citizens, scholars, and even celebrities. AIMIM leader Asaduddin Owaisi’s poetic defense of the slogan garnered millions of views, positioning the issue as one of identity and constitutional defiance.
From Kanpur to Mumbai, and from Nagpur to Hyderabad, rallies condemned the Uttar Pradesh government’s handling of the affair. Women-led protests in Lucknow, spearheaded by Sumaiya Rana, daughter of poet Munawwar Rana, brought a gendered and emotional dimension to the resistance.
“Why is the law only harsh when we speak our faith?” she asked. “Our love for the Prophet is not a threat—it is our right.”
Even in volatile moments, such as the protest in Unnao that turned violent, the underlying anger was directed not at other communities, but at state overreach and perceived institutional Islamophobia.
A Pattern, Not an Exception
What makes this incident particularly troubling is how consistent it is with a broader trend. Under the current regime in Uttar Pradesh, led by Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath, several actions—such as bulldozer demolitions, anti-conversion laws, and the policing of interfaith relationships—have disproportionately affected the Muslim minority. In 2025 alone, over 30% of demolitions under the so-called “anti-encroachment drives” targeted Muslim-owned structures—many without due legal process.
The invocation of public order to justify religious suppression, critics argue, is becoming a pretext for majoritarianism, in clear contradiction of India’s secular framework.
Hope in Resistance: Unity Amid Division
Yet, amidst the polarization, glimpses of unity offered a counter-narrative. In Sharda Nagar, Kanpur, a protest for FIR withdrawal included Hindu neighbors and interfaith activists. Groups like Team Rising Falcon and Citizens for Constitutional Rights documented instances where Sikh, Christian, and Hindu citizens stood with Muslims, framing the controversy as a human rights issue, not merely a religious one.
As Hazrat Syed Mohammad Ashraf Kichhouchhwi, Chairman of the World Sufi Forum, warned:
“Every time law is bent against one community, the constitutional foundation of India weakens. Bias isn’t just unjust—it’s unpatriotic.”
State Response: Too Little, Too Late?
Facing mounting backlash, the Kanpur Police issued a clarification on September 24, stating that no FIR was filed solely for the slogan and that cases against “innocents” would be withdrawn. But the damage is done. Civil society remains skeptical, pointing to the initial intent and breadth of the crackdown as evidence of systemic rot.
“Backtracking doesn’t undo the injustice,” said poet-activist Rasheeq Anwar, who participated in a secular solidarity march. “What’s on trial here is not a banner—but the soul of Indian democracy.”
Conclusion: Between Devotion and Discrimination
The “I Love Muhammad” saga lays bare a stark question: In the world’s largest democracy, is public faith permissible for all—or only for some? The events in Uttar Pradesh have not merely sparked protest; they have exposed the fragility of constitutional protections when governance becomes entangled with ideology.
For now, the banners may be down. But what they represented—love, identity, and resistance—continues to ripple through the body politic. At stake is more than one community’s right to celebrate. At stake is the very idea of India as a pluralistic, constitutional republic.
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