As the Christmas carols echo and the world steps into the festive season, India is left grappling with a troubling contradiction. While much of the world marked Christmas as a moment of peace, reflection and shared joy, the days leading up to and surrounding the festival once again witnessed a chain of disturbing incidents in which minorities—particularly Christians—were attacked, harassed or intimidated in the name of alleged religious conversion. That such incidents occurred during a season meant to celebrate goodwill makes them all the more jarring, and forces an uncomfortable reckoning with the direction in which public discourse and social behaviour are drifting.
Christmas, commemorating the birth of Jesus, son of Mary, has long transcended religious boundaries. Globally and in India, it has become a cultural moment that draws people of different faiths together in celebration. Goa has traditionally embodied this inclusive spirit. Midnight Mass is not attended only by Catholics; people from across religious lines walk into churches, exchange greetings, share cake and coffee, and return home with a sense of shared belonging. This lived experience of pluralism has been one of Goa’s quiet strengths and a reflection of India’s broader civilisational ethos.
Yet, even as Christmas celebrations began globally, in India there were renewed attempts to vitiate the atmosphere. Right-wing groups once again raised the familiar spectre of “forced conversions”, targeting Christmas gatherings, charity programmes and community celebrations. Across several States, reports emerged of prayer meetings being disrupted, Christmas parties being stopped, people wearing Santa caps being questioned or assaulted, and minority families being threatened or socially boycotted. These incidents were not spontaneous expressions of grievance; they followed a well-worn script in which faith-based gatherings are deliberately portrayed as covert conversion exercises.
The pattern is not limited to Christians alone. Over the past few years, minorities—particularly Christians and Muslims—have repeatedly faced violence, intimidation and legal harassment on allegations of forced or fraudulent religious conversion. From mob attacks in tribal belts of central India to the disruption of house prayers in urban neighbourhoods, the “conversion card” has been played with alarming regularity. In several cases, victims have alleged that the police response was slow, indifferent or even hostile, deepening the sense of vulnerability among already marginalised communities.
What lends this narrative a dangerous legitimacy is the persistent political rhetoric that keeps the issue simmering, despite clear judicial observations to the contrary. Courts in multiple states have, over time, pointed out the lack of evidence to support claims of organised or forced mass conversions. High Courts have observed that adult citizens are free to choose their faith, and that mere allegations—without proof of coercion, fraud or inducement—cannot justify criminal action. In some instances, investigations have failed to substantiate conversion claims, leading to acquittals or the quashing of cases.
Yet, the slow pace of judicial hearings and prolonged legal processes often work against the accused. Even when courts ultimately rule that no forced conversions took place, the damage is already done. Lives are disrupted, reputations destroyed, communities polarised and fear firmly embedded. The ruling dispensation and its allied ideological wings continue to invoke the conversion narrative, not as a matter of legal concern, but as a political tool. The delay between accusation and judicial resolution becomes fertile ground for propaganda, ensuring that suspicion lingers long after facts have been established.
This persistent vilification is particularly ironic when viewed against the historical role of Christian missionaries in India’s social development. In Goa and across the country, missionary-run institutions have been pillars of education, healthcare and social service. Generations of Indians—including many who now occupy positions of power, influence and authority—were educated in these very institutions. To now paint these organisations as conspirators engaged in deceitful conversions reflects not only selective memory, but a deliberate effort to rewrite social realities to suit ideological ends.
Christmas, however, offers a reminder that transcends politics and polemics. The festival symbolises peace, compassion and humility. Jesus’ life and message were rooted in love, service and submission to the will of the Almighty—not in domination or coercion. To attack individuals or communities in his name, or to target them during the celebration of his birth, is to fundamentally misunderstand the essence of faith itself.
India’s constitutional promise rests on the protection of individual liberty, including the freedom of conscience and religion. Festivals like Christmas, Eid and Diwali have long been shared cultural moments, reinforcing social bonds rather than fracturing them. When these occasions become flashpoints for fear and violence, it signals a deeper malaise—one where diversity is increasingly viewed with suspicion and difference is treated as a threat.
There is a pressing need for introspection. Political leadership must stop stoking anxieties that have little basis in fact and enormous consequences on the ground. Law enforcement agencies must act impartially and protect citizens rather than succumb to pressure from vigilante groups. Most importantly, society must refuse to normalise hate, even when it is cloaked in the language of faith or nationalism.
Peace cannot be postponed, and pluralism cannot be conditional.
Peace and pluralism cannot be conditional
