I can vividly recall when I first spoke up and wrote about the casteism that exists in Indian Muslim society on public platforms. The reaction was immediate and disappointing. I was accused of pushing propaganda, of having some hidden agenda. It wasn’t the outrage that surprised me so much as the denial.
This was not uncharted territory. There is already a vast body of work on this subject, written and documented over decades. From Ambedkar to Yoginder Sikand, scholars whose writings clearly sit within Left-Liberal, progressive, and secular traditions, many have openly examined and critiqued caste practices among Muslims.
Yet, raising the issue from within the community still felt like crossing a forbidden line, as if telling an uncomfortable truth was more problematic than the discrimination itself.
There was another kind of response as well—sympathetic, but equally frustrating. Instead of engaging with the problem, they were more interested in explaining it away. The excuse was that caste among Muslims is merely an “influence of Hindu society,” as if that somehow absolves us of responsibility. The discussion would end there, neatly redirected, without ever touching the lived reality of those facing discrimination.
Now, when I read about the Taliban implementing a new criminal code that openly divides society into rigid hierarchies—where mullahs stand above the law and the rest are left at their mercy—I couldn’t help but wonder what excuse will be offered this time.
Will this too be blamed on Hindu society? And if so, how far does that logic stretch? Especially when Hindu society, for all its failures and contradictions, has at least acknowledged caste as a moral and social wrong and continues—however imperfectly—to work toward eradicating it. The refusal within Muslim societies to even name hierarchy for what it is feels less like ignorance and more like a deliberate avoidance of accountability.
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Institutionalised inequality
Under Article 9 of Taliban’s newly announced criminal code, religious scholars, the mullahs, are largely immune from punishment. At worst, they receive “advice” for offenses. The elite, the Ashraf, may face summons or mild questioning. But for everyone else, the middle and lower classes, the law is unforgiving. For the same offence, the middle class may be jailed, but the lower class is punished twice over, with prison and the whip.
This is not justice; it is a caste-like order written into law. Or in better words, it is institutionalised inequality—a system where power determines morality, and status decides accountability. What makes this even more unsettling is that these rules are not defended as cultural distortions or historical baggage. They are justified as being fully in line with Sharia by Taliban authority. Not tradition. Not local custom. Divine sanction.
And that is the point we keep avoiding. Hierarchy, exclusion, and inequality within Muslim societies are not always inherited from elsewhere. Sometimes, they are deliberately structured, defended, and preserved in the name of faith. Until we are willing to confront that honestly, no amount of denial or deflection will change the lives of those trapped at the bottom of this order.
As a Pasmanda Muslim, this deeply unsettles me. Because every time such systems are questioned, we are told it is “culture,” or “misuse,” or an external influence. But here, the Taliban openly claims these laws are aligned with Sharia. When inequality is institutionalised and justified in the name of religion, it leaves no room for the poor, the marginalised, or the powerless to seek justice. That is what makes it frightening.
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Injustice cloaked in faith
To be fair, Islamic scholars across the world have condemned this kind of class-based division of society. In principle, Sharia does not sanction class-based inequality before the law.
Classical Islamic jurisprudence recognises different categories of punishment: Hudood, which are fixed punishments prescribed by divine law where equality is fundamental; Qisas, which deals with crimes against individuals or families and is based on proportional justice; and Tazir, where punishments are not specified in the Quran or Hadith and are left to the discretion of the ruler or judge.
It is precisely in this space of discretion that things go wrong.
But discretion was never meant to mean cruelty for the weak and mercy for the powerful. Yet that is exactly what we are seeing.
This is not divine justice—it is power protecting itself. And as someone who has spent years speaking about caste, hierarchy, and inequality within Muslim societies, I cannot ignore the pattern anymore.
When faith is weaponised to preserve privilege, it is always the most marginalised who pay the price.
What is hurtful is that this hierarchy is not just something I read about in Taliban rulebooks or distant lands. I have seen it in Indian Muslim practices on a daily basis.
We keep repeating that Islam sees all believers as equal, yet when it comes to marriage, the reality collapses. Take the concept of kafa’a in marriage, which stresses social and religious compatibility between spouses. At its core, it was meant to reflect equality in piety and character. But in practice, it has been twisted by some ulema to mean equality of birth, lineage, and caste.
I still remember reading fatwas that say if a Syed woman marries a non-Syed man, her parents have the right to dissolve the marriage. Let that sink in. A Pasmanda man is told that no matter his faith, education, or values, he is still “lesser than”. Institutions like Darul Uloom Deoband have upheld such views, and they don’t even see the cruelty in it.
When we speak of equality in sermons and quotes in Friday sermons, it sounds beautiful. But on the ground, discrimination is justified in the language of religion. And the most painful part is this: All of it is done while claiming divine approval.
When injustice wears the clothes of faith, questioning it is labelled rebellion, and silence is mistaken for consent. As a Pasmanda Muslim, I know this wound—not from books, but from lived reality.
Amana Begam Ansari is a columnist and writer. She runs a weekly YouTube show called ‘India This Week by Amana and Khalid’. She tweets @Amana_Ansari. Views are personal.
(Edited by Theres Sudeep)