The recent protests against the Waqf Amendment Act, spearheaded by All India Majlis-e-Ittehadul Muslimeen (AIMIM) chief and Hyderabad MP Asaduddin Owaisi alongside the All-India Muslim Personal Law Board, raise serious questions—both about the motivations behind the resistance and the historic role of AIMIM in India’s socio-political landscape. Is this opposition a genuine defence of Muslim community rights, or a political manoeuvre to shield personal and family interests in the vast web of Waqf properties?
The Waqf Amendment Act, recently passed in both Houses of Parliament, seeks to tighten control over Waqf properties—many of which have long been under murky ownerships, suspect encroachments, and untraceable finances. The Act provides for increased government oversight, digitization of land records, and accountability mechanisms for the Waqf Boards across the country.
While the Centre has projected this move as a step toward transparency and protection of public religious endowments, critics, including Owaisi, claim that the amendment is an encroachment on Muslim personal law and religious autonomy.
But scratch the surface, and another layer begins to emerge.
Owaisi’s Protest: Community or Cover?
Social media platforms have been flooded with videos and investigative claims suggesting large-scale encroachment of Waqf lands in and around Hyderabad allegedly linked to AIMIM leaders and their close aides. Activists and rival political groups allege that Owaisi’s resistance to the law may not be about the community’s interest, but rather about the fear that enhanced scrutiny could expose illegal occupation and monetization of Waqf assets worth thousands of crores.
The AIMIM, which controls the Telangana State Waqf Board, is in a powerful position to influence land allotments, leases, and transactions. With the Congress back in power in Telangana—traditionally considered “friendly” to AIMIM—the timing of this protest seems less about principle and more about protectionism.
A Party Rooted in Privilege, Not Representation?
Tracing AIMIM’s history reveals a party that has long thrived on power-brokering rather than grassroots development. Originally founded in 1927 as the Majlis-e-Ittehadul Muslimeen under the Nizam’s patronage, its objective was to safeguard the ruling elite’s privileges—not democratic representation.
After Independence and a brief ban due to its Razakar militia’s violent opposition to Hyderabad’s merger with India, the party resurfaced in a new avatar—AIMIM—in 1958 under Abdul Wahid Quraishi. His descendants, the Owaisi family, have since held the party reins with an iron grip. Sultan Salahuddin Owaisi served as MP from Hyderabad for two decades, succeeded by his son Asaduddin in 2004.
A Culture of Dissent—Silenced from Within
Interestingly, not everyone within AIMIM has accepted this dynastic control. In 1993, Amanullah Khan—a senior leader and once close aide of Sultan Salahuddin—broke ranks to form the Majlis Bachao Tehreek (MBT), accusing the Owaisis of nepotism and authoritarianism. He protested AIMIM’s soft stand on the Babri Masjid demolition and challenged its lack of internal democracy. That MBT still survives—albeit marginally—stands testament to enduring dissatisfaction within the Muslim electorate.
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Dubious Defences and Political Opportunism
Asaduddin Owaisi’s political career has not been without controversy. He has publicly defended individuals accused of terrorism, including members of ISIS-linked modules busted in Hyderabad. While the Indian legal system presumes innocence until proven guilty, the optics of a sitting MP offering legal aid to accused extremists has drawn criticism even from within sections of the Muslim community.
In Parliament and on TV debates, Owaisi wears the Constitution on his sleeve, but his brand of politics often fosters a siege mentality among Muslims. Critics argue that this helps him maintain political relevance, especially in regions where fear outweighs aspiration.
The Pasmanda Pushback
What’s most notable in recent times is the visible disenchantment among marginalized Muslim communities like the Pasmandas and Ahmediyas. Once seen as part of a monolithic Muslim vote bank, these subgroups are increasingly vocal about their exclusion from AIMIM’s narrative of Muslim representation. Their growing presence on social media—highlighting AIMIM’s elitism, dynastic control, and lack of development focus—has added fuel to the fire.
What Now?
That the Enforcement Directorate or the Election Commission—despite having served notices a couple of years ago questioning why parties like the Indian Union Muslim League and AIMIM, which carry religious names in violation of constitutional norms, should not be banned—have still not acted decisively against AIMIM, despite serious allegations ranging from land grabs to hate speech, raises uncomfortable questions. Is AIMIM shielded by political convenience? Or are law enforcement agencies hesitant, fearing communal backlash?
If the Modi government claims zero tolerance towards corruption and dynastic entitlement, it must demonstrate that commitment beyond the usual suspects. AIMIM’s alleged misuse of Waqf lands, if proven, is no less damaging to public interest than any other financial scam.
The Waqf Amendment Act could be a watershed moment for transparency if enforced without fear or favour. But as long as political calculations outweigh constitutional enforcement, leaders like Asaduddin Owaisi will continue to play the victim card while protecting entrenched privileges.
In the end, the real victims are the underprivileged Muslims, deprived of the very benefits that public religious trusts were meant to ensure.
