PUBLISHED
July 06, 2025
KARACHI:
Pakistan’s parliament has passed the eagerly awaited Islamabad Capital Territory Child Marriage Restraint Act, 2025 restricting marriage below 18 years of age, meanwhile, the Council of Islamic Ideology and conservative parties have challenged the bill publically and in the Federal Sharia Court. Similar developments are seen in neighbouring India, which endangers the enforcement of rights in a completely different way.
India’s Uniform Civil Code (UCC) is a bill pending in the Indian national assembly (Lok Sabha) which has long been a constitutional aspiration to standardise religious groups’ personal laws in India. A version of it has been already passed in the Uttarakhand state assembly in 2024. Nevertheless, passing it is proving legally and politically difficult. At stake are not only questions of legal consistency and gender justice, but also deeper concerns about religious freedom, state overreach, and democratic erosion.
In India, personal laws for Muslims, Christians, Jews and Parsis exist separately from the Hindu Code which governs personal laws for Buddhists, Hindus, Jains and Sikhs. Naturally, laws governing marriage and inheritance comply with religious edicts of these groups. This has occasionally brought conflict between state and religion – with the Indian Supreme Court’s rulings nudging the country toward a UCC.
An oft cited ruling is Shah Bano v Muhammad Ahmad Khan where a Muslim woman was given the right to marital support against Islamic custom. Essentially this allowed the state to interject in the personal matters of this Muslim couple to provide them protection, although later a law was passed to circumvent it – this was a cause for anxiety for minorities and aggravation for the majority who felt discriminated against for their own customs.
Proponents of the UCC suggest that it would streamline and simplify personal laws across various spheres such as marriage, succession, guardianship and inheritance. The UCC is also popular with groups vying for gender equality, suggesting that UCC would protect women in cases of inheritance and ensure children are supported in cases of marriage dissolution or wedlock. Religious rights groups have argued that any such bill would intrude on the Freedom of Religion of citizens, especially the Muslim minority. Individuals are also concerned about the effects of eroding democratic institutions and breaking away from the secular tradition of India.
Uttarakhand became the first state in India’s modern history to enact a UCC. Its version sets minimum marriage ages, standardises divorce and inheritance rules, and, controversially, mandates registration of live-in relationships. Supporters argue that the law protects women and strengthens legal clarity. But petitions have already been filed challenging the law’s constitutionality, and activists fear it could open the door to surveillance and moral policing.
Several BJP-led states — including Gujarat, Assam, Telangana, and Uttar Pradesh — intend to follow suit. Gujarat formed a high-level committee to draft its own version of a UCC, with assurances that the drafting process would include public consultation. Khalid Anwar, a member of the legislative council and the BJP-ally Janata Dal party, spoke to the media, stating that “We will never allow the UCC to be implemented in Bihar.”
At the same time, opposition-ruled states like Kerala and West Bengal have rejected the UCC on the grounds that it would infringe on religious freedom and fail to accommodate local cultural diversity. In 2023, Kerala’s legislative assembly passed a resolution opposing the proposed UCC, criticising the lack of public consultation.
At the heart of the UCC debate is a question of uniformity versus pluralism. The legal foundations of state-level UCCs remain unsettled. Although the Supreme Court of India has occasionally given opinion in favour of a common civil code, legal scholars warn that multiple state-level UCCs may violate the spirit of Article 44 which envisions a uniform civil code for all citizens. This also invites questions about territoriality of the UCC, Article 245 of the constitution restricts states from making laws about the whole of India.
India’s Muslim leadership, rights activists, and tribal representatives argue that the UCC could be selectively enforced or used as a pretext for surveillance and control. Due to the registration requirements, vulnerable segments will be hesitant to accept the UCC. The targeting of practices such as polygamy and triple talaq, they argue, reinforces stereotypes about Muslim communities while sparing similar customs among tribal or Hindu populations. Critics note that polygamy is banned under the UCC for Muslims, yet Adivasi communities, who also practice polygamy, would be exempt.
The BJP has positioned the UCC as a tool for gender equality, as a protector of women’s rights. However, critics argue that these reforms are selectively framed and politically motivated. They point to a broader pattern of neglect and active hostility toward the Muslim community, casting doubt on the sincerity of the BJP’s gender justice rhetoric.
While some welcome the UCC’s promise of equal rights in inheritance and marriage, many argue that reforms must empower women to choose — whether that means adhering to religious tradition or entering civil unions. Activists such as Adv Dr Shalu Nigam have called for a more inclusive approach that does not impose uniformity from above but rather expands the choices for marriage laws available to women across communities.
The Uniform Civil Code in theory, offers a pathway toward standardising personal law and enhancing gender equality. In practice, its rollout has exposed the legal, political, and social complexities that must be examined. For India, the road is uncertain. The fragmented approach —where BJP-led states adopt state-level UCCs while opposition-ruled or minority-heavy states resist — raises difficult constitutional questions. The risk is not merely legal inconsistency, but broader social and political polarisation. By touching on personal matters, the UCC has already caused national debates on secularism, federalism, and minority rights.
For Pakistanis, the UCC is a familiar echo. Questions of minority rights, majoritarian nationalism, and state overreach resonate deeply in a region where religion and politics often intertwine. Pakistan has been long criticised for its human rights record however the recent legislation to stop child marriages are encouraging and show the government’s inclination towards protecting the rights of women. In India, the UCC represents both promise and peril: it could be a vehicle for greater legal equality or a flashpoint for division and unrest. Its success depends on whether it can be implemented without alienating vast segments of the population. The US Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF) has flagged concerns about India’s treatment of minorities, including the UCC. Moreover, religious freedom and democratic governance remain key pillars of India’s soft power abroad —and the UCC being used to hinder human rights may complicate India’s reputation as a leader internationally.
The success of the UCC project will depend on legislative momentum, whether it can be implemented in a way that safeguards constitutional rights and respects India’s pluralistic fabric. Without inclusivity, legal clarity, and social consensus, the law risks becoming a symbol of division. For both India and its democratic partners, the question is not just whether the UCC can be passed but whether it can be made just.
A common civil code may promise equality, but in India, many — especially Muslims — see its implementation under the BJP as politically motivated. In Pakistan, orthodox forces openly block reforms in the name of faith. Though the dynamics differ, both countries reveal how personal law remains a battleground where religion, politics, and rights collide. As India moves forward with the UCC and Pakistan stalls on its own reforms, the region shows that legal equality cannot be achieved through legislation alone. It requires trust — and trust, once lost, is hard to legislate back.
Sachal Jacob is a PhD candidate at the Georgia State University who has worked with various human rights platforms. He can be reached at sachaljacob95@gmail.com
All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the author
