PrintFriendlyCritics argue this is government overreach, but I see it as empowerment. A more inclusive Waqf system can unlock its vast potential—economic, social, and moral.
As an advocate who has spent years navigating the complexities of property laws in India, I’ve seen firsthand how outdated systems can stifle the very institutions meant to serve society. The Waqf (Amendment) Bill, 2024, introduced by the government, is a bold step toward modernizing Waqf governance, and its emphasis on inclusivity strikes me as both pragmatic and overdue. For too long, Waqf institutions—meant to uplift the disadvantaged—have been bogged down by exclusionary practices, leaving entire communities, including women, marginalized Muslim sects, and even non-Muslims, on the sidelines. This bill, far from being an overreach, is a thoughtful attempt to align Waqf with its original purpose: welfare for all. Let’s start with the numbers. The Waqf Assets Management System of India (WAMSI) tells us there are 8.72 lakh registered Waqf properties spanning 37.39 lakh acres. That’s a staggering amount of land, yet the benefits rarely reach the diverse tapestry of India’s Muslim population—let alone others who have historically contributed to these endowments. The Sachar Committee’s 2006 report pointed out that these properties generate a measly ₹163 crore annually, a 2.7% return, when efficient management could yield ₹12,000 crore at a 10% return. Today, with even more properties registered, the potential is undoubtedly higher. But who benefits from this wealth? Not the Aghakhanis, Bohras, or Pasmanda Muslims, who have long been excluded from decision-making. Not women, whose voices are absent from Waqf Boards. And certainly not non-Muslims, despite their documented contributions to Waqf properties over centuries. The government’s push for inclusivity in the bill addresses these gaps head-on. By mandating representation from Bohra and Aghakhani communities in State Waqf Boards where they have functional Auqaf, and even proposing separate boards for these sects, the bill ensures that their unique needs are no longer ignored. I find this particularly significant as someone who has represented clients from these communities in property disputes—they’ve often felt like outsiders in a system that should serve them. Adding Muslims from backward classes alongside Shia and Sunni members further broadens the table, ensuring that the Pasmanda community, often the poorest of the poor, gets a say. And then there’s the inclusion of two non-Muslim members in the Central Waqf Council and State Boards, excluding ex-officio members. Critics might cry foul, but history shows non-Muslims have donated to Waqf for public welfare and are often litigants in related disputes. Why shouldn’t they have a voice in an administrative body, not a religious one? The gender angle is equally compelling. Women’s exclusion from Waqf governance has always baffled me. During the Joint Committee on Waqf Amendment Bill (JCWAB) sittings, women representatives highlighted the lack of female-centric initiatives—a glaring oversight in a system meant to uplift the vulnerable. The bill’s insistence on at least two Muslim women in the Central Waqf Council and State Boards isn’t just tokenism; it’s a structural shift toward gender-sensitive policies. Imagine Waqf funds being channelled into education or healthcare for women and children—sectors that have suffered from neglect due to male-dominated decision-making. The expansion of Waqf-alal-aulad benefits to include widows, divorced women, and orphans, while protecting women’s inheritance rights, further cements this commitment. As a lawyer, I’ve seen too many cases where women heirs were sidelined in family Waqfs. This reform ensures they get their due, aligning with both justice and Islamic principles. What I admire most about this approach is its rejection of monopolization. By bringing in elected members from municipalities or Panchayats, the government ties Waqf governance to local realities, making it more accountable to the people it serves. This isn’t about diluting Muslim control—it’s about enriching it with diverse perspectives. The Kerala High Court’s ruling in Syed Fazal Pookoya Thangal vs Union of India (1993) made it clear: Waqf Boards are statutory, not religious, bodies. Their job is administration, not theology. Including non-Muslims or women doesn’t tamper with the sanctity of Waqf; it enhances its efficiency. Critics argue this is government overreach, but I see it as empowerment. A more inclusive Waqf system can unlock its vast potential—economic, social, and moral. With 58,890 encroachments and 31,999 pending litigations, as per WAMSI, the current setup is failing everyone, especially poor Muslims. By broadening representation, the bill promises better oversight, fewer disputes, and a governance model that reflects India’s pluralistic ethos. It’s a reform I’d argue for in any courtroom—not just because it’s legally sound, but because it’s the right thing to do.
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