Ghulam Rasool Dehlvi

Love for the Prophet cannot be a monopoly of a group or sect. The recent “I Love Muhammad” campaign, especially in Bareilly, Uttar Pradesh, shows how spiritual devotion gets distorted when claimed as the exclusive property by a particular sect, cleric or political faction.

Politicising devotion leads to violence, repression and communal backlash. When slogans of love turn into street mobilisation and confrontation, there is a shift from spirituality to identity politics. It leads to the filing of FIRs, arrests, state crackdowns and negative media portrayals. Monopoly over devotion harms Muslims as a community and their relationship with others. It fractures intra-Muslim unity, interfaith harmony and fuels public mistrust and pushes Muslims further into isolation and suspicion.

On and after the “I Love Muhammad” demonstrations, authorities say stone-pelting, vandalism, and attacks on security personnel followed; large numbers of people were detained, cases were registered, and several leaders, including one of the grandsons of prominent Islamic theologian Aala Hazrat Imam Ahmad Raza Khan Fazil e Barelwi—Maulana Tauqeer Raza Khan, were arrested.

Police and press investigations also point to an organised mobilisation and “online toolkit”. At the same time, the current Barelwi leadership and family members of Maulana Tauqeer Raza Khan have complained of ‘police excesses.’

Now this should alarm the Indian Muslims who genuinely love the holy Prophet. Love for Prophet Muhammad is central to the life of Muslims. Yet these recent events surrounding the “I Love Muhammad” campaign in Uttar Pradesh pose a question: can any group legitimately monopolise a Prophet whose life and message were addressed to humanity? These events clearly show how prophetic devotion, when mixed with spectacle, coercion, or partisan mobilisation, becomes a hazard to both religious dignity and public peace.

Three key phenomena have emerged from this scenario:

Shrinking the Prophet to a political emblem

Devotion to the Prophet is a spiritual reality that transcends politics, religious sects and sectarian schools. When a slogan such as “I Love Muhammad” is commandeered by a political actor or used as a rallying cry for a mobilised crowd, it shifts the conversation from spiritual devotion to identity politics. That makes the holy Prophet’s name into a tribal banner — and every banner invites a rival. This is how spiritual reverence becomes a pretext for confrontation between religious groups and communities, and subsequently between the state and a particular community.

Handing the narrative to hostile actors

Once protests turn into violence and property damage, they cease to be about sincere love and become a security story for state authorities and a talking point for the media. It results in arrests, FIRs, curbs and curtailment of freedoms and emotional retrenchment among both majority and minority communities, exactly the opposite of the calm and peace that the prophetic devotion ought to bring.

Legitimises vigilante

Communities sometimes feel the need to visibly defend sacred figures, but when that defence is led by hotheads, opportunistic leaders, ‘faith professionals’ or crowds swayed by religious rhetoric rather than scholarship, it can normalise coercive behaviour and invite legal consequences. The Bareilly cases show how a mobilisation intended as a public display of love can cross into violence and criminal liability for organisers and participants.

A theological reminder!

Across Islamic history, piety toward the Prophet has been expressed in many registers: poetry, scholarship, quiet Sufi devotion, public sermons, social welfare, and respectful debate. No single group — whether Sunni, Shia, Sufi, Barelvi, Deobandi, or any political movement — has an exclusive claim on him. The Prophet’s life and message were lived as a bridge between faith and a plural society; reducing him to a party slogan is a misreading of that legacy. Political or politicised clerics, such as the head of the Ittehad-e-Millat Council (IMC), Maulana Tauqeer Raza Khan, were not aware of the practical risks of a monopoly claim over love and devotion for the Prophet. As a result, their mobilisation and non-pragmatic approach led to further deepening the predicament or malaise of Muslims across the country.

These issues matter because they show the precise ideological fault-line: a devotional slogan became the nucleus of a mass mobilisation with political overtones, and that mobilisation collided with law enforcement in a way that produced arrests, injuries and social disruption. The question the community must now address is not merely legal or political; it is more of an ethical and theological nature.

Claiming a monopoly on the Prophet’s love is a gross theological and moral error. The reason is not difficult to see. The holy Prophet’s legacy is universal, not tribal. The Qur’an frames the Prophet as a mercy to all worlds.

Islam’s classical and modern traditions widen the Prophet’s role beyond narrow communal boundaries. He is a model of compassion, justice, and moral repair for all people. To treat devotion as a sectarian or political credential is to reduce the holy Prophet’s moral authority into a badge that can be brandished to produce conformity or to justify coercion.

Furthermore, religious reverence is not won by force. Love is shown in acts of worship, service, knowledge, and humility — not by rallies, threats, or policing of expression. When leaders organise mass demonstrations whose tenor becomes coercive, the result is not respect but resentment, and sometimes a loss of credibility for the very values they claim to defend. Such a monopoly breeds exclusion and hypocrisy.

Politics of slogans

Slogans, especially terse and emotionally potent ones like “I Love Muhammad” are politically useful. They condense identity into a single slogan and can quickly mobilise people. But slogans are double-edged: they can unify and also be weaponised into identity claims that demand public validation. In an environment in which online virality and offline mobilisation feed each other, a slogan can change its texture from devotional to political in hours.

That’s what happened in Bareilly: what began as a public expression turned, according to authorities, into a pre-planned mass mobilisation that escalated into violence, giving the state a security imperative.

Monopolising religious devotion also corrodes the internal solidarity of the Muslim community. When a particular group claims exclusive ownership of an emblem of faith, intra-faith debates harden into factional hostilities. Energy that could be devoted to education, social welfare, or constructive interfaith engagement is instead channelled into contests over symbols and authority. Moreover, episodes of violent protest feed negative public narratives about the community at large, making it harder for moderates and reformers to build bridges and shape public opinion.

The Ala Hazrat family’s own statement decrying police excesses shows the internal dilemma: even within the same tradition, there are competing views about tactics and accountability. This is not just a leadership dispute; it is a claim about who gets to speak in the name of the Prophet — and that claim matters for communal coherence.

Measures for mitigation!

Return to scholarship and example. Let well-versed theologians, thinkers, established scholars, educators, and teachers lead public expressions of devotion: symposiums, interfaith sessions, and public service projects that reflect the holy Prophet’s ethical teachings. These are harder for opponents to caricature and harder for the state to clamp down upon without looking plainly repressive.

Insist on lawfulness and non-violence. A public demonstration of love that breaks the law weakens the moral authority of the claim. If the goal is respect for religious figures, it should be pursued through lawful, peaceful means and with an understanding of the plural and fragile public sphere in which we live.

Build cross-community forums of respect. Engage in dialogues with other communities about shared values: compassion, protection of the weak, and respect for faith. Such engagement reduces the zero-sum framing — “your reverence vs my insult” — and replaces it with shared standards for public conduct.

Accountability

Religious leadership carries responsibility. Leaders who mobilise crowds must be accountable for preventing violence and misinformation. Where leaders cross legal or moral lines, communities should have mechanisms like ethical councils, independent ulema committees, or internal inquiries, to examine conduct and, when necessary, censure or correct.

Curb misinformation and weaponised social media. The Bareilly episode shows how coordinated online tools can rapidly escalate local tensions; communities must cultivate media literacy and refuse to be tools in viral mobilisation that trades on rage.

Love without lockdown

Love for the holy Prophet is a deeply personal and communal treasure. It should expand hearts, encourage service, and build bridges. When it becomes a monopoly, weapon or political brand, it withers into a battleground.

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Muslims in India — and everywhere — must resist the temptations of spectacle and factional ownership. Preserve the dignity of the holy Prophet’s name through humility, learning, non-violence and ethical public engagement. That is the best and truest defence of his honour, and the only path that will keep communities safe, respected and spiritually alive.

Ghulam Rasool Dehlvi is the author of “ISHQ SUFIYANA: Untold Stories of Divine Love”