Being Indian First means embracing the idea that our national interests—security, prosperity, and unity—transcend the boundaries of religion, caste, or creed.

As an Indian Muslim and a counterextremism expert, I often find myself at the crossroads of a question that stirs heated debates: Indian First or Muslim First? This question, as I recently tweeted, is not a casual inquiry but a deliberate probe into whether we, as Indian Muslims, prioritize our national identity and the interests of our country over our religious affiliations. It’s a question rooted in history, shaped by the fault lines of our past, and one that demands an honest reckoning.

My answer is unequivocal: Indian First. Always.

This question isn’t about undermining religious beliefs or pushing for a homogenized cultural identity. It’s about recognizing the undeniable reality that religious identity, particularly Islam, has been a significant factor in some of the most divisive moments in our nation’s history.

In 1947, the creation of Pakistan under Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s leadership was driven by the idea that Muslims needed a separate homeland. The partition that followed tore apart the fabric of a united India, leaving scars that still ache. Later, in 1971, the birth of Bangladesh further fragmented the subcontinent.

And in Kashmir, decades of insurgency have been fueled, in part, by the interplay of religious identity and separatist ambitions. These events weren’t merely political—they were seismic shifts where religious identity was weaponized to balkanize our great nation.

Let me be clear: acknowledging this history doesn’t mean vilifying Islam or questioning the faith of millions of Indian Muslims. It means confronting the ways in which religious identity has, at times, been manipulated to prioritize “biradari”—our brethren—over the nation.

This manipulation isn’t unique to Islam; it’s a tactic used across communities to sow division. But as Indian Muslims, we must ask ourselves: can we allow our religious identity to supersede our loyalty to the nation that nurtures us, protects us, and gives us a shared future?

Choosing “Indian First” doesn’t mean abandoning our faith. I am a proud Muslim, and my religious beliefs guide my values and my sense of purpose. But faith is personal—it’s a compass for the soul, not a blueprint for national policy.

When we prioritize our religious identity over our national one, we risk falling into the trap of exclusionary thinking, where “us” versus “them” becomes the lens through which we see the world. That mindset fuels mistrust, alienates communities, and weakens the pluralistic ethos that makes India unique.

Being Indian First means embracing the idea that our national interests—security, prosperity, and unity—transcend the boundaries of religion, caste, or creed. It means recognizing that the progress of our nation benefits us all, regardless of our personal beliefs. It’s about standing firm against any ideology, whether rooted in religion or otherwise, that seeks to divide us. This choice doesn’t dilute our identity as Muslims; it strengthens our role as stakeholders in India’s future.

The question of “Indian First or Muslim First?” also carries a broader lesson for all Indians. In a country as diverse as ours, every community faces moments where loyalty to a subgroup—whether religious, linguistic, or regional—can clash with the greater good. The answer lies in choosing the nation over narrower affiliations, not because we must erase our differences, but because our differences thrive best under the umbrella of a united India.

My work has taught me that extremism often begins with the elevation of one identity over others, creating a hierarchy of loyalty that erodes shared purpose. In India, we have the chance to reject that path. We can build a future where our diversity is our strength, not our fault line.

So, when asked, I say: Indian First. Always. Not because I love my faith any less, but because I love my country enough to know that its unity is our greatest asset. Let’s choose a nation that stands tall, not one divided by the echoes of 1947. Let’s choose India—together.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Prophet Mohammad honored him by saying, “He was the best of the Jews”, recognizing his noble spirit and contribution to the broader cause.

On April 2, 2025, during a intense parliamentary debate over the Waqf Amendment Bill, India’s ruling party’s lawmaker Nishikant Dubey made a striking reference that caught the attention of both historians and common citizens alike. While defending the bill, which proposes to bring structural reforms and inclusivity to the administration of waqf properties, Dubey cited the example of a 7th-century Jewish scholar and leader—Rabbi Mukhayriq.

His words triggered a wave of curiosity about a figure not often mentioned in popular discourse—especially within Indian political conversations. Who was this Rabbi, and why is he relevant in today’s debate on religious property and national interest?

Who Was Rabbi Mukhayriq?

Rabbi Mukhayriq was a prominent Jewish scholar and wealthy landowner from the Banu Tha’labah tribe of Medina. He lived during the time of Prophet Mohammad and is remembered in Islamic and Jewish historical traditions for his courageous and selfless actions during the Battle of Uhud in 625 CE.

On the day of the battle, the city of Medina faced an imminent threat from the Quraysh tribe of Mecca. As fate would have it, the day fell on the Sabbath—a holy day for Jews, on which work and combat are generally forbidden. Despite this religious restriction, Rabbi Mukhayriq gathered his people and urged them to fight alongside the Muslims to defend their shared homeland. When his fellow tribesmen hesitated due to Sabbath laws, he rebuked them and reportedly said, “You have no Sabbath”, stressing that the defense Medina was a higher moral responsibility.

Rabbi Mukhayriq went to the battlefield and fought alongside the Muslim army. He died in the battle, becoming one of the few Jewish martyrs in the defense of Medina. He was buried in the ‘Shoda-e-Uhud’ graveyard alongside Prophet’s uncle Hamza Bin Abdul-Mutallib.

Before leaving, he had instructed that all his wealth—including several orchards—be handed over to Prophet Mohammad. The Prophet accepted this and used the wealth to establish one of Islam’s first waqf (charitable endowments), which was used to serve the poor and support the growing Muslim community.

Prophet Mohammad honored him by saying, “He was the best of the Jews”, recognizing his noble spirit and contribution to the broader cause.

A Lesson in Interfaith Unity

What makes Rabbi Mukhayriq’s story timeless is not just his bravery, but the message it carries about interfaith cooperation. At a time when divisions between communities often lead to conflict, Mukhayriq’s sacrifice reminds us that people of different faiths can—and have—worked together for the common good—to defend the national cause.

The Battle of Uhud wasn’t just a military confrontation—it was a moment that tested the moral fabric of Medina’s diverse society. The actions of Rabbi Mukhayriq exemplify that protecting a shared homeland and values sometimes means putting community above personal interests—even above religious norms.

It also highlights how early Muslims and Jews, despite theological differences, stood together when it mattered most.

Relevance in Modern India

MP Nishikant Dubey’s invocation of Mukhayriq during the Waqf Amendment Bill debate wasn’t accidental. The bill proposes to broaden waqf board membership to include non-Muslim experts and aims to improve transparency and governance in the management of waqf properties—assets donated for religious or charitable purposes under Islamic law.

Supporters of the bill argue that involving non-Muslims, especially legal and financial professionals, can improve efficiency and reduce corruption. Critics, however, view it as state interference in religious affairs. India’s Home Minister Amit Shah stated that, non-Muslims shall not interfere into religious affairs come what may.

Dubey’s reference to Mukhayriq was used to draw a powerful parallel—that the spirit of community service and unity across faith lines is not alien to Islamic tradition. He framed the reforms not as interference, but as an invitation to all Indians, regardless of religion, to participate in nation-building and the transparent management of shared resources.

A Legacy Worth Remembering

Rabbi Mukhayriq’s legacy is more than a footnote in Islamic history—it is a shining example of moral courage, selflessness, and the power of interfaith unity. In times where communal tensions are often stoked for political gain, his story serves as a reminder that the higher cause of justice, harmony, and national interest can—and should—transcend religious boundaries.