Sanctioned Autonomy: How Anjum Kadari v. Union of India Rewrites Article 30 in the Language of Reform

Shubham Milind Thakare*

Introduction

November 2024 saw the Supreme Court reverse a controversial Allahabad High Court ruling that had invalidated the U.P. Board of Madrasa Education Act, 2004 (“the Act”). This decision in Anjum Kadari v. Union of India (“Anjum Kadari”) was hailed as a victory for minority rights, with Muslim bodies viewing it as a reaffirmation of Article 30 of the Constitution, which guarantees the right to establish and administer minority educational institutions. The High Court had found madrasa education incompatible with Article 21A’s (the Right to Education) “uniform” secular curriculum requirement, ordering a mass student relocation. The Supreme Court swiftly stayed this, and later upheld the Act’s core provisions, striking down only the Fazil and Kamil degrees for conflicting with the University Grants Commission Act, 1956.

However, beyond celebratory headlines, Anjum Kadari signals a quiet recalibration of Article 30. This piece argues that the judgment subtly narrows Article 30’s scope by infusing it with the doctrine of “positive secularism.” This analysis will first revisit Article 30’s constitutional vision and its jurisprudential evolution. It will then examine the U.P. Board of Madrasa Education Act, 2004, particularly its embrace of the positive secularism, and critique the doctrinal inconsistencies and normative troubles this creates, arguing that it risks legitimizing state control over minority institutions under the guise of reform.

1. Article 30: Constitutional Moorings and Evolving Judicial Interpretation

   
   

The Constituent Assembly addressed minority education against Partition’s violent backdrop. Article 30 (then Draft Article 23A) was drafted to ensure minorities could establish and administer their institutions free from state interference. Z.H. Lari, drawing on the experience of Urdu-speaking Muslims in Uttar Pradesh, warned that formal rights could be undermined by state practices, citing instances of children barred from bringing Urdu textbooks to class. He argued that without enforceable constitutional guarantees, religious minorities would be at provincial majorities’ mercy, a concern particularly potent in education where cultural erasure can occur via curriculum, language, or funding. This reflected a broader anxiety that the new Indian state might, for national unity, push minorities towards assimilation. Mihir Lal Chattopadhyay echoed fears of minority institutions being weakened by majoritarian forces.. K. Santhanam, while hoping for eventual assimilation, cautioned this must be gradual and uncoerced. The framers, thus aware that national identity could not be at the cost of pluralism, intended Article 30 as a safeguard. It reflected a constitutional choice to protect institutional spaces where minorities could maintain their identity while participating in national life. Education, in this vision, was a site of learning and belonging.

While the framers laid this foundation, they offered little explicit guidance on permissible state regulation under Article 30. Their silence suggested a strong intent to shield minority institutions. Over time, the State has sought to curtail this autonomy, often for educational reform or administrative uniformity. The judiciary has attempted to delineate regulation from overreach, though it is a task complicated by Article 30's broad wording.

The first significant attempt was In Re: Kerala Education Bill (1958), where a seven-judge bench rejected both absolute minority rights and full state regulatory control in exchange for aid. It clarified that Article 30(1)'s right to establish and administer does not imply a right to mismanage. The State can impose reasonable conditions for educational standards but cannot make aid contingent on surrendering core administrative rights. Provisions allowing state takeover were deemed unconstitutional. This stance was reinforced in St. Xavier's College v. State of Gujarat (1974), affirming minorities' right to administer their affairs. It held that while the State can regulate for discipline, health, public order, and educational efficiency, such regulations must not impair the institution's minority character or render administrative rights illusory.

The doctrine further evolved in T.M.A. Pai Foundation v. State of Karnataka (2002). An eleven-judge bench distinguished regulatory oversight from managerial interference: the state could set academic standards and qualifications but not fix fees, impose quotas, or appoint management. The test was whether regulation upheld educational excellence without displacing institutional identity. P.A. Inamdar v. State of Maharashtra (2005) fine-tuned this, clarifying administration includes control over admissions and staffing. Aided institutions had to comply with Article 29(2), but for unaided institutions, regulation, especially on administrative control, admissions, and fees, must be minimal. The state could not impose reservation policies, directly violating Article 30(1). These landmark decisions consistently affirmed Article 30’s protection of institutional autonomy, legitimising state regulation only when it didn't undermine management or minority character. Notably, none directly addressed the broader secularism underpinning Article 30, focusing on balancing rights with regulatory needs. Anjum Kadari begins to fill this gap, albeit controversially.

2. Anjum Kadari's "Positive Secularism" and its Implications

   
   

Uttar Pradesh hosts a vast madrasa system, with over 19,000 recognised institutions serving 1.7 million students. These range from basic maktabs to senior madrasas. While most are private, many receive government aid and, for many Muslims in marginalised regions, madrasas are the only accessible education. The U.P. Board of Madrasa Education, established under the 2004 Act, has wide academic and administrative functions. “Madrasa education” covers diverse subjects from Islamic Studies to Logic and Philosophy. The Board’s hybrid composition aims to balance community representation with state oversight. Recently, this oversight has become more interventionist. A 2018 circular mandated NCERT textbooks for subjects like Mathematics and Science. A 2018 amendment to Madrasa regulations allowed modern subjects to be taught in Urdu, Hindi, or English. In 2021, the Board mandated Elementary Math, Science, History, and Civics up to secondary level, per NCERT standards, and framed it as making madrasa education “effective and job-oriented.”

In 2024, the Allahabad High Court ruled religious instruction couldn't fulfil Article 21A’s “uniform” education requirement, declaring the 2004 Act unconstitutional. This threatened a deep-rooted educational ecosystem. However, the Supreme Court, in Anjum Kadari, stayed the order and later upheld the Act, but its reasoning reframed the constitutional validity of madrasa education. The Court addressed whether the U.P. Madrasa Act infringed Article 30(1). Upholding the Act, it framed it not as intrusion but as empowerment, reaffirming Article 30 protections subject to reasonable regulation for educational standards. Provisions allowing the State Board to prescribe syllabi, set teacher qualifications, and grant recognition were upheld as improving quality without direct administrative control.

Up to this point, the approach aligned with precedent. However, Anjum Kadari broke tradition by explicitly endorsing “positive secularism” in interpreting Article 30. Relying on Joseph Shine, it viewed fundamental rights not just as negative freedoms but positive entitlements. Minority rights under Article 30, therefore, are not merely protected from State interference but are to be actively facilitated by it. Regulation enhancing quality education and promoting integration, the Court argued, realises rather than restricts minority rights. This potentially introduced a problematic shift.

This “positive secularism” framing, while seemingly attractive, introduces serious risks by allowing the State to define “educational merit” and “quality.” First, it risks upsetting the constitutional balance. Earlier judgments, while allowing regulation, insisted it not override minority autonomy in shaping institutional character. Positive secularism repositions the State as a partner, blurring lines between enabling access and engineering outcomes. Second, this doctrinal shift clashes with the framers’ vision of Article 30 as a shield for cultural and educational autonomy, preserving identity through education. Anjum Kadari’s interpretation potentially inverts this, letting the State define minority education’s content for “public interest,” risking subordination to a homogenised national vision.

Third, recent UP state actions (such as the Madrasa Survey Order, ending teacher honoraria, pushing NCERT books/dress codes) signal a political project to assimilate minority institutions. The message is: institutions may exist if they mirror majority-run schools. This could deny recognition to madrasas maintaining traditional instruction unless they adopt state mandates, eroding their distinctiveness (and lead to assimilation, not reform). Fourth, the doctrinal justification for this departure is also questionable. “Positive secularism” is not a term used in any of the key precedents cited by the court. Neither T.M.A. Pai nor any other judgement cited by the court adopt this terminology or frame State involvement in education as a function of secular reform. While these cases support limited affirmative measures by the state, they still continue to treat minority autonomy as the rule and State intervention as the exception. Positive Secularism reverses this orientation by treating State facilitation as central to the realisation of Article 30 rights. In doing so, it overlays a new theoretical model onto an existing body of jurisprudence without a clear doctrinal foundation.

Fifth, the concept of positive secularism remains deeply contested and far less settled than the Supreme Court’s framing in Anjum Kadari might suggest. Scholars such as T.B. Hansen, Partha Chatterjee, and Ashis Nandy have long critiqued the idea, particularly when it is advanced by the State. Hansen argues that state-led positive secularism often takes the form of a top-down, rationalist project that leaves little space for vernacular and lived forms of religious expression. Chatterjee cautions that this model frequently disguises efforts to assimilate minorities into a dominant cultural framework under the rhetoric of national integration. Nandy goes further, contending that what is presented as neutral reform often reproduces elite, dominant values while marginalising indigenous religious identities. Moreover, the judgment’s invocation of “positive secularism” also risks becoming what Ranu Jain calls a “melting pot theory”, i.e., a judicial rationalisation that sacrifices minority-specific autonomy for a thin version of national uniformity.

Consequently, Anjum Kadari’s reasoning risks converting Article 30 into a conditional right. Minority institutions’ administration could become contingent on State-defined standards, often shaped by majoritarian assumptions. Article 30, a shield for diversity, could become a tool for uniformity through gradual assimilation.

3. Conclusion: Regulatory Co-option and Minority Autonomy's Future

   
   

This piece has argued that while Anjum Kadari appears to affirm minority rights, it in fact marks a significant recalibration of Article 30. It has shown how the judgment departs both from the provision’s original role as a constitutional safeguard and from the careful balance of institutional autonomy articulated in cases such as T.M.A. Pai. Central to this shift is the Court’s endorsement of “positive secularism,” which reframes state regulation as a form of empowerment rather than restraint. In this context, the judgment, as this piece has contended, legitimises a model of regulatory co-option that transforms the right to administer minority institutions from a guarantee of autonomy into a freedom contingent on state-defined reform.

The enduring question left by the judgement is whether Article 30 will continue to function as a principled limit on state power or whether it will evolve into a privilege granted and defined entirely at the state's discretion. How future courts address this tension will determine whether India’s commitment to pluralism is upheld or gradually eroded through the language of reform itself.

*Shubham Milind Thakare is an undergraduate student pursuing B.A., LL.B. (Hons.) at the National Law School of India University, Bangalore.

The views expressed above are the author's alone and do not represent the beliefs of Pith & Substance: The CCAL Blog