In the quiet hills of Thommankuthu, Kerala a place known more for its natural beauty and peaceful prayer than for conflict a recent government action has left a community shaken. On April 12, 2025, officials from the Forest Department arrived at a Christian prayer site near the historic St. Thomas Church and dismantled a cross that had stood there for decades. No prior notice. No consultation. No legal hearing. Just a demolition.

The justification offered was that the cross stood on "encroached land." But this explanation, delivered after the fact and without community engagement, has done little to ease the anguish of the local Christian population. To many, this felt less like an act of environmental enforcement and more like a symbolic targeting of faith — one that raises serious concerns about selective action and religious bias.

This isn’t the first time India’s Christian minority watched quietly as sacred symbols were erased under the cover of legality. What’s different this time is the absolute lack of procedural fairness. No warning was issued. No opportunity was provided to present records or context. Instead, a faith long rooted in the region was made to feel foreign on its own land.

And yet, far more egregious violations of forest laws persist with impunity — illegal commercial resorts deep within protected zones, private plantations in ecologically sensitive areas, and deforestation driven by profit. But these remain untouched. It begs the question: why is enforcement so swift and uncompromising only when it concerns marginalized communities practicing quietly?

This was not just a structural removal. It was an affront to a community’s dignity and its right to worship. The Christian faith in Kerala, present since the time of St. Thomas the Apostle, is an inseparable part of the state’s heritage. Uprooting the cross at Thommankuthu without dialogue or due process was seen by many not as environmentalism, but as exclusion.

The Constitution of India, under Article 25, guarantees every citizen the freedom to profess and practice their religion. Yet, the manner of this operation opaque, abrupt, and seemingly targeted reflects a worrying erosion of that guarantee.

We must ask: Would such an act have occurred with equal force if the symbol had belonged to another community? Would the same silence have followed if it were an idol or a minaret? Justice must not only be equal but be seen to be equal.

The Christian community of Thommankuthu is not seeking special treatment. It seeks fairness. It asks that its places of worship be treated with the same respect granted to others. And it demands that when enforcement is carried out, it be done transparently and uniformly not as a weapon against one group.

To the authorities: protect our forests, yes. But do so with fairness, not favoritism. To the people of Kerala and beyond: silence in the face of selective action is complicity. And to the faithful of Thommankuthu: the cross may have been removed from the hill, but it remains firm in their hearts.

Let this not become another page in a growing book of silent exclusions. Let it instead be the moment we affirm — once again — that in India, no faith stands alone, and no community is left behind. After all we are a proud secular country since ages.