Encountering the Ahmadiyya: Faith, Belonging, and the Question of Who Decides

The Council of Ex-Muslims Singapore (CEMSG) was recently invited to attend a Hari Raya gathering hosted by the Ahmadiyya Muslim Mission at the Taha Mosque on Onan Road. Unfortunately, I was out of the country and could not attend, but the reflections shared with me by one of our members stayed on my mind.

I have heard of the Ahmadiyya community before, and had briefly encountered one of their members during an interfaith Zoom session. But this felt like a closer glimpse, one not filtered through doctrine or debate, but through human interaction. The gathering itself was warm and welcoming, attended by various religious and social groups.

Conversations were meaningful, and there was a genuine sense of openness. I was told the briyani was excellent, prepared by someone who once ran a stall at Old Airport Road and that, in itself, says something about the kind of hospitality extended. Yet beyond the food and the friendliness, what stood out more deeply was the quiet reality of being a minority within a minority.
There are said to be only about 500 Ahmadiyyas in Singapore. Despite identifying as Muslims, they are often not recognised as such by the mainstream. One of the younger members spoke about experiences of exclusion, including restrictions around burial—unable to be laid to rest in the same plots as other Muslims. Alternative arrangements have had to be made.

These are not just logistical matters they reflect deeper questions of legitimacy and belonging. During the session, one of our members spoke with a young Ahmadiyya participant about their beliefs. The conversation suggested that they see themselves as part of Islam, shaped by developments from the 19th century and guided by a continuing line of leadership, with their current Caliph based in London.

At the same time, many practices remain familiar, there is no new holy book, and observances such as the hijab are still part of their religious life. From an outsider’s perspective, the differences may appear subtle. Questions were also raised about beliefs surrounding the return of figures such as Jesus and Prophet Muhammad, though there seemed to be no clear consensus on how or when such events would unfold.

But stepping away from theology, I find myself drawn to a more fundamental question: who gets to decide what defines a “real” Muslim?

In many traditions, it is often the majority that determines legitimacy. Those outside the dominant interpretation are labelled, challenged, or excluded. This is not unique to Islam, it is a pattern we see across religions and ideologies.

Listening to the Ahmadiyya experience, I could not help but reflect on our own position as ex-Muslims. We are aware that official bodies like MUIS know of our existence, but engagement is understandably limited. Institutions have roles to play, and boundaries to maintain. In that sense, their distance is not surprising, it is, perhaps, consistent with the frameworks they operate within.

I recall an earlier interaction with a young ustaz affiliated with MUIS who kept apologising to me. At the time, I did not fully understand why. Was it personal empathy? Institutional discomfort? A quiet acknowledgement of tension? I still do not know.
But what I do know is this: when we meet people on the ground, Ahmadiyya, Sunni, or otherwise, we encounter individuals, not categories. They speak the same language. They share the same cultural rhythms. They build families, navigate differences, and find ways to coexist.

One story shared was of an Ahmadiyya man married to a Sunni woman, where acceptance came gradually over time. These are the lived realities that exist beyond official positions and theological debates. And so, from where I stand, I find it difficult to draw hard lines.

I see them as Muslims, regardless of how the mainstream defines them. Perhaps that is the paradox of faith communities: while doctrines seek to define boundaries, human relationships continuously blur them.

If faith is something lived and experienced, rather than simply declared, then perhaps belonging is not something that can be decided by majority vote. And perhaps that is why such encounters matter.

16th April 2026