“Religion Is a Personal Matter” — Really?

Recently, someone expressed interest in joining one of our Friday circles.

At first, they seemed eager. Curious. Open.

Then came the question: “How many people usually attend?”

When I mentioned the numbers, the response changed almost immediately.

“Oh… that many?”

A little later came the familiar sentence many of us have heard before: “Religion is a personal matter.”

And just like that, they decided not to join us. Honestly, that phrase has always bothered me. Not because religion cannot be personal.

Of course belief can be deeply personal, spiritual practice, prayer, reflection, meaning, identity. Those things often belong to the intimate space of the individual. But to say religion is only personal ignores reality. Religion influences families.

It influences social expectations. It influences who people marry, what they eat, how they dress, what they fear, and sometimes even whether they are accepted by their own community. And historically, religion has also shaped politics and national identity.

One lesser-known episode in Singapore’s political history took place during the 1988–1989 Select Committee hearings surrounding the introduction of the GRC system. During those hearings, certain Malay MPs and several Malay-Muslim cultural and religious organizations strongly advocated for the legal definition of a Malay to explicitly include being Muslim.

Think about that carefully.

Once religion becomes tied to legal, ethnic, or political identity, can we still honestly say it is merely “personal”?

What happens to Malays who are non-religious?

What happens to those questioning their faith?

What happens to those who leave religion entirely?

Are they still accepted as part of the community?

Or do they suddenly become invisible?

Perhaps this is also why some people become uncomfortable when ex-Muslims gather openly. As long as questioning remains hidden, religion can continue to be described as “a personal matter.”

But the moment former believers speak publicly, support one another, or create visible communities, the reaction changes. Why? Because deep down, society understands that religion has never been purely personal. For many of us raised within the Malay-Muslim community, religion was never simply a private spiritual choice.

It was tied to identity, belonging, family, morality, and community expectations. And when someone steps outside that expectation, even quietly, it can be perceived as threatening not because of violence or hatred, but because visibility challenges the assumption that everyone believes the same thing.

The irony is this: If religion were truly treated as a purely personal matter, many people would not be so afraid to sit in a room and simply talk. A discussion circle would not feel threatening. A Facebook page would not feel dangerous.

A gathering of former believers would not create anxiety. Fear itself tells us the issue is social. This is why spaces like ours matter. Not because we want conflict. Not because we hate religion.

But because there are people quietly struggling with questions they cannot ask openly. Perhaps that is what makes some people uncomfortable.

Not our existence. But the fact that we exist openly.

​June 2026