The resurgence of the MAGA movement in the United States has sparked widespread concern that the United States is edging toward a form of Christian nationalism intertwined with white supremacist ideology and restrictive social policies. Critics argue that its rhetoric often blends religious conservatism with nationalism, portraying America as a country divinely ordained for a narrowly defined moral and cultural order. This has raised fears of political agendas that privilege white, Christian identities while marginalising minority groups and eroding hard-won civil rights.
In particular, the rollback of reproductive freedoms and the reframing of gender roles within this movement suggest a broader effort to reverse progress on women’s rights and autonomy, contributing to an atmosphere of exclusion and regression rather than inclusion and equality.
In this context, Vice-President J.D. Vance’s recent comments expressing hope that his Hindu wife might someday convert to Christianity have sparked significant debate about religious freedom, cultural respect, and underlying power dynamics in American political discourse. Vance expressed it as follows:
As I’ve told her, and as I’ve said publicly, and as I’ll say now in front of 10,000 of my closest friends: do I hope, eventually, that she is somehow moved by the same thing I was moved by in church? Yes. I honestly do wish that, because I believe in the Christian gospel and I hope that eventually my wife comes to see it the same way.
Many critics have raised concerns about the pressure faced by minority groups in interfaith relationships – especially in the context of current political trends. For example, US Congressman Raja Krishnamoorthi said:
At a time when Hindu and Indian-American communities are confronting a climate of rising prejudice, talk of mass deportations, and growing anti-Hindu sentiment even against members of his own party, it’s deeply disappointing that the Vice President would add to that climate through his recent comments while remaining silent in the face of hate.
The history of Christian conversion is deeply entwined with colonialism and the expansion of Western power. Christianity began as a minority faith in the Roman Empire, but after Emperor Constantine’s adoption in the fourth century, it rapidly became linked to imperial agendas, with many conversions later occurring under conditions of coercion or manipulation – sometimes through laws, social pressure, or direct force.
This pattern intensified with the rise of European colonisation and missionary efforts, particularly across the Americas, Africa, and South Asia, where conversion campaigns frequently coincided with the undermining of indigenous cultures and systems. In South Asia today, a legacy of colonial manipulation persists: several countries and regions maintain anti-conversion laws that seek to forbid or penalise religious conversion, reflecting ongoing societal awareness that inducement and coercion – whether overt or subtle – have historically shaped patterns of conversion, and aiming to protect vulnerable groups from similar pressures in the present.
Yet, while it is understandable to view Vance’s comments through the lens of historical power dynamics and to be wary of the ways religion has been wielded as a tool of coercion, there is also a principled defence that can be made in his favour. For a genuinely committed believer in a religion with universalist claims – like all monotheistic faiths – it is not surprising, nor inherently oppressive, for that person to wish that loved ones might come to share those beliefs.
In contending with the modern landscape of identity politics, religion is often grouped alongside race and gender as a fundamental marker of identity. However, while religion does help ground one’s sense of self, it is also categorically distinct: religion ultimately asserts propositions about the nature of reality and what is true or false about the world.​ Therefore, to hope for others – spouses included – to accept what one holds to be the truth of their faith is not the same as wishing for someone to change unchangeable characteristics like race or gender.
Were Vance to declare he wishes his brown wife would become white, it would be a thoroughly objectionable thing to say, as skin colour is an immutable trait and hoping to alter it is fraught with violent histories and inescapable hierarchies. By contrast, religious faith is chosen, discussed, and subject to debate; its truth claims, like any other factual or philosophical statements (such as positions about medical or scientific topics), are open to persuasion and disagreement. In this sense, Vance’s aspiration may very well be less about domination or erasure, and more akin to hoping someone moves from a mistaken belief to what one genuinely sees as a better or truer understanding of reality.
While there is much contemporary emphasis on religious tolerance and peaceful dialogue – which certainly has value – pluralist views often overlook the undeniable fact that religions make mutually exclusive claims about the world that cannot all be true at the same time. As a skeptic, it seems untenable to accept Catholic beliefs – such as the idea that a piece of bread becomes identical to the creator of the universe. Yet for someone like Vance who genuinely believes this, it logically follows that he would see others who deny it as being mistaken, and might sincerely hope they change their minds. This is not merely a matter of diverse tastes, like preferring strawberry or chocolate ice cream, but an unavoidable question of factual truth, and it is only natural for someone who upholds a particular truth claim to wish that others will eventually come to share that conviction.
Skeptics should thoughtfully acknowledge that their own commitment to seeking truth often parallels the desire to change people’s minds, just as believers like Vance hope their spouses will embrace their religious convictions. There is little hesitation in challenging claims like young-earth creationism or human-dinosaur coexistence, as skepticism seeks to correct beliefs that clash with evidence and reason. Yet when it comes to beliefs embedded in native traditions or healing spirits, skeptics frequently tread carefully out of sensitivity to histories of violence and marginalisation faced by unprivileged groups. While such sensitivity is important, it remains crucial to recognise that, in the realm of factual claims about the world, being right or wrong does not depend on whether one comes from a privileged or an unprivileged background – truth is simply truth, regardless of its source or the social position of the person affirming or denying it.
Skepticism is fundamentally about the pursuit of truth – a commitment that can occasionally put us in the difficult position of questioning deeply held beliefs of those closest to us, including our spouses. Some may hold convictions that, upon scrutiny, conflict with reason and common sense, a category that arguably includes many religious beliefs.
Given this orientation toward truth and rational inquiry, it is understandable, and perhaps even necessary, to hope that those we care about might reconsider and, if warranted, abandon beliefs that do not stand up to rational scrutiny – even as we remain mindful and respectful of the personal and historical contexts in which they arise.
