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The Politics of Deception and Double Standards: Who Is Really Jeopardising India’s Youth?

India July 24, 2026 11:42 AM
The Politics of Deception and Double Standards: Who Is Really Jeopardising India’s Youth?

History teaches us a simple but enduring lesson: governments that are confident in their legitimacy do not fear criticism. Democracies derive their strength not from silencing dissent but from engaging with it. When a state begins to equate protest with criminality, dissent with conspiracy, and students with enemies of the state, it is not merely a political crisis—it is a test of democracy itself.

German-American political philosopher Hannah Arendt, in her landmark work On Violence, observed that “Power and violence are opposites; where the one rules absolutely, the other is absent.” Her insight remains profoundly relevant today. A government that increasingly substitutes political dialogue with administrative coercion is not demonstrating strength; it is revealing political insecurity.

Since 20 June, students and young people have been staging a sit-in protest at Jantar Mantar in New Delhi. On 28 June, Ladakhi educator and innovator Sonam Wangchuk joined the movement by beginning an indefinite hunger strike. According to the protesters, the government has shown little interest in engaging with their demands through meaningful dialogue.

During the same period, Prime Minister Narendra Modi embarked on a series of overseas visits, reinforcing India’s diplomatic profile on the global stage. Yet his government did not initiate direct engagement with thousands of protesting young people gathered in the nation’s capital. This contrast raises an uncomfortable but legitimate question: Should a democratic government not accord the same importance to listening to its own youth as it does to projecting India’s democratic credentials abroad?

The Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) had announced its “March to Parliament” programme for 20 July well in advance. The administration therefore had sufficient time to prepare. Yet, according to protesters, the government’s first significant response came on 18 July, when Sonam Wangchuk was removed from the protest site before dawn by a large police contingent and taken to hospital while on hunger strike. The authorities may justify the action on medical grounds. Critics, however, argue that it was intended to weaken the morale of the movement rather than address its concerns.

The events of 20 July deepened the controversy. The “March to Parliament” programme was declared unlawful, and protesters alleged that police resorted to baton charges, tear gas and pellet guns. Maintaining public order is undoubtedly a legitimate responsibility of the state. But democratic governance is measured not merely by its ability to enforce the law, but by the restraint with which it exercises power. When force becomes the state’s first language in responding to political dissent, democratic dialogue inevitably begins to wither.

The English philosopher John Stuart Mill, in On Liberty, famously argued:

“If all mankind minus one were of one opinion… mankind would be no more justified in silencing that one person than he… would be justified in silencing mankind.”

Mill’s words remain one of the strongest philosophical defences of free expression ever written. Democracy is not simply the rule of the majority; it is equally the protection of minority opinion and the right to dissent without fear of persecution.

The controversy did not end with police action. Opposition parties have alleged that numerous First Information Reports (FIRs) have been registered against protesters and that efforts are underway to portray the movement as a criminal conspiracy. The rule of law is indispensable in any constitutional democracy. Yet when criminal law is repeatedly invoked against political protest, it risks producing a chilling effect on democratic participation. Citizens may begin to conclude that exercising their constitutional rights carries unacceptable personal consequences.

Against this backdrop, Prime Minister Modi declared that “those who try to damage the future of our youth will not be spared.” The statement has become the centre of political debate. The obvious question is unavoidable: Are the thousands of students and young people protesting in the streets not part of India’s youth? If they are, how can arrests, criminal cases, coercive policing and the use of force against them be reconciled with the stated commitment to safeguarding their future?

This contradiction is precisely what fuels allegations of political double standards.

“If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”

Few sentences capture the democratic ideal more succinctly. Democracy does not exist merely to protect agreeable opinions; its true purpose is to safeguard the expression of inconvenient truths.

The French political thinker Alexis de Tocqueville, in Democracy in America, argued that the survival of democracy depends upon vibrant civil society, freedom of expression and tolerance of dissent. When majority power becomes an instrument for suppressing minority voices, democracy gradually risks sliding into what Tocqueville described as the tyranny of the majority.

Mahatma Gandhi expressed a similar principle in different words:

“In matters of conscience, the law of the majority has no place.”

When thousands of young citizens take to the streets because they believe their future is at stake, responding with coercion instead of conversation inevitably raises questions about the health of democratic institutions.

India’s Constitution guarantees freedom of speech and expression under Article 19(1)(a) and the right to assemble peacefully under Article 19(1)(b). These freedoms are subject to reasonable restrictions, but constitutional limitations cannot become a routine substitute for political engagement. Democracies do not flourish by narrowing civic space; they flourish by expanding it.

History offers another warning. The English historian Lord Acton famously observed:

“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Acton’s warning extends beyond personal corruption. It is equally a caution against the arrogance that accompanies concentrated political power. When governments begin to dismiss every critical voice as illegitimate or conspiratorial, they lose one of democracy’s greatest strengths: the capacity for self-correction.

Confident governments recognise that criticism is not an existential threat. Protest is not evidence of democratic failure; it is evidence that democratic society remains alive and engaged. But when every demonstration is met with police deployment, criminal prosecution and coercive state power, the message citizens receive is unmistakable: the government prefers obedience over dialogue.

The central question confronting India today is therefore larger than any single protest or political organisation. It concerns the character of Indian democracy itself. Will the state continue to recognise dissent as an essential democratic value, or will political disagreement increasingly be treated as a law-and-order problem?

History ultimately judges governments not by the rhetoric they employ but by the manner in which they exercise power. A government that claims to protect the future of young people while restricting their right to protest; that speaks the language of democracy while relying increasingly on coercion; that frames political dissent as criminal conspiracy creates an undeniable gap between words and actions.

That gap is not merely political inconsistency. It is, in the eyes of its critics, the politics of deception and double standards.

Democracy ultimately rests not on the coercive authority of the state but on the consent and confidence of its citizens. Governments may secure temporary silence through force, but history repeatedly demonstrates that silence should never be mistaken for legitimacy. Political authority derives its moral strength not from its ability to suppress dissent but from its willingness to listen, engage and remain accountable. That is the enduring lesson of democratic history—and perhaps the most important question confronting India today.

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Asish Gupta, senior journalist and Chief of News Bureau,Delhi, Asomiya Pratidin