Dissent in the time of censorship: A democracy’s health depends on critique, not fear

What happens to a democracy when dissent is treated as a law-and-order problem rather than a democratic right?In the past weeks, at New Delhi’s Jantar Mantar, students gathered to protest against examination irregularities and demand accountability in educational governance. Their demands centred on transparency, fairness, and the future of public education. Yet the public conversation quickly shifted away from those concerns to the protests themselves. Reports of detentions, allegations of police violence, injuries among protesters, and appeals by civil society organisations transformed what began as an educational issue into a larger constitutional question. Similar concerns have been raised over police action against student protesters in several BJP-ruled states, where critics have argued that peaceful demonstrations were met with criminalisation rather than dialogue. Determining whether each allegation is true depends on the outcome of careful legal scrutiny. What is undeniable, however, is that the right to dissent has once again become the subject of public debate. India proudly calls itself the world's largest democracy, and rightly so. Elections remain vibrant, governments change through the ballot, and nearly a billion people participate in the democratic process. Yet democracy cannot be reduced to periodic elections, as they do not determine how the winners exercise power. The health of a democracy is measured by whether a government remains accountable to the people who elected it, protects constitutional freedoms, and on whether citizens can question authority without fear of intimidation or suspicion.While introducing the Constitution to the Constituent Assembly, Dr BR Ambedkar warned that even the finest Constitution could fail if those responsible for implementing it do not uphold its spirit. That spirit, which he described as constitutional morality, demanded far more than legal compliance. It required a culture of liberty, equality, fraternity, and public accountability. Democracy, for Ambedkar, was not merely a mechanism for electing governments; it was a way of living together that recognised disagreement as an essential part of public life.Today, however, disagreement itself appears to require justification. Citizens who question government policies are often expected to prove their patriotism. Criticism of governance and policies is frequently recast as criticism of the nation itself. Labels such as 'anti-national', 'urban Naxal', or 'anti-Hindu' often replace the substance and truth of an argument. Public debate shifts from what is being said to who is saying it. When this happens, democratic conversation gives way to political suspicion.Political parties are elected to govern only for a limited period, but the nation belongs to its people and is sustained by constitutional principles that outlast them. Loyalty to the Constitution is therefore not the same as loyalty to the government of the day. In fact, constitutional democracy depends upon citizens who are willing to scrutinise governments, question policies, and demand accountability. A government that is criticised is not necessarily a weak one, but a democracy that cannot tolerate criticism is certainly a weakened democracy.India’s democratic history shows that most rights we enjoy today are the result of struggles and protests that challenged deeply entrenched systems of power and inequality. Every democratic right that we exercise today exists because someone, at some point, refused to remain silent. For instance, Jyotirao Phule challenged the Brahmanical monopoly over education, which restricted knowledge based on caste. Savitribai Phule challenged both patriarchy and caste privilege by opening schools for girls and children from oppressed castes, despite relentless hostility from those determined to preserve existing social hierarchies.Periyar questioned caste hierarchy and religious orthodoxy at a time when such criticism invited social ostracisation. Ambedkar transformed the lived experience of caste discrimination into a constitutional vision founded on equality, dignity, and justice. Alongside them stood countless workers, peasants, women, Dalits, Adivasis, trade unionists, students, and minority communities whose struggles expanded the meaning and experience of Indian democracy. Recent events suggest a narrowing of democratic space. Historically, democratic spaces rarely shrink with the formal suspension of constitutional rights. More often, it begins when citizens are worried about the consequences. The French philosopher Michel Foucault explained this process through the concept of governmentality: the subtle ways in which modern states shape behaviour not only through laws and coercion but also by influencing what people come to regard as normal, acceptable, and patriotic. This insight resonates strongly in contemporary India.A student attending a protest; a university teacher giving a lecture criticising the caste hierarchy, hyper-nationalism, or majoritarianism; a journalist writing a critical piece on government policies; a citizen’s social media post; etc., do not require formal censorship. Such censorship, if any, reflects something more insidious: the internalisation of fear. Democracy begins to weaken not only when people are silenced but also when they begin to silence themselves.Digital technologies have intensified this process and transformed the relationship between citizens and power. Surveillance today extends beyond CCTV cameras or direct police monitoring, smartphones, biometric identification systems, facial recognition technologies, online data collection, and algorithm-driven social media. Equally significant is the rise of digital vigilantism. Organised trolling, coordinated misinformation campaigns, and online harassment frequently target journalists, academics, activists, and students whose views challenge dominant political narratives. The cumulative effect is the creation of a public sphere where many citizens speak cautiously, not because debate has been legally prohibited, but because disagreement has become personally costly.This narrowing of democratic space cannot be understood only through the language of surveillance. It is also sustained through a culture of control and fear. Antonio Gramsci argued that political power endures not merely through coercion but through hegemony — the ability to shape what society accepts as common sense. When only a particular interpretation of nationalism becomes legitimate, alternative visions of the nation gradually appear unreasonable, immoral, or even dangerous. Citizens are no longer encouraged to debate what patriotism means; rather, they are expected to perform a specific form of it.This explains the tendency to equate criticism of the government with hostility towards the nation. It reshapes the meaning of citizenship itself. Citizens cease to be participants in democratic deliberation and become spectators expected to applaud rather than question. Constitutional patriotism, which places loyalty to democratic values above loyalty to any government, is gradually displaced by a politics that demands visible conformity. Yet the Constitution imagines a different relationship between the citizen and the state. It does not ask citizens to agree with those in power; it asks them to hold power accountable.Authoritarianism is seldom established through a single dramatic event or the formal abolition of elections. Benito Mussolini in Italy and Adolf Hitler in Germany did not dismantle democratic institutions in a single day. Historians have shown that authoritarian regimes often consolidate power gradually by weakening institutional checks and balances, politicising education, undermining the independence of the media and judiciary, concentrating executive authority, portraying political opponents as enemies of the nation, and normalising extraordinary measures in the name of national interest. Equally significant was the effort to reshape public memory through the rewriting of history and the marginalisation of dissenting voices. They serve as cautionary reminders that democracy requires constant vigilance. The Indian Constitution offers a different democratic imagination. It emerged not from unquestioning consensus but from intense debate among people who disagreed profoundly on representation, federalism, minority rights, language, and social justice.  The Republic itself was born of dissent and critical reflection. The question before India is not whether it will continue to hold elections. It almost certainly will. The more important question is whether future generations will inherit a democracy in which citizens can question authority without fear, and governments view criticism not as hostility but as an indispensable part of constitutional governance. Defending the right to dissent does not weaken the nation. It is to remain faithful to the Constitution and to the democratic ideals that Ambedkar sought to secure. Elections may choose governments, but only dissent sustains the Republic.Rasni Bai is a research scholar in the Department of Sociology at Christ University, Bengaluru. Om Prakash LT is an associate professor in the Department of Sociology at Christ University, Bengaluru.