The Hollow Republic: Critical Reflections on India’s Democratic Crisis

 

Introduction

In May 2024, India’s ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) secured a third consecutive term in national office, reaffirming its electoral dominance despite mounting concerns over democratic backsliding. While the country remains a functioning electoral democracy—with regular elections, an active press, and a formally independent judiciary—many observers have noted a stark contradiction: democratic structures endure, but the spirit of democracy appears increasingly hollow. Minority rights are under siege, dissent is criminalised, and institutions meant to check executive power have been either weakened or co-opted. India’s democratic crisis is no longer a looming threat—it is an unfolding reality.

This essay argues that India’s democracy is being hollowed out from within. The façade of constitutional democracy masks a deep erosion of substantive democratic values such as pluralism, accountability, and inclusion. Drawing on insights from critical theorists such as Jürgen Habermas, Herbert Marcuse, and Antonio Gramsci, this analysis interrogates the disconnect between democratic form and function and examines how power operates beneath the surface of procedural legitimacy.

The discussion unfolds in four parts. First, it explores how democratic institutions have been hollowed out while retaining their formal shell. Second, it examines the rise of majoritarian politics and its impact on representation. Third, it analyses the political economy driving democratic decline. Finally, it considers the shrinking space for dissent and the role of media in manufacturing consent. Together, these reflections aim to expose the contradictions of India's “hollow republic.”

The Democratic Façade: Institutions Without Substance

At first glance, India appears to fulfil the procedural requirements of a thriving democracy. Elections are held regularly, courts issue rulings, and parliament continues to function. Yet beneath this formal structure lies a deeper crisis: the institutional shell of democracy remains intact, but its substance—deliberation, accountability, and pluralism—is steadily eroding. What persists is a façade of democracy, behind which the concentration of power has grown unchecked.

Over the last decade, executive authority has expanded dramatically. The Prime Minister's Office has centralised decision-making, sidelining both parliament and cabinet. Ordinances bypass legislative debate, while federalism is increasingly compromised. Opposition parties face the selective use of investigative agencies. Meanwhile, civil society organisations are restrained by the Foreign Contribution (Regulation) Act (FCRA), which curtails foreign funding and advocacy efforts.

Paradoxically, even democratic institutions are used to suppress dissent. Broad laws on sedition and terrorism (UAPA) are frequently applied against activists, students, and journalists, often pre-trial. Courts increasingly defer to executive interests, especially in politically sensitive cases. Although elections remain competitive, they are distorted by opaque campaign financing and state-controlled narratives.

This erosion reflects what Jürgen Habermas termed the colonisation of the lifeworld—where systems of power displace democratic deliberation. In place of “communicative rationality,” where democracy rests on inclusive dialogue, Indian institutions now reflect “instrumental rationality,” where outcomes are determined by elite interests and bureaucratic control. Herbert Marcuse similarly warned of repressive tolerance, where forms of freedom are permitted only so long as they do not challenge domination. In India today, the performance of democracy persists—but its emancipatory core has been gutted.

Majoritarianism and the Crisis of Representation

One of the most troubling features of India’s democratic decline is the growing appeal to majoritarianism—the idea that the will of the majority overrides constitutional protections for minorities and dissenters. While this tendency has existed historically, its institutionalisation under the BJP has triggered a crisis of representation. In this system, democratic legitimacy is no longer derived from inclusive citizenship but from the projection of cultural and religious uniformity.

The Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) and the proposed National Register of Citizens (NRC) exemplify this shift. By explicitly privileging non-Muslim migrants, the CAA institutionalises religious discrimination. The NRC threatens to render millions stateless—particularly Muslims and low-income communities lacking documentation. Simultaneously, anti-Muslim violence, including mob lynchings, has become both more frequent and more normalized, creating a pervasive climate of fear.

Censorship further entrenches this majoritarian logic. Films, scholarship, and media reports critical of the government are routinely attacked or banned. Pro-government media networks dominate airtime, reinforcing a homogenized vision of national identity and stifling dissenting narratives.

Antonio Gramsci’s theory of hegemony offers a powerful framework for understanding this process. In Gramsci’s view, power is sustained not only through coercion but through cultural leadership—the construction of “common sense” that aligns popular belief with ruling-class interests. In contemporary India, the state and its media allies manufacture a hegemonic consensus in which Hindu majoritarianism is equated with patriotism, and pluralism with disloyalty. The crisis of representation, then, is not accidental—it is strategic, converting democracy into a mechanism for exclusion under the guise of national unity.

The Political Economy of Hollowing Out

India’s democratic decline cannot be fully understood without examining its economic underpinnings. Over the past decade, neoliberal reforms have advanced alongside growing authoritarianism—not as conflicting trends, but as mutually reinforcing forces. Together, they have produced a society in which citizens are economically precarious and politically disengaged—a condition that critical theorists describe as managed depoliticisation.

The state has overseen the rapid privatisation of public assets, from national airlines to ports and highways, concentrating economic power in the hands of a corporate elite with close ties to the ruling party. At the same time, labor reforms have diluted worker protections and undermined collective bargaining rights in the name of “ease of doing business.” Simultaneously, the expansion of digital surveillance—through biometric IDs, facial recognition, and opaque data collection—has extended state power into everyday life.

This convergence reflects what Frankfurt School theorists like Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno identified as the transformation of democracy into a means of elite control. In such a system, institutions are preserved not to expand participation, but to legitimize an order where market logic overrides political equality. As Adorno warned, when freedom becomes a carefully managed experience, politics is reduced to private frustration and passive acceptance.

Today, Indian citizens are increasingly positioned not as rights-bearing participants, but as consumers—of digital platforms, welfare schemes, and aspirational narratives. Financial inclusion is touted as progress, even as avenues for political inclusion are systematically narrowed. As Herbert Marcuse famously wrote, “the free election of masters does not abolish the masters.” In this context, India’s democracy risks becoming one-dimensional: procedurally intact, but substantively hollow.

Silencing Dissent and the Manufacturing of Consent

A healthy democracy requires more than elections; it needs a vibrant public sphere where dissent and debate are not only permitted but protected. In contemporary India, that space is under siege. Laws like sedition and the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA) have been used to criminalise criticism of the government. Activists, students, journalists, and artists have been jailed under vague allegations, often denied bail, and subjected to prolonged pre-trial detention.

The coercive edge of the state is reinforced by a captured media landscape. Over the past decade, media consolidation has placed much of India’s press under the control of conglomerates with close ties to the ruling party. Independent journalism is increasingly rare, hampered by legal threats, advertising pressure, and coordinated online attacks. Government narratives dominate prime-time television, where dissenting voices are marginalised or demonised.

This aligns closely with Noam Chomsky and Edward Herman’s framework of manufacturing consent, wherein media systems in formal democracies serve elite interests by shaping public perception rather than informing civic debate. In India, this is achieved through selective reporting, repetition of nationalist rhetoric, and the systematic silencing of critical perspectives.

Theodor Adorno’s critique of the culture industry is equally instructive. Adorno warned that mass media, when commodified and standardised, do not educate but entertain, producing passive consumers rather than active citizens. In India, news increasingly resembles spectacle—sensationalist, polarizing, and devoid of substance. Dissent becomes deviance, activism becomes subversion, and democracy becomes performance.

What results is not overt totalitarianism but a more subtle regime of consent: one in which the appearance of freedom masks its erosion. The mechanisms of control are cultural as much as political, and their most insidious effect is to render alternatives unimaginable.

Toward a Democratic Reclamation

India’s democratic erosion is not merely the result of authoritarian overreach. It is a hollowing out from within—where procedural forms are retained, but the substance of democracy is steadily stripped away. As critical theorists remind us, domination in modern democracies often operates not by dismantling institutions, but by redefining their purpose: shifting them from enabling participation to managing populations, from ensuring accountability to consolidating control.

And yet, even within this hollowed republic, resistance persists. The farmer protests, which brought millions to the streets in 2020–21, exemplified democratic agency from below. Student mobilisations, anti-CAA demonstrations, and grassroots campaigns for justice continue to confront both state repression and cultural hegemony. These moments remind us that democracy is not confined to the formal workings of institutions—it also lives in the everyday struggles for dignity, recognition, and voice.

Reclaiming Indian democracy will require more than protecting elections or restoring parliamentary norms. It demands a radical reimagining of democratic life—one that centres inclusion over exclusion, deliberation over domination, and structural reform over symbolic gestures. This means confronting not only authoritarian power, but also the social and economic inequalities that sustain it.

As Raymond Williams once observed, democracy is “a long revolution”—an ongoing and unfinished project. India’s future depends not on restoring a golden past, but on building a democratic order yet to be realised: a republic grounded not in appearances, but in justice, plurality, and shared power.

*Author Bio: Asis Mistry is Assistant Professor in the Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta. His work focuses on democratic theory, political economy, and South Asian politics.

 

From Shahbagh to Hefazat: Tracing Bangladesh’s Islamist Surge

Asis Mistry

In recent years, Bangladesh has witnessed an unsettling rise in religious extremism, reflecting a shift in the country’s socio-political dynamics. While Bangladesh’s founding ideals in 1971 were rooted in secular nationalism, the country has experienced a resurgence of radical ideologies that increasingly threaten its pluralistic fabric. The political landscape has both directly and indirectly facilitated this phenomenon, as mainstream parties exploit religious sentiment for political gain, and state responses to extremism remain inconsistent and often reactive.

The Historical Roots of Religious Politics

To understand the current manifestation of religious extremism in Bangladesh, one must revisit its political history. The secular vision of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman began to erode following his assassination in 1975. In the subsequent decades, military rulers like Ziaur Rahman and Hussain Muhammad Ershad incrementally Islamized the polity—lifting the ban on religious parties, inserting Islamic references in the constitution, and institutionalising religion in education and public life.

This shift laid the foundation for actors such as Jamaat-e-Islami to re-enter the political sphere. A party accused of collaborating with Pakistani forces during the 1971 Liberation War, Jamaat enjoyed strategic alliances with the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP). These alliances granted Islamist groups mainstream legitimacy and access to state institutions, especially during BNP-led governments. While Jamaat’s formal power has waned, its ideological legacy has persisted through informal networks, student organisations, and madrasas.

The Rise of Hefazat-e-Islam and New Islamist Movements

In the vacuum left by a weakened Jamaat, newer movements have gained ground. Among them, Hefazat-e-Islam, a Qawmi madrasa-based group, emerged as a powerful socio-religious force. Unlike Jamaat, Hefazat does not operate as a formal political party but exerts tremendous pressure through street power and religious legitimacy. It first rose to national prominence during the 2013 Shahbagh movement, countering secular activists and demanding harsh blasphemy laws, gender segregation, and the removal of secular content from textbooks.

What makes Hefazat particularly potent is its grassroots support among rural clerics and its ability to mobilise tens of thousands in protest. Governments across the political spectrum have courted Hefazat at different times. The Awami League (AL), which champions secularism, paradoxically engaged with Hefazat to neutralise opposition from Islamist quarters, even conceding to some of its demands, such as textbook revisions and recognition of Qawmi degrees. These concessions, however politically expedient, embolden extremist forces and blur the secular-religious divide.

Political Opportunism and Ideological Contradictions

Bangladesh’s two dominant parties, the AL and BNP, have both contributed to the entrenchment of religious extremism—albeit in different ways. The BNP has long aligned itself with Islamist groups, viewing them as electoral allies. This pragmatic alliance has provided a veneer of political legitimacy to groups with radical ideologies. On the other hand, the AL has oscillated between repression and appeasement. Its crackdown on Jamaat leaders through war crimes tribunals has been praised for upholding justice but also criticised for being politically selective.

In contrast, the AL’s tactical rapprochement with Hefazat reveals an ideological inconsistency that undermines its secular credentials. Such ambiguity dilutes public trust and signals to extremist groups that the state is willing to compromise on core principles when politically convenient. As a result, extremism becomes a viable tool for influence rather than a fringe threat to be eradicated.

The State’s Security-Centric Response

The state’s response to religious extremism has largely been security-driven. Following a spate of gruesome killings between 2013 and 2016—targeting secular bloggers, LGBTQ activists, foreigners, and religious minorities—the government launched aggressive counterterrorism operations. Groups like Ansar al-Islam (affiliated with Al-Qaeda) and Neo-JMB (an ISIS-aligned faction) were implicated in these attacks. The 2016 Holey Artisan Bakery attack, which killed 22 people, marked a turning point in public perception and state policy.

The government’s counterterrorism apparatus responded with brute force—arrests, encounters, and surveillance. While these actions curtailed the organisational capacity of militant networks, they did little to address the ideological roots of radicalisation. Moreover, the sweeping nature of arrests sometimes blurred the lines between militants, dissidents, and political opponents, raising concerns about human rights violations and the misuse of anti-terror laws.

Social Media, Global Influences, and Youth Radicalisation

Religious extremism in Bangladesh is no longer confined to traditional madrasa networks. Increasingly, radical ideologies are disseminated via social media, encrypted apps, and online forums. Young, educated individuals—often from urban, secular backgrounds—have been implicated in extremist plots, signalling a new wave of ideological recruitment that transcends class and education boundaries.

The global resurgence of Salafist-Wahhabi ideologies, funded by transnational networks, has also seeped into Bangladeshi religious discourse. The proliferation of foreign-funded mosques, scholarships, and clerics contributes to the homogenization of Islam and the marginalisation of Bangladesh’s syncretic religious traditions, such as Sufism and Baul culture.

Threats to Minorities and Civil Liberties

The politicisation of religion and the rise of extremism have had dire consequences for religious minorities—particularly Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, and Ahmadiyyas. Attacks on temples, desecration of idols, and forced displacement have been reported during election seasons or in the aftermath of blasphemy rumours. These incidents are not only indicative of growing intolerance but also reflect the instrumental use of communal violence to polarise voters and suppress dissent.

Moreover, the space for secular voices, progressive academics, and liberal journalists has shrunk significantly. Censorship, digital security laws, and extrajudicial actions contribute to a climate of fear that curtails open debate and critical inquiry—ironically creating the very conditions that allow extremism to fester.

The Way Forward: Reclaiming Secularism and Pluralism

Countering religious extremism in Bangladesh requires more than military operations or legal bans. It demands a robust recommitment to the principles of secularism, democratic accountability, and social justice. Educational reform is central—modernising madrasa curricula, promoting critical thinking, and reinvigorating cultural narratives that celebrate religious harmony and Bengali identity.

Civil society organisations, religious scholars, and grassroots leaders must play a greater role in countering extremist narratives. International cooperation on counterterrorism must be balanced with the protection of civil liberties. Above all, political parties must abandon the opportunistic use of religion and uphold constitutional values with consistency.

Bangladesh’s history is rich with traditions of tolerance, intellectual inquiry, and revolutionary pluralism. To surrender these values in the face of extremism would be a betrayal of its founding vision. The challenge is not only to defeat militancy but also to construct a society in which extremism has no soil to grow.

@ Author is Faculty of Political Science, University of Calcutta

When America Falters, the World Pays: Trump's Economic Misadventures and India's Stakes

 

Dr. Asis Mistry

As Donald Trump continues to wreak havoc on the American economy, the silence of Republican leaders and Wall Street executives is deafening — and dangerous, not just for the United States, but for the entire global economy, India included.

Trump’s impulsive trade wars, his attack on independent institutions like the U.S. Federal Reserve, and his destabilising rhetoric on global alliances are not just domestic American matters. In today's interconnected world, America’s economic health is closely tied to India's aspirations for growth, stability, and global leadership. Yet those with the most to lose inside America — its corporate chiefs and political guardians — remain largely mum, hoping futilely that private persuasion will work where public accountability is urgently needed.

The pattern is clear: American businesses, despite seeing their stock prices tumble and their international competitiveness wane, are choosing silence. Republican lawmakers, even as Trump’s tariffs hurt their own rural and working-class voters, remain subservient. Trade groups, which never hesitated to criticise past administrations, now offer little more than polite platitudes.

This matters for India because we, too, are part of the intricate global supply chains Trump is disrupting. Our IT exports, pharmaceutical supplies, and manufacturing sectors are all deeply linked to U.S. markets. Rising protectionism and unpredictable tariffs not only rattle global investor confidence but also slow down India's exports and investment inflows. When American farmers lose international customers due to retaliatory tariffs, it impacts global food prices, a delicate issue for India’s inflation management. When American tech companies face uncertainty, India's IT and service sectors feel the tremors.

There’s a belief among American CEOs that they can whisper sense into Trump's ear behind closed doors. But reality shows otherwise. Temporary concessions — like exemptions for iPhones or vague promises about tariff reductions — are short-lived. The underlying trajectory remains dangerous: an America moving away from a rules-based order towards erratic, personalised decision-making.

This week, another "leak" suggested Trump might lower China tariffs from 145% to a still-draconian 50%. Markets briefly celebrated, hoping for a cooling-off. But hope, especially when based on anonymous sources and "fake news" accusations from Beijing, is not a strategy. A 50% tariff is hardly a victory — it is an economic noose, tightened slightly less.

Trump’s threats against the U.S. Federal Reserve are even more alarming. His pressure to slash interest rates to support short-term political gains risks undermining the Fed’s long-cherished independence — the same independence that has allowed America to maintain monetary stability for decades. India, striving to strengthen its institutional credibility with independent bodies like the RBI, watches with concern. When politicians control monetary policy, the results are often catastrophic — think Venezuela or Turkey.

Yet, public pushback from within America remains feeble. An occasional senator mumbles about the need for an "independent" Fed, only to quickly walk it back with jokes about "hot cocoa" and private hugs. It’s not the kind of principled leadership the world expects from a country that has long projected itself as the steward of democracy and free enterprise.

This abdication of leadership poses risks and lessons for India and the broader developing world. We cannot afford to rely on a volatile U.S. to underpin global economic stability. We must strengthen South-South trade linkages, diversify our export markets, invest in homegrown innovation, and advocate for a truly multipolar world order. At the same time, India must remain vocal about defending democratic norms and institutional independence — lessons we must internalise at home too.

American business and political elites may think they are buying time with their silence. They are not. They are gambling not just with their future, but with the future of countries like India that have, for long, considered America a partner in prosperity.

Silence is complicity. And in today’s world, complicity comes at a global cost.

 

@Author is Assistant Professor of Political Science at the University of Calcutta

Power Without Knowledge: The Pahalgam Massacre and Pakistan's Failing Proxy Doctrine

 

Dr. Asis Mistry

On July 8, 2024, terrorists ambushed a bus carrying Hindu pilgrims in the picturesque town of Pahalgam in Jammu and Kashmir, killing nine and injuring 33. The victims were en route to the revered Amarnath shrine, undertaking a journey that has long symbolised spiritual unity in a deeply divided region. While India mourns yet another tragedy in Pahalgam, which claimed 26 innocent lives—mostly Hindu tourists from across India—has reignited debates far beyond the tragic loss of life. The larger question must be asked: Why do such attacks keep happening, and what geopolitical logic—or lack thereof—sustains them?

Pakistan’s alleged involvement in sponsoring and sustaining militant networks across the Line of Control (LoC) is not new. What is striking, however, is the sheer persistence of this proxy doctrine, despite overwhelming evidence of its strategic failure. Suppose war is politics by other
means, as Clausewitz suggested. In that case, Pakistan’s use of asymmetric violence without long-term vision reflects a condition best described as power without knowledge—the exercise of influence divorced from wisdom, foresight, and legitimacy.

Strategic Illusions, Tactical Catastrophes

Since the 1990s, Pakistan’s military-intelligence apparatus has nurtured a range of non-state actors to achieve strategic depth against India, particularly in Kashmir. Groups like Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) and Jaish-e-Mohammed (JeM) have received logistical, financial, and ideological support under the justification of ‘liberating’ Kashmir. This policy was rooted in a Cold War-era playbook, where the use of militant proxies seemed effective in bleeding adversaries while retaining plausible deniability.

Yet this doctrine has become increasingly untenable in the post-9/11 world, where the costs of harbouring transnational jihadist actors outweigh the tactical gains. Internationally, Pakistan is isolated, grey-listed by the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) for years, and diplomatically cornered by a growing India-U.S. strategic partnership. Domestically, blowback from militant violence has ravaged cities from Karachi to Peshawar, eroding public confidence in the state’s ability to ensure security.

The Pahalgam attack, allegedly orchestrated by The Resistance Front (TRF), a LeT-linked outfit, bears all the hallmarks of this failing doctrine. It targeted civilians, had no viable political objective, and immediately drew international condemnation. If the aim was to internationalise Kashmir or create political instability in India ahead of the Amarnath Yatra, it only reaffirmed New Delhi’s narrative of Pakistan-sponsored terror.

A Doctrine without Destination

The problem with Pakistan’s proxy doctrine is not just that it is morally reprehensible or strategically costly. It is that it lacks coherence. There is no clear endgame. If the goal was to ‘liberate’ Kashmir, the means—terror attacks on civilians—have only hardened Indian control, alienated Kashmiri civil society, and justified an expanded military presence. If the aim was to keep the Kashmir issue ‘alive’ on the world stage, the tactic has backfired: most global capitals now view Pakistan not as a defender of Kashmiri rights, but as a habitual exporter of jihadist violence.

This is what makes Pakistan’s behaviour a classic case of power without knowledge. The Pakistani deep state continues to wield considerable coercive capacity—internally through the army and externally through proxies—but shows little understanding of how power must be aligned with legitimacy, strategy, and diplomacy to produce lasting outcomes.

One might contrast this with India’s evolving approach in Kashmir. While far from perfect, New Delhi has managed to integrate the region more deeply into the national economy post-2019, significantly reduce local militancy through counterinsurgency operations, and win international patience through its legalistic framing of the conflict. Pakistan, in comparison, has been left peddling outdated rhetoric and enabling attacks that diminish its moral and strategic standing.

The Regional Fallout

Pakistan’s reliance on proxy actors does not merely destabilise Kashmir; it fuels a broader arc of insecurity across South Asia. The same jihadist networks once used to challenge Indian forces have been recycled in Afghanistan, with catastrophic consequences. The Taliban’s return to power in 2021 was initially seen as a strategic win for Islamabad, but it has quickly turned into a security liability, as groups like Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) now use Afghan territory to launch cross-border attacks.

The persistence of this doctrine has also weakened Pakistan’s relations with Iran, which has grown increasingly wary of Sunni extremist groups operating in Baluchistan. Even China, Pakistan’s "iron brother," has expressed concerns over the security of its nationals after repeated militant attacks on China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) projects. What began as a strategy to contain India has metastasised into a regional security nightmare, threatening the very alliances Pakistan depends on for survival.

The Epistemology of Failure

The intellectual bankruptcy of Pakistan’s strategic doctrine lies in its failure to adapt. Despite mounting evidence of its inefficacy, the Pakistani military continues to double down on proxy warfare, unable or unwilling to acknowledge that the world—and Kashmir—has changed. This stubbornness stems from institutional inertia, bureaucratic self-preservation, and an entrenched belief within Pakistan’s security establishment that conventional diplomacy is a sign of weakness.

Yet real power in international relations is not the ability to inflict harm, but the ability to shape outcomes. That requires knowledge of the enemy, of one’s own limitations, and of the evolving international order. Pakistan, tragically, has confused violence with strategy, and fear with influence.

This condition is not unique to Pakistan. States across the world, from Russia to Iran, have at times fallen into the trap of using force without wisdom. But in Pakistan’s case, the danger is compounded by its fragile democratic institutions, its nuclear arsenal, and its economic vulnerability. A doctrine that produces neither deterrence nor dialogue is not just failing—it is unravelling.

A Way Forward?

Any sustainable resolution to South Asia’s enduring conflicts must begin with the recognition that terrorism is not a legitimate tool of foreign policy. Pakistan must dismantle its infrastructure of proxy warfare—not because India demands it, but because its national interest requires it. A stable, economically integrated Pakistan with a credible foreign policy would gain far more in global standing than one that trades in martyrdom and mayhem.

For this to happen, the Pakistani military must cede space to civilian leadership, allowing for a foreign policy rooted in diplomacy rather than deception. Regional cooperation on climate change, trade, and counter-terrorism is impossible so long as Pakistan sees its neighbourhood through the prism of zero-sum conflict.

The tragedy of Pahalgam is not just the loss of innocent lives. It is a reminder that Pakistan’s current trajectory is unsustainable. Power without knowledge is not only self-defeating—it is dangerous. If Pakistan seeks relevance in the 21st century, it must abandon the ghosts of 20th-century warfare and embrace a future rooted in peace, partnership, and political maturity.

 

@Author is Faculty, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta

Democracy on the Edge: A Nation in the Fog of Its Own Making

 Dr. Asis Mistry

Donald Trump’s political resurgence mirrors historical fascist movements and poses a grave threat to the foundations of American democracy.

History, it is often said, does not repeat itself, but it does rhyme. This adage rings with unsettling clarity when we examine the present trajectory of American politics under the shadow of Donald Trump. With his return to power, the United States finds itself in a moment of democratic vulnerability that carries echoes of early 20th-century Europe, particularly the rise of fascism in Italy and Germany. Though the context and contours differ, the essential tactics—undermining institutions, fostering ultra-nationalist fervour, scapegoating minorities, and attacking liberal thought—remain hauntingly familiar.

In 1922, Benito Mussolini came to power in Italy not by storming the gates of parliament but by being invited in. King Victor Emmanuel III, amid political paralysis, appointed him prime minister, despite the Fascist Party holding only a handful of seats. Similarly, Adolf Hitler, though leading a minority party, was invited to form a coalition government in 1933 by conservatives who believed they could contain and use him to neutralise the left. In both cases, democratic institutions were used as ladders to power—and then kicked away.

Trump’s rise did not initially mirror this trajectory in method, but over time, his politics have begun to reflect its essence. In 2016, he was elected on a wave of populist discontent, promising to "drain the swamp" and restore America's "greatness" against the backdrop of economic uncertainty, racial anxieties, and anti-immigrant sentiment. His supporters were not marginal extremists alone but included mainstream conservatives, business elites, and religious traditionalists, many of whom believed they could ride his charisma to advance their agendas.

During his first term, Trump’s politics flirted with authoritarianism—questioning the judiciary, demonising the press, and stoking white nationalist rhetoric—but remained within certain democratic bounds. It was after his 2020 electoral defeat, however, that the darker undercurrents surfaced with full force. His baseless claims of electoral fraud culminated in the January 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol, an act of insurrection not seen since the Civil War. The goal was to halt the certification of Joe Biden’s electoral victory, a direct assault on the peaceful transfer of power.

What unfolded that day should have ended a political career. Instead, it hardened a movement. Trump's refusal to accept electoral defeat, his tacit encouragement of violence, and his ongoing campaign of grievance and revenge have only deepened his grip on the Republican base. His latest administration is staffed entirely by loyalists, purging anyone with independent thought or institutional allegiance. Traditional Republican leaders, who once criticised him, now either support him unconditionally or remain complicit in silence.

Trump’s agenda today reveals an unambiguous pattern. He has accelerated mass deportations of undocumented immigrants, sometimes without court authorisation, reviving cruel tactics like shackling migrants and sending them to prisons in foreign countries. His justification is national security, but the message is unmistakable: dissent and difference are unwelcome in Trump’s America.

The comparison with fascist regimes becomes more troubling when we examine Trump’s hostility toward academia and liberal institutions. Under his directives, federal funding has been cut from universities accused of harbouring “anti-Israel” sentiments—often conflated with broader critiques of American foreign policy or human rights. This suppression of intellectual dissent, particularly targeting research on race, gender, and colonialism, mirrors the fascist obsession with ideological purity. In fascist Europe, universities were among the first institutions to be silenced or co-opted, as critical inquiry was seen as a threat to state control.

Trump’s collaboration with billionaire allies like Elon Musk to audit and downsize federal departments further erodes institutional independence. Without any official designation, Musk has been given sweeping authority to identify “waste” and streamline government—a euphemism for ideological cleansing. Thousands of civil servants have been fired, particularly from education and foreign aid departments, which conservatives label as liberal bastions. Again, the comparison is apt: fascist regimes often employed industrialists and media magnates to restructure the state in service of the regime.

Meanwhile, conservative attacks on affirmative action, gender equity, and social welfare have escalated. The Trump administration’s explicit denial of institutional racism and its ban on social diversity programs reinforce a vision of America that is exclusionary, patriarchal, and monolithic. This is not governance—it is a cultural crusade.

Even Trump’s economic policies serve ideological rather than practical ends. His reintroduction of steep tariffs, particularly against China, has rattled global markets and triggered fears of trade wars. The financial logic is dubious, as history and economics warn that trade wars rarely benefit anyone. But for Trump, these moves serve a nationalist narrative: they paint America as a victim of global exploitation and himself as its saviour.

The consequences are immediate. Prices rise. Investments falter. Pensions shrink. Yet Trump persists, because the politics of spectacle and resentment outweigh economic rationality. This is not about fixing America—it is about controlling it.

The most alarming element, however, is the erosion of democratic norms. Trump’s open musing about bypassing constitutional term limits, combined with his threat to weaponise institutions against political opponents, raises serious concerns about the future of American democracy. Fascists, once in power, rarely surrender it voluntarily. They change the rules, suppress dissent, and manufacture consent.

And while Trump may not wear a uniform or lead a paramilitary force, he enjoys the unwavering support of groups like the Proud Boys and other far-right militias. Many of those who stormed the Capitol now hold positions of influence in his party. Their rise is not an accident—it is part of a strategy. Fear, misinformation, and intimidation are tools as potent today as they were in the 1930s.

What is perhaps most disheartening is the passivity of the establishment. Conservative judges, corporate donors, and Republican lawmakers who once claimed to defend the Constitution now look the other way. Their complicity recalls the appeasement of fascism by European elites who thought they could manage the radicals, only to be consumed by them.

America today stands at an inflexion point. The institutions of democracy—courts, elections, press, academia—are under assault not from external enemies but from within. The battle is not only about Trump but about what kind of country the United States wants to be. Will it remain a pluralist democracy, messy and diverse but committed to liberty and law? Or will it slide further into authoritarianism cloaked in the language of patriotism?

The answer will depend on the courage of its citizens and leaders. History teaches us that fascism often wins not because of overwhelming strength but because of the weakness of opposition—because people assume “it can’t happen here” until it already has.

Democracy is not self-sustaining. It must be defended, not only in times of crisis but every day, by those who value freedom, equality, and justice. Donald Trump’s politics may not yet be fascism in its full form, but the shadows are lengthening. And shadows, left unchallenged, eventually turn to night.

 

Note: This essay is inspired by Partha Chatterjee’s insightful article published in Anandabazar Patrika on the political parallels between Donald Trump’s rise and historical 

Who Owns the Narrative? Rethinking the Pahalgam Attack through a Civilisational Lens

 

Dr. Asis Mistry

The recent terror attack in Pahalgam, Kashmir, which claimed 26 innocent lives—mostly Hindu tourists from across India—has reignited debates far beyond the tragic loss of life. The attack has fractured public discourse, not just along communal lines but across ideological divides, offering a potent case study of Samuel Huntington’s Clash of Civilizations thesis. Huntington argued that the post-Cold War world would be shaped less by ideological struggle and more by cultural and civilizational fault lines. In India today, this conflict is no longer hypothetical—it is playing out in blood, rhetoric, and narrative warfare.

Civilizational Identity and the Clash with Islam

In his influential work, Huntington described Islam as a civilisation with "bloody borders," involved in a disproportionate number of global conflicts. The Pahalgam attack, allegedly carried out by Pakistan-backed Islamic terrorists, is emblematic of this pattern. The victims were primarily Hindu pilgrims, tourists, professionals, from Maharashtra, Gujarat, West Bengal, Karnataka, and even a Navy lieutenant from Haryana. Their murder was not random; it was a deliberate act designed to provoke fear among a particular civilisational group: Hindus.

This attack follows a disturbing trend. Whether it's the 2008 Mumbai attacks, the 2001 Indian Parliament attack, or the 2016 Uri and Pathankot incidents, Islamic extremism has consistently targeted India’s symbolic and civilian core. The pattern is unmistakable. Islamic radical groups like Jaish-e-Mohammed and Lashkar-e-Taiba, which operate with impunity from Pakistan, routinely justify their violence in religious terms. They aim to disrupt India's pluralist ethos and challenge its growing assertion of a Hindu cultural identity under the BJP regime.

While it is politically sensitive to admit, Huntington’s framing compels us to view these acts not merely as terrorist incidents but as eruptions in a broader civilizational fault line between Islam and Hinduism.

Hindu Civilisation and Its Unique Fault Lines

Yet, unlike most civilisations in Huntington’s model, Hindu civilisation is uniquely fragmented. It is internally fissured by caste, region, language, and competing ideologies. These internal cleavages have created a fertile ground for what can be described as a “pseudo-secular” counter-narrative—a narrative that deflects from civilizational realities and instead projects the violence inward, often blaming the state, the army, or the government.

This was visible in the immediate aftermath of the Pahalgam massacre. Social media posts circulated widely, suggesting that the attack was a failure of intelligence, a political ploy by the BJP, or a pre-election stunt. Instead of mourning the victims or condemning the ideology behind the attack, many commentators chose to accuse the state of complicity or incompetence. They questioned the timing (with elections near), the absence of security forces, and even implied a Hindutva conspiracy.

What explains such reactions? The answer lies in Hindu civilizational identity. Unlike Islam or Christianity, Hinduism lacks a centralised clerical authority or universalist doctrine. Its pluralism is both its strength and its vulnerability. It allows for multiple narratives, but also enables the proliferation of self-negating ideologies. The Hindu Left, liberal intelligentsia, and pseudo-secular elements have internalised an aversion to civilizational self-assertion, often equating it with fascism or majoritarianism.

Narrative Wars: Three Competing Frames

In the context of the Pahalgam attack, three dominant narratives have emerged:

1. Islamist Apologia: This narrative, often echoed by certain Muslim voices and sympathetic left-liberals, deflects blame from the terrorists to the policies of the Indian state. It argues that the rise of Hindutva provokes such attacks, thereby rationalising jihadist violence as political resistance.
2. Hindu Majoritarianism: In contrast, another narrative paints all Muslims as complicit. It feeds into a siege mentality among Hindus and demands collective punishment. While this narrative recognises the civilizational conflict, it risks alienating innocent Muslims and oversimplifying the problem.
3. Pseudo-Secular Deflection: This is perhaps the most intellectually dishonest narrative. It insists that "terrorism has no religion" and blames intelligence failure, not ideological motives. This narrative obscures the religious identity of the attackers and their victims to maintain a secular veneer.

These narratives aren’t just discursive. They shape public policy, electoral outcomes, and social cohesion. In this narrative battleground, Huntington’s insight proves prescient: civilisations define themselves by what they are not, and conflict arises when these identities clash.

The Economic Fallout: A Civilizational Undercurrent

The Pahalgam attack also had immediate economic repercussions. Tourism—the backbone of Kashmir's economy—took a direct hit. Flight fares to Srinagar dropped by as much as 63%, and nearly 85% of travel bookings were cancelled within 48 hours. Such economic disruptions are not collateral damage; they are central to the terrorists’ goals. By targeting Hindu tourists, they aim to sever the civilizational ties between the Indian mainland and Kashmir, reinforcing the Islamist claim that Hindus are outsiders.

The loss of income for Kashmiri traders, hoteliers, and guides—many of whom are Muslim—illustrates another layer of tragedy. Islamic terrorism not only deepens the Hindu-Muslim civilizational divide but also destabilises intra-Islamic economic cooperation. This again aligns with Huntington’s idea of fault lines, but with the added complexity of intra-civilizational contradictions.

Reimagining the Civilizational Frame

The Pahalgam attack is a painful reminder of the enduring power of civilizational narratives. Huntington's thesis offers a useful lens to understand the macro patterns of identity-based conflict, but it should not be the sole prism through which we respond. While it helps diagnose the fault lines, it does not provide a blueprint for healing.

If we are to move forward, we must not harden these civilizational lines but learn to cross them. Recognising a clash does not mean we must be resigned to perpetual division. Instead, it calls for a deeper reckoning with how historical grievances, political opportunism, and ideological blind spots contribute to conflict.

Rather than polarising ourselves into binaries—Hindu vs. Muslim, secular vs. communal—we must see the whole: the complex, entangled reality of contemporary India, where multiple identities coexist, overlap, and often contradict. True civilisational strength lies in the ability to bridge differences, not merely defend borders.

This moment demands empathy without naivety, strength without aggression, and above all, a narrative that aspires to integration rather than exclusion. Only then can we move from clash to conversation, from suspicion to solidarity, and from fear to a shared future.

 

@ The author is Faculty, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta

Why the Right to Rights Movement Matters in an Age of Shrinking Civic Space

Dr. Asis Mistry

In the age of rising authoritarianism, censorship, and social exclusion, one question continues to resonate across the margins of Indian society: Do we truly have the right to rights? At a time when civic space is being systematically constrained — from the silencing of dissent to the criminalisation of protest — the Right to Rights Movement emerges not merely as a campaign, but as a foundational reminder of what it means to belong in a democracy.

A Crisis of Citizenship and Belonging

The crisis we face today is not just political or economic; it is existential. Millions in India live in what can only be described as a “zone of abandonment” — denied access to healthcare, education, housing, legal recourse, and dignity. Whether it is the daily wage worker in a metropolitan slum, the manual scavenger in rural Bihar, or the tribal family evicted from their forestland, the experience is the same: the state is either absent or predatory.

It is in this context that the Right to Rights Movement becomes crucial. Emerging from the grassroots, especially in states like Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan, and Chhattisgarh, this movement is not a demand for charity or welfare. It is a demand for recognition — a call to be seen, heard, and respected as rights-bearing citizens.

What Is the Right to Rights Movement?

Conceptually rooted in Ambedkarite and Gandhian traditions of social justice, the Right to Rights Movement brings together marginalised communities, social workers, legal activists, and public intellectuals in a sustained effort to transform the relationship between the citizen and the state. It seeks to reclaim the idea that rights are not favours bestowed by the government, but entitlements guaranteed by the Constitution.

This movement insists that the poor are not “beneficiaries” but claimants. It moves beyond the language of benevolence and charity, often deployed in government schemes, to one of accountability and justice. It is not enough for the state to provide subsidies or relief; it must ensure justice, equity, and dignity in structural terms.

Shrinking Civic Space: A Global and National Trend

The idea of shrinking civic space refers to the increasing restrictions placed on civil society organisations, grassroots mobilisations, independent media, and ordinary citizens’ rights to organise, protest, and speak freely. Globally, watchdogs like CIVICUS and Freedom House have reported alarming trends — India has, in recent years, been downgraded from a "free" to a "partly free" democracy.

The recent amendments to the Foreign Contribution (Regulation) Act (FCRA), which have choked funding for NGOs; the arrest and harassment of activists under draconian laws like the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA); and the vilification of student and farmer protests in mainstream media — all signal a deepening erosion of civic freedoms.

In such a climate, movements like Right to Rights do more than articulate demands; they hold space for participatory democracy to survive.

From Protest to Praxis

What distinguishes the Right to Rights Movement from other forms of resistance is its insistence on praxis — the translation of ideals into actionable, everyday strategies of engagement. It has made significant interventions in areas such as:

• Right to Work: Strengthening implementation and access to MGNREGA, ensuring proper wage payments, and demanding transparency in employment data.

• Right to Food: Organising social audits, monitoring PDS delivery, and combating exclusions in Aadhaar-based systems.

• Right to Health and Shelter: Demanding accountability for underfunded primary health care centres and working toward urban housing rights for informal workers.

By creating Jan Sunwais (public hearings), community rights clinics, and social accountability platforms, the movement has generated a culture of democratic assertion that thrives in the everyday, not just in elections.

Democracy Is a Verb, Not a Noun

One of the most radical insights of the Right to Rights Movement is that democracy is not an event but a practice. Voting once every five years does not guarantee justice. Rights must be lived, claimed, and defended every day — especially by those for whom the law remains out of reach.

In this way, the movement reclaims the spirit of India’s Constitution. It puts Ambedkar’s warning front and centre: that political democracy must rest on a foundation of social and economic democracy. Without equality and dignity in everyday life, the right to vote becomes hollow.

Towards a New Democratic Ethic

We must understand that the shrinking of civic space is not just about fewer protests or less media freedom. It is about a moral contraction — the narrowing of who counts as a citizen, whose pain matters, whose voice is legitimate.

The Right to Rights Movement pushes back against this contraction. It offers a radically inclusive vision of citizenship, one that is not based on class, caste, religion, or location, but on the shared dignity of human beings.

This is not easy. The movement faces harassment, fatigue, and the immense challenge of sustaining hope in deeply unequal and hostile environments. Yet it endures — precisely because it is not just a movement, but a moral argument for the republic itself.

A Call to Action

If we are to reverse the democratic decline we are witnessing, we need to do more than vote. We must listen, accompany, and amplify those on the frontlines of rights-based struggles. We must question policies that criminalise protest and demonise dissent. We must reclaim the language of rights — not just as legal tools, but as ethical imperatives.

Supporting the Right to Rights Movement is not just solidarity; it is self-interest. A society that denies rights to some ultimately endangers rights for all.

Let us remember: democracies don’t die in one day. They die slowly, through everyday silences, erasures, and exclusions. The Right to Rights Movement — with all its limitations and imperfections — refuses that silence. And for that reason alone, it matters more now than ever before.

@ The Author is Assistant Professor, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta