From the Opinions Editor: Look back and see how protests in Delhi travel far beyond Delhi

Unwittingly, Patra raised some fundamental questions that speak both to the current moment as well as the broader practice of Indian democracy.

Are protests in the national capital given outsized importance because of their proximity to power? Does media concentration in Delhi amplify voices and issues that lack broader resonance? Or, conversely, are the thousands of protesters a microcosm of a broader public sentiment? Is the slogan on the street a way to be heard by and seek action from the state and government, to seek accountability and change?

From the first dynasties of the Sultanate to Nadir Shah’s invasion, which marked the de facto end of Mughal rule, to the British, whose Raj ended a mere three decades after it shifted the capital from Calcutta (after a protest movement called the freedom struggle) — Delhi, on and off for centuries, has been the seat of subcontinental power, and the decline of kings and empires. From 1947 onwards, it became the city of refugees in the aftermath of Partition. The violence and trauma of that beginning is arguably the reason both for the quiet cosmopolitanism of the capital, as well as its much-derided brusqueness and aggression.

In the new capital, those in charge of a young democracy soon faced a dilemma that continues to resonate today: What is the role of protesters and dissenters, vis-à-vis an elected government? After all, the legitimacy that an election based on universal franchise provides is nothing to scoff at. That said, protests continued in the ’50s and ’60s, the Marxist parties led agitations on behalf of peasants and workers, along with Socialists and Gandhians. But the movement that shook the country was the one led by Jayaprakash Narayan.

The JP movement began in Bihar as a student agitation. But the call for “total revolution” led JP and the future leaders of the Janata Party, including Jana Sangh stalwarts, to the Ram Lila ground in Delhi and hours later, on June 25, 1975, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi declared Emergency. Back then, too, the spectre of external enemies and anarchy was invoked against protesters.

The JP movement arguably ended Congress dominance and opened up the political field to new players. From Atal Bihari Vajpayee and L K Advani to Lalu Prasad, Mulayam Singh, Arun Jaitley and even Narendra Modi, a host of political stalwarts emerged from the crucible of that protest movement. The protest began in Bihar, but it culminated in Delhi. The physical proximity to power, the journey from state to Centre, carries great symbolic political weight.

After the Emergency, protests may have changed theme and colour, but they hardly died down. In fact, a massive protest at the heart of Delhi — in Rajpath (now Kartavya Path) and the Boat Club lawns — was a show of strength by mass leaders. Charan Singh’s farmer rally saw lakhs crowd the seat of power and exposed the fissures and factions in the Janata government in 1978. A decade later, in 1988, Mahendra Singh Tikait all but besieged the Boat Club lawns for a week, demanding higher prices for crops and electricity and water subsidies for farmers. Tractors and pack animals stood a stone’s throw away from Parliament and the President’s residence.

Decades later, in 1990, the political paradigm shifted across India — once again as a result of protest movements. The V P Singh government’s decision to implement the Mandal Commission’s recommendations sparked protests across India, including in Delhi. Students clashed with the police, and extreme steps, including self-immolation, were taken. The Ram Temple movement, too, had its highlights in Delhi; not least the fiery speeches by Advani declaring “mandir wahin banayenge” and the massive rallies at the Ram Lila maidan were the beginnings of the version of Hindutva we know today.

From the late 1980s — largely because of the Tikait-led protest and later the possibility of violence during the Ram temple movement — the locus of protests shifted from the Boat Club lawns to Jantar Mantar. In that cul-de-sac of Parliament Street, every manner of protester — from people demanding justice for land lost, or crimes unpunished to animal rights groups and everything above, below and in between — could be seen. In the “4 square kilometres”, the grievances, great and small, of the many communities and interests that reside somewhere in “32,87,000 square kilometres” found a small space. It was at Jantar Mantar that the Anna Hazare movement against corruption began, before it moved to Ram Lila Maidan (it had grown too large for the small space, and the police and government of the day permitted the rally to move). There weren’t as many barricades and blocked roads then, for a protest that contributed in no small measure to a narrative against the ruling establishment of the time.

The demand for women’s safety, too, shook the capital after the brutal rape and murder in Delhi in December 2012. Law and order, women’s safety, and their dignity became part of the national conversation in an unprecedented way.

Were all these protests in Delhi — by farmers and students, Hindutva supporters and for women’s safety — “disruptions” and “anarchy”? Or was the “inconvenience” they caused to people and governments a way to break the silence, to become loud enough to pierce the barricades, real and symbolic, that separate those who have power from the people in whose name they wield it?

Unfortunately, the answer often depends on which side of the police line you stand on. The city’s history, though, makes one thing clear: Massive protests in Delhi echo far beyond the few square kilometres they may take place in.

Till next time,

Aakash Joshi

Recommended Reading:

P B Mehta writes: In Delhi, a new moment in which mass mobilisation meets an immovable state

Manoj Kumar Jha writes: Dear young protestors, you must build solidarities

Bijetri Pathak writes: For protesters and police at Jantar Mantar, lessons from Nana Patekar films

Aviral Pandey writes: BJP has mastered reach, not listening