One of the great myths sold to the public—especially by so-called opinion-makers in television studios and editorial rooms—is that national consensus is achievable on complex issues of statecraft. In reality, consensus has rarely existed, at least not in any meaningful or durable form, within functioning democracies. Not in my lifetime, and certainly not in any democracy that takes pluralism seriously.
From prime-time debates to front-page editorials, disagreements are not aberrations; they are the defining feature of democratic governance. The uncomfortable truth is that democracies thrive on contention, not conformity. Those who romanticise “national consensus” often overlook the fact that such unanimity exists only in authoritarian or tightly controlled systems—China, Russia, or absolute monarchies—where dissent is either criminalised or crushed.
In China, disagreement with the Communist Party line is branded anti-national. In Russia, political opposition is systematically neutralised. Leaders in these systems can anoint themselves presidents for life precisely because dissent is not tolerated. Even in some Islamic monarchies, while power remains concentrated, controlled dissent is occasionally permitted—but only within rigid boundaries.
Ironically, even Iran, a theocratic state with a powerful Supreme Leader, is witnessing sustained protests that defy authoritarian control. For weeks, Iranians have taken to the streets, challenging clerical authority at immense personal risk. This alone should puncture the lazy assumption that consensus equals stability.
Against this backdrop, expecting countries like India or the United States—large, noisy, argumentative democracies—to arrive at neat, unanimous positions on foreign policy, trade, or defence is unrealistic.
Yet, this is exactly the illusion repeatedly manufactured by sections of the media.
Recently, I watched a televised debate featuring senior editors of a prominent English news channel. The topic was ostensibly serious: What strategic options does India have as it seeks to emerge as a major global power? More specifically, what choices lie before Prime Minister Narendra Modi at a time when the global order is visibly fragmenting?
Predictably, the panelists disagreed on everything—and yet pretended to search for a single “correct” solution.
Some argued that India must tilt decisively towards the United States, the world’s largest economy but also an increasingly unpredictable partner—one that threatens allies and adversaries alike with tariffs, sanctions, and trade coercion. Others suggested India should deepen alignment with the China–Russia axis, despite China’s unresolved border aggression and Russia’s growing isolation due to prolonged conflicts.
What none of them admitted is that India’s strategic challenge is not about choosing one camp over another. It is about refusing false binaries altogether.
India’s foreign policy today operates in a world where old alliances are fraying and economic nationalism is back with a vengeance. The United States speaks the language of free markets but practises protectionism. China projects itself as a champion of the Global South while pursuing expansionist ambitions. Russia seeks strategic relevance amid economic strain. Europe lectures on values while quietly hedging its own interests.
In such a scenario, India cannot afford ideological rigidity.
On trade, India must protect domestic manufacturing while remaining integrated with global supply chains. On defence, it must diversify procurement—American platforms, Russian legacy systems, indigenous production—without becoming hostage to any single supplier. On the economy, India needs foreign investment but not at the cost of policy sovereignty. On technology, it must collaborate globally while securing critical infrastructure.
This balancing act is not confusion; it is strategy.
The real failure lies not with policymakers, but with sections of the media that reduce nuanced statecraft to binary shouting matches. Instead of explaining why ambiguity can be strength, debates descend into accusatory narratives: Is India abandoning the West? Is Modi surrendering to Russia? Is China winning the strategic chessboard?
These are simplistic frames for a complex world.
Consensus, when forced, becomes dogma. Democracies function not by eliminating disagreement but by managing it institutionally. India’s strength lies precisely in its ability to absorb internal dissent while projecting external autonomy.
Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s foreign policy—often lazily dismissed as “Non-Alignment 2.0”—is, in reality, a conscious rejection of Cold War binaries. Strategic autonomy is not indecision; it is leverage. His push for all-round development—whether in defence manufacturing, space technology, infrastructure, or critical industrial sectors—is aimed at building a new, self-reliant Bharat, no longer dependent on external powers even for essential components. This goal is neither utopian nor unattainable; it is practical, achievable, and already underway.
Against this backdrop, if media professionals genuinely wish to contribute to the national discourse, their task is not to manufacture consensus but to elevate public understanding of these realities. Democracies will argue. They will disagree—often loudly. That is not a weakness. It is the price, and the privilege, of freedom.
The struggle for consensus is real. But the struggle to think beyond binaries is far more urgent.
