Democracy is tested not only by the strength of its laws, but by the conduct of those entrusted to uphold them. On Wednesday, India witnessed a troubling convergence of four incidents across its highest political and constitutional spaces—each distinct in form, yet united by a common thread of eroding institutional decorum. Together, they raised an uncomfortable question: are the nation’s political battles beginning to spill into arenas meant to remain above partisan heat? The first episode unfolded at the very threshold of Parliament. Leader of the Opposition Rahul Gandhi publicly referred to his former party colleague, MP Maninderjeet Singh Bitta (MS Bitta)—who had crossed over to another party—as a “traitor” at the entrance of the Lok Sabha. Political defections are hardly new to Indian democracy, and sharp words have long accompanied them. But the symbolic setting mattered. Parliament’s doors are not merely physical entry points; they represent the sanctity of legislative debate. When denunciations are delivered there, the line between political rivalry and institutional respect begins to blur.The second incident took place within the Speaker’s domain. Reports of disorder inside the office of the Lok Sabha Speaker added to the sense of unease. The Speaker’s role, constitutionally defined as the neutral arbiter of the House, rests heavily on the perception of authority and calm. Any chaos in that office—regardless of which party is responsible—diminishes the dignity of an institution meant to rise above daily political skirmishes. The third—and perhaps most consequential—moment played out in the Supreme Court. West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee, while presenting her government’s case before a three-judge bench headed by Chief Justice Suryakant, was seen on live television making politically charged allegations during a hearing focused on the admissibility of a petition involving the state government and the Election Commission. The courtroom, like Parliament, is governed by constitutional discipline rather than political rhetoric. While strong arguments are the lifeblood of advocacy, the judiciary has traditionally been insulated from the language of rallies and public platforms. Then came the fourth—and arguably the most disturbing—incident. A democratically elected Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, was physically obstructed as women members of the Opposition menacingly charged towards him. This was not merely a protest or a parliamentary disruption; it crossed into the realm of intimidation. If the free movement and security of the Prime Minister within the democratic precincts of Parliament cannot be ensured, it raises deeply unsettling questions about the health of institutional order itself.
Viewed individually, each episode can be defended, contextualized, or explained away as a product of intense political competition. Taken together, however, they present a more sobering picture. Over eight decades of independent India’s parliamentary and judicial history, such a clustering of confrontations at the highest levels of legislative and constitutional authority has been rare. There have been stormy sessions and sharp exchanges before. But the near-simultaneous spectacle of public denunciation at Parliament’s doorstep, disorder inside the Speaker’s office, political posturing in the Supreme Court, and physical obstruction of the Prime Minister on the same day stands out for its symbolism as much as its substance. What deserves recognition is the restraint shown by constitutional authorities. By all accounts, both the Lok Sabha Speaker and the Chief Justice maintained composure and adherence to institutional norms. Their conduct underscored a vital truth: the strength of democracy lies not only in the power to speak, but in the discipline to listen, moderate, and uphold procedure under pressure. Restraint, however, cannot remain a one-sided virtue. The Opposition, in particular, must reflect on whether relentless disruption, courtroom theatrics, and physical confrontation serve the interests of the people—or merely the optics of political defiance. Protest is a democratic right. Paralysis of institutions is not. As millions of Indians now watch Parliament live on their screens, democracy is under continuous public audit. Citizens can see who debates, who disrupts, who builds, and who blocks. In the upcoming state assembly elections, voters will have the opportunity to deliver their own verdict. If democratic decorum is being dented from within, it is ultimately the citizen who must act as its final guardian. The ballot, not the barricade, is the true instrument of accountability. It is there that the nation must decide whether it wants a politics of governance and growth—or a politics of obstruction that risks stalling India’s economic momentum and weakening its national resolve.
