India’s democracy is not merely a system of governance, but a moral commitment—one of equality, justice, and fraternity. The Preamble of the Constitution proclaims this commitment. But as we look around us today, the uncomfortable question arises: are we doing justice to that commitment? Or is this very structure of democracy itself cracked from within, with law, order, and power all under the grip of caste, class, and identity?
Today, laws are enacted, amended, and new provisions are added, but it’s natural to question the intent behind them. Are these laws for the citizen, or for a particular group, class, or vote bank? When social identity begins to replace logic and justice as the basis of legislation, the balance of democracy is bound to be disrupted. The law’s function is to unite society, but if it becomes a means of dividing society into categories, this situation is not only worrying but also dangerous.
The role of the judicial system is considered the most sacred in any democracy. The court is the place where the last hope rests. But when the perception begins to develop that a person’s caste, status, and political patronage are considered before reaching the threshold of justice, the foundation of trust begins to shake. Justice is not just a decision; it is trust. And when this trust is broken, it affects not just one person but the entire society. Today, the number of pending cases in the courts, the delay in decisions, and the apparent or implicit bias in some cases—all these pose serious questions about the health of democracy.
The erosion of truth in the name of democracy is a slow but continuous process. It doesn’t happen overnight. First, inconvenient questions are labeled “anti-national,” then criticism is branded a “conspiracy,” and finally, those who speak the truth are marginalized. When debates in Parliament become more noise than solutions, when a large part of the media becomes an extension of power, and when social discourse is reduced to the incitement of emotions, then it should be understood that democracy is only formally alive; its soul is in crisis.
Talks of harmony are uttered from every platform, but the reality on the ground reveals the opposite. Divisions in society are deepening—in the name of religion, caste, language, and region. Instead of bridging these divides, power often exploits them as a tool. “Divide and rule” is no longer a colonial policy relegated to history books, but has become an effective strategy in contemporary politics. When the public is entangled within itself, the power to question power weakens.
It’s ironic that while there’s talk of eradicating casteism, every political calculus is based on caste-based equations. From election tickets to policy decisions, caste remains a crucial factor. In such a context, the preaching of “rising above caste” seems hollow. If caste were truly irrelevant, why would it be so prominently mentioned in every policy, every debate, and every election?
The growing despair in this country of hope isn’t solely due to economic factors. Unemployment, inflation, and resource inequality are factors, but an even greater cause is a breakdown in trust. The people entrusted power to those in whose hands they expected to work for the benefit of all. But when that very power, to preserve its own existence, begins to divide society, fear criticism, and suppress dissent, the moral foundation of democracy weakens.
The government’s turning away from the truth is not a good sign for any society. When the government becomes preoccupied with cultivating its own image and ignores real problems, lies create a parallel reality. In this reality, statistics are dazzling, speeches are lofty, but the lives of ordinary people become increasingly difficult. Propaganda is used to conceal the truth, and gradually, the public is taught that asking questions is uncivilized.
Talk of social justice is often heard in legislative assemblies and Parliament, but on the ground, the same injustice manifests itself in new forms. In the name of policy reform, provisions are introduced that are either incomplete or give rise to new controversies. This situation is further exacerbated when affected groups lack genuine participation in policymaking, and decisions are imposed from above.
The true test of democracy comes in times of crisis. Does it stand with the weakest citizen, or with the most powerful? Today, this question is more relevant than ever. When injustice is committed against the “other,” a large segment of society remains silent. But this very silence leads to the erosion of our own rights tomorrow. Selective morality—where we only see injustice in our own interests—erodes democracy from within.
This editorial is not an indictment against any one government, party, or leader. It is a call for collective introspection. Democracy is not just the responsibility of rulers; it is equally the responsibility of citizens. Asking questions, expressing dissent, and standing up for the truth—this is the true power of democracy. If we choose to remain silent for the sake of convenience, then we cannot escape responsibility for the collapse of the system.
Today, justice needs to be restored to its original meaning—impartial, fearless, and equal. The purpose of law should not be to secure power, but to protect the rights of citizens. The religion of politics should be reconciliation, not polarization. And democracy should not mean voting once every five years, but being vigilant every day.
If we don’t wake up now, future generations will ask us not who we voted for, but what we did when society was being divided, when justice was demanding identity, and when truth was being suppressed. This is the biggest and most urgent question facing India’s democracy today.
