According to her husband, Jumman Fakir, the family soon received a call from the Mumbai Police’s Chembur Crime Branch. Sahida had been detained on suspicion of being an “illegal immigrant”. Within days, the family was told that she had been sent to Bangladesh. Her husband says he had repeatedly approached the authorities with documents establishing her identity and roots in West Bengal, but they were allegedly disregarded. Sahida eventually called her family from Satkhira, Bangladesh.

The story, first reported in detail by Scroll on August 11, is disturbing not merely because of what allegedly happened to one woman, but because of the larger question it raises: what happens when the State begins treating Bengali identity as evidence of foreignness?

The Indian Express separately reported that Sahida was detained on July 18 and that sources said she was taken to Assam before being pushed across the border along with others. The report also provided that her family was preparing to approach the Calcutta High Court and that a migrant workers’ forum had written to the Ministry of External Affairs seeking intervention.

The facts, as reported, demand something more than administrative clarification. They demand scrutiny of the entire architecture through which a person can apparently move from being a resident of India to being labelled an “infiltrator”, detained and ultimately expelled from the country without a meaningful opportunity to contest that determination.

A woman disappears, and the State’s explanation is suspicion

Sahida’s case is particularly troubling because her family says it did not merely possess one disputed identity document. They produced a birth certificate recording her birth in Swarupdaha village in West Bengal in 1988. They produced a school certificate, a voter identity card issued in 2008, documents relating to land in Gobindapur, and records concerning her family. Her parents’ names, according to Scroll, also appeared in the 2002 electoral rolls.

None of these documents, individually, should be treated as an automatic and conclusive certificate of citizenship. That distinction matters. A voter ID, Aadhaar or land document cannot, by itself, settle every question concerning citizenship. But that is precisely why the State’s obligation becomes more important, not less.  If citizenship is disputed, the answer cannot simply be deportation. The dispute must first be investigated.

Sahida’s husband told Scroll that police asked for the birth certificates of her parents even after he had produced her own birth certificate and other documents. He said the family could not provide such certificates because they were from a generation in which birth registration was not common. That raises an obvious question: how much documentation must a poor citizen produce before the State believes that she belongs to the country in which she was born and has lived?

For months, instances of forced deportations and illegal pushbacks have surfaced from Assam, West Bengal, Gujarat, Rajasthan, Maharashtra and Delhi of individuals “suspected” of being Bangladeshi nationals. In many of these cases, the family of those deported have approached the courts alleging that the removals were carried out without any disclosed nationality verification, without travel documents, and without Bangladesh formally acknowledging or accepting the individuals concerned.

Detailed reports may be read here, here, here, here and here.

The most dangerous word in this story is “suspected”

There is a profound legal difference between suspecting that someone may be a foreign national and establishing that they are one. The first is an investigative starting point. The second is a legal conclusion. Sahida’s case, as reported, appears to collapse the two. Scroll reported that the family was not given documents relating to her arrest or detention and that the Mumbai and Navi Mumbai police did not respond to questions seeking clarification about the grounds for her detention.

When the State takes away a person’s liberty, the burden of public accountability does not disappear merely because the allegation involves “illegal immigration”. If anything, the stakes are higher because the consequence may ultimately be removal from the country itself. The Constitution does not create a zone of executive immunity around immigration enforcement.

Article 21 protects life and personal liberty. Article 14 demands non-arbitrariness and equality before the law. Article 22 contains safeguards concerning arrest and detention. These constitutional protections cannot become conditional upon whether the person is socially respectable, economically secure or perceived to “look Indian”. And the constitutional question becomes particularly serious when a person is allegedly identified not through a properly adjudicated finding but through a combination of suspicion and social profiling.

The border cannot become a substitute for a hearing

Sahida’s husband told Scroll that she was detained because she was Bengali. In Maharashtra, the crackdown has become increasingly expansive. Hindustan Times reported in March that the state government told the Legislative Council that more than 2,000 alleged illegal Bangladeshi nationals had been deported in 2025, compared with 202 in 2024, and that the state planned intensive “combing operations” in slums, construction sites and other areas. There is nothing inherently unlawful about a State identifying and removing foreign nationals who are illegally present. Immigration control is a legitimate governmental function. The danger begins when the hunt for foreigners becomes a hunt for people who appear foreign.

The physical act of pushing someone across an international border has consequences that are fundamentally different from ordinary detention. Once a person is in Bangladesh, an Indian court’s ability to protect her becomes substantially more complicated. Access to lawyers, family members and documents becomes difficult. The very act of deportation can therefore create a second legal problem out of the first. This is exactly what makes Sahida’s account so alarming. According to the Indian Express, she said she was taken to the Assam border and pushed into Bangladesh at around 1 a.m. She reportedly walked for hours through muddy fields before local residents helped her and a family in Satkhira provided her shelter.

A precedent already exists for bringing people back

The danger of mistaken deportation is no longer theoretical. In 2025, several Bengali-speaking residents working outside West Bengal were detained and sent across the Bangladesh border amid claims that they were Bangladeshi nationals. One of the most consequential cases involved Sunali Khatun, her husband and their son. The Calcutta High Court’s September 2025 judgment in Bhodu Sekh v. Union of India is particularly relevant. The court examined the deportation of Sunali Khatun, Danish and their son Sabir. The authorities had argued that the family had failed to establish Indian citizenship. But the court also considered the procedure prescribed by the Union’s May 2, 2025 memorandum for persons suspected of being Bangladeshi or Myanmar nationals who claimed Indian citizenship in another State.

The memorandum contemplated verification by the State or district from which the person claimed to originate. Where a person claimed Indian citizenship and residence in another State, the concerned authorities were required to seek verification from that State and district administration. The judgment records that such verification was to be undertaken within a specified period, during which the person could be kept in a holding centre.

The Calcutta High Court ultimately held that the procedure had not been followed and described the authorities’ action as being undertaken in “hot haste”. It set aside the detention and deportation orders concerning Sunali, Danish and Sabir and directed the authorities to take steps to bring them back to India. In May 2026, the Union told the Supreme Court that it would bring back people deported to Bangladesh and verify their citizenship claims. All those six deported in this case are now back in India.

Detailed reports may be read here and here.

Notably, a separate affidavit was filed by the Union Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA) on July 31, 2026 in Rajubala Das v. Union of India pursuant to the Supreme Court’s order dated March 21, 2025. The affidavit sought to explain the legal and administrative framework governing deportation where the nationality of a declared foreigner remains unknown or unverified. In doing so, the Union makes one of its clearest judicial admissions to date: deportation cannot even be initiated unless the individual’s nationality has first been verified by the receiving State, appropriate travel documents have been obtained, and the receiving country has agreed to accept the individual.

The affidavit fundamentally distinguishes between being declared a foreigner and being legally deportable. While a declaration by a Foreigners Tribunal may settle a person’s legal status within India, it does not, the Union now accepts, authorise the State to physically remove that individual from Indian territory. Deportation remains contingent upon a separate process involving diplomatic engagement, nationality verification, issuance of travel documents and, most importantly, the consent of another sovereign State. In other words, the executive cannot unilaterally deport a person merely because Indian authorities believe them to be a foreign national.

Detailed report may be read here.

The SIR connection makes the situation even more sensitive

Sahida’s case also comes amid intense scrutiny of electoral citizenship verification in West Bengal. According to Scroll, Sahida’s parents appeared on the 2002 electoral roll, while Sahida herself was marked “under adjudication” in the recent Special Intensive Revision process, with an appeal pending before the relevant tribunal. The fact that an electoral-roll dispute exists cannot itself establish whether Sahida is or is not an Indian citizen. But it does reinforce why administrative processes must remain separate and carefully bounded. Being excluded from an electoral roll is not the same thing as being declared a foreign national.

Indeed, in August 2025, the Supreme Court sought clarity from the Centre on the standard operating procedure governing deportation drives and specifically raised concerns about allegations that Bengali-speaking minorities were being singled out. The Court observed that while persons attempting to illegally cross into India could be dealt with at the border, once a person was already inside the country, the law prescribed a procedure.

Over the past few months, multiple petitions before the Supreme Court and High Courts have alleged that persons suspected of being Bangladeshi nationals were taken across the international border without any publicly disclosed deportation process. In several cases, families have alleged that individuals were picked up without prior notice, denied access to lawyers or relatives, and removed without any disclosed deportation order or travel documents.

Detailed report may be read here, here, here and here.

Related:

‘Deportation Cannot Begin without Nationality Verification’: Union’s Rajubala affidavit clarifies legal limits on executive power

Aadhaar, Voter ID and PAN Cannot Prove Citizenship: Calcutta High Court’s Foreigners Order and the burden of belonging

They Belong Here: An elderly couple’s victory for citizenship

Another CJP Victory: Barpeta Tribunal declares Alam Khan ‘not a foreigner’

When a narrow reading of documents decide citizenship: GHC in Aminul Hoque

‘Fairness & reason ‘: SC rules that due process is a must for citizenship determination

Gauhati High Court upholds foreigner declaration, rejects mental illness plea

The post When Suspicion Becomes Deportation: The case of Sahida Fakir and the dangerous criminalisation of Bengali identity appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Recent figures reported through an RTI investigation by The Indian Express suggest that India is witnessing an unprecedented expansion of government-backed content restrictions. Between March and July 2026, government agencies issued nearly 1.95 lakh blocking directions to Instagram, Facebook and YouTube. According to the report, this amounted to roughly 1,275 directions every day, or approximately one direction every 68 seconds. Instagram alone received nearly one lakh directions, Facebook around 80,000 and YouTube approximately 15,000.

The scale becomes even more striking when compared with the previous period for which comparable figures are available. RTI data accessed by The Indian Express showed that between October 2024 and October 2025, 2,312 blocking orders were sent to 19 online platforms through the government’s Sahyog portal. That amounted to roughly six orders a day. In the following five months, directions to just three major platforms rose to almost 1.95 lakh. Such a dramatic increase cannot be treated merely as an administrative statistic. It raises a much larger question about the changing relationship between the State, technology companies and citizens in India’s digital public sphere. And the timing makes that question even more difficult to ignore.

When protest moves online, censorship follows

A significant proportion of the latest blocking directions reportedly coincided with the student protests over examination irregularities and leaks in Delhi. The Indian Express, citing a senior government official, reported that a considerable share of the directions were issued as the NEET protests gathered momentum, particularly on Instagram. This is important because Instagram was not simply being used as a space in which the protests were discussed after they happened. It became one of the principal spaces through which the movement itself was organised.

The material compiled in the research shows how the Cockroach Janta Party’s social-media presence became central to the mobilisation, with protest announcements, videos, memes, explainers and other political content circulating rapidly among young users. The account reportedly grew to millions of followers and played an important role in mobilising people for demonstrations, including the July 20 “Sansad Chalo” march. That transformation of social media into a political organising space has a profound constitutional consequence.

A protest today does not begin only when people gather on a street. It begins when people communicate. They decide where to meet, circulate information about police action, share videos from the ground, publicise their demands and tell others what is happening. The digital space has therefore become part of the infrastructure of democratic protest itself. Consequently, restricting that space can affect far more than an individual’s ability to upload a post. It can affect the ability of a movement to organise, document itself and communicate with the wider public. This is why the reported restrictions during the protests deserve particularly close scrutiny.

Article 14, for instance, reported that journalist Sadhika Tiwari’s video showing a student allegedly being beaten by police was blocked on X following a government order. The video, according to the report, showed a crying student and did not contain hate speech, misinformation or graphic imagery. Around the same period, Meta temporarily blocked the Instagram account associated with CJP, which reportedly had more than 23 million followers, although the account was subsequently restored after criticism. The significance of such incidents lies not merely in whether one particular video was lawfully restricted. It lies in the fact that videos documenting State action during a protest are themselves part of the democratic record.

If citizens cannot see what happened on the streets, they cannot independently evaluate competing claims about what happened there. If videos documenting police conduct disappear before they can circulate widely, public debate becomes dependent increasingly upon official accounts of events. That is precisely where the problem of censorship becomes a problem of democracy.

The three-hour problem

The most troubling development, however, may not be the number of takedown directions alone. It is the shrinking amount of time available to platforms to respond to them. As Article 14 reported, the period within which intermediaries are expected to comply with certain government requests has been progressively reduced, eventually reaching three hours in 2026. The investigation linked this shrinking compliance period with the sharp increase in government takedown directions. Three hours may sound like an administrative efficiency measure. It is not difficult to see why it becomes something much more consequential when the subject is constitutionally protected speech.

Imagine a government order directing a platform to remove a journalist’s report. Before complying, the platform would ideally need to determine whether the issuing authority has jurisdiction, whether the order identifies the material adequately, whether the statutory requirements have been met, whether the content actually falls within the legal grounds for restriction and whether the restriction is proportionate. The affected journalist may also need an opportunity to respond. A court may eventually have to examine the order. Yet the platform is given only a few hours to act.

Under those circumstances, the rational institutional response is unlikely to be a careful legal assessment. It is likely to be compliance first and review later. That creates an important constitutional problem. A system that imposes severe consequences for delayed compliance but relatively weak consequences for wrongful removal creates an obvious incentive for platforms to err on the side of deletion. The consequence is what free-speech activists have long warned about: over-removal.

Lawful speech does not have to be formally prohibited for censorship to occur. It is enough for platforms to become sufficiently afraid of retaining controversial material that they begin removing content whenever there is doubt.

Sahyog and the transformation of censorship into infrastructure

The government’s Sahyog portal illustrates another aspect of this changing architecture. Introduced in October 2024, Sahyog was designed to streamline communication between government authorities and online intermediaries. In itself, there is nothing inherently problematic about creating an administrative mechanism through which lawful government directions can be communicated to technology companies. But administrative efficiency cannot substitute for constitutional safeguards.

Article 14 reported that X challenged Sahyog before the Karnataka High Court, arguing that the system effectively facilitated censorship by allowing government requests to reach platforms through a centralised mechanism. The Karnataka High Court rejected the challenge in July 2025 and characterised Sahyog as a facilitation mechanism rather than an independent censorship authority. That judicial characterisation is important, but it does not end the constitutional debate.

A communication system may technically be nothing more than a channel. The real constitutional question concerns what happens after the communication reaches the platform. If a government direction arrives through an official portal, carries the appearance of State authority and has to be acted upon within three hours, the practical ability of a platform to question that direction becomes extremely limited. The portal may facilitate communication.

But when that communication is backed by an extremely short compliance window and automated enforcement, the overall system can begin functioning as something considerably more powerful: an infrastructure through which State decisions about speech are translated rapidly into restrictions on citizens’ access to information.

When the algorithm becomes the censor

This is perhaps the most disturbing development. According to The Indian Express, Meta integrated its systems with Sahyog to comply with the three-hour requirement, allowing content identified through government directions to be restricted or removed automatically rather than waiting for a separate human review before compliance. Automation is attractive because it makes compliance efficient. But constitutional rights are precisely the kind of interests that should make us suspicious of efficiency without accountability.

A human decision-maker can, at least theoretically, ask whether a government direction is valid. An automated system cannot meaningfully interrogate the constitutional legitimacy of the State’s demand. It receives an instruction and executes it. The danger is therefore not simply that the government can order content to be removed. The danger is that a government instruction can increasingly be converted into an automated technical command. The chain becomes remarkably simple: the State issues the direction, the platform’s system receives it, the content is restricted and the user discovers that the speech has disappeared.

A citizen cannot challenge a decision that they cannot see

The question of notice is therefore central. Alt News has documented instances in which users received generic notifications stating that content had been restricted pursuant to a legal request or through an automated process, without being provided meaningful information about the specific legal basis or authority involved.

This creates a basic procedural problem. If a person does not know who ordered the restriction, they cannot determine whether the authority had jurisdiction. If they do not know which law was invoked, they cannot assess whether the restriction is legally sustainable. If they do not know why their particular content was unlawful, they cannot meaningfully challenge the decision. And if they cannot access the order itself, they may not even know what exactly they are supposed to challenge. This is where transparency stops being a policy preference and becomes a constitutional necessity. The State cannot reasonably expect citizens to defend their right to speak against an order whose existence, reasoning and legal basis remain hidden from them.

The disappearance of journalism is more serious than the disappearance of content

The consequences become particularly serious when the material being restricted is journalism. Article 14 reported that in March 2026 alone, Facebook pages belonging to at least six news and digital publications were blocked. The report also identified restrictions involving Greater Kashmir, Rising Kashmir, Kashmir Life, Molitics India, National Dastak and 4PM News Network, among others. The Wire, Maktoob Media and Peek TV have similarly reported restrictions affecting their content.

The problem here is fundamentally different from the removal of ordinary user-generated material. A journalist reporting on a protest is not simply generating “content”. They are creating a record of a public event. A report about Kashmir may become part of the historical record of the region, a video documenting police action may later become evidence in litigation, or a report concerning government policy may inform electoral choices. When such material disappears without clear explanation, the damage therefore extends beyond the individual publisher.

The public loses access to information that may be essential to holding power accountable. That is why the freedom of the press cannot be protected merely by allowing newspapers to continue printing. In 2026, press freedom also requires journalists to be able to reach audiences through the digital platforms on which those audiences increasingly depend.

The State’s concern about decentralised communication is not irrelevant — but it is not enough

The controversy surrounding Bitchat, Briar and Bridgefy demonstrates that the problem extends beyond mainstream social-media platforms. During the Jantar Mantar protests, demonstrators reportedly turned to Bluetooth-based mesh communication applications that could facilitate communication between nearby devices without relying entirely on conventional mobile internet infrastructure.

The government’s concern was that such systems could make lawful interception, identification and investigation more difficult. According to reports, the Indian Cyber Crime Coordination Centre issued directions seeking the removal of Bitchat, Briar and Bridgefy from major app stores and also sought action against Bitchat’s GitHub repository. Medianama reported that the notices provided intermediaries with three hours to comply, although officials later orally instructed companies not to enforce the directions.

ThePrint reported that the I4C notice to GitHub invoked Section 79(3)(b) of the Information Technology Act read with Rule 3(1)(d) of the IT Rules and sought removal of Bitchat’s repositories within three hours. There is a legitimate public-interest argument here. Communication technologies can be abused for criminal activity, and the State cannot be expected to remain completely powerless when technology is used to facilitate serious offences. But that cannot be the end of the analysis.

The fact that a technology can be misused does not establish that the technology itself should be suppressed. A telephone can be used to organise a crime. A messaging application can be used to coordinate violence. Social media can spread misinformation. None of these facts, by themselves, justify eliminating the technology. The State must still establish why the restriction is necessary, why less restrictive alternatives would not work and why the particular application or communication mechanism presents a sufficiently serious and demonstrable threat. Otherwise, “public order” becomes a justification capable of swallowing the right to communicate altogether.

The constitutional framework is not optional

India does not indulge this issue without constitutional guidance. Article 19(1)(a) guarantees freedom of speech and expression, while Article 19(2) permits reasonable restrictions on specified grounds. The Supreme Court’s decision in Shreya Singhal v. Union of India remains a foundational judgment in understanding the limits of online speech regulation.

The Court’s decision is important precisely because it recognises that vague or overbroad restrictions can have a chilling effect on legitimate expression. The existence of a statutory power, therefore, cannot by itself answer the constitutional question. The State must still demonstrate that the restriction falls within the law and survives constitutional scrutiny. That is particularly important where the restriction affects political expression.

Political speech lies at the heart of democratic participation. Criticism of government policy, reporting on protests, documenting police action and exposing administrative failures cannot be placed in the same category as genuinely unlawful material merely because they are inconvenient or controversial. The State must be able to distinguish speech that is unlawful from speech that is merely uncomfortable. That distinction is the foundation of a functioning democracy.

Another concern emerging from the reporting is the increasingly routine character of mechanisms originally justified by urgency. Emergency powers exist for a reason. There are situations in which authorities may need to act quickly to prevent serious and immediate harm. But emergency mechanisms become constitutionally dangerous when the exception starts functioning as the ordinary route for restricting speech.

Article 14 reported concerns among technology-policy experts that emergency blocking mechanisms could increasingly become part of routine online governance, particularly because affected parties may not receive the underlying orders and therefore have limited opportunities to challenge them. The constitutional problem can be stated simply. An emergency procedure should make the State faster when speed is genuinely necessary. It should not make the State less accountable because it has chosen to act quickly. If anything, extraordinary powers should trigger stronger review precisely because they reduce the opportunity for the affected person to respond beforehand.

Platforms are not innocent bystanders

The responsibility, however, does not rest with the government alone. Technology companies have enormous power over what citizens can see, publish and circulate. They therefore have their own obligations of transparency. The Indian Express reporting indicates that Meta generally provides users in several jurisdictions with information when governments request restrictions on their content, but that such disclosures are not provided in India and some other markets because of legal and regulatory considerations. That should concern anyone who believes that users have a right to understand why their speech has been restricted.

A platform should not be able to tell a journalist merely that their report is unavailable because of a “legal requirement”. The journalist should know whether the government ordered the restriction, which authority issued the order and which law was invoked. Transparency does not necessarily prevent compliance. A platform can comply with a lawful government direction while still informing the affected user that the government sought the restriction. Indeed, transparency may be one of the few mechanisms capable of ensuring that government censorship does not become invisible.

The reported proposal by X to make government requests more visible to users therefore deserves attention. According to recent reports, Elon Musk announced that X would begin making government requests to restrict or remove content more transparent, including information about the requesting authority and, where available, the legal basis for the request.

The Indian government has understandably maintained that platforms operating in India remain subject to Indian law. But that is not inconsistent with transparency. The two principles can coexist. If the State has lawfully ordered a restriction, there should be no reason for the process to remain invisible. Government censorship should not become anonymous censorship.

India must decide what kind of digital democracy it wants

There is a legitimate State interest in regulating harmful online material. There is a legitimate public interest in combating misinformation, incitement, deepfakes, threats and criminal coordination. Technology companies cannot claim absolute immunity from the laws of the countries in which they operate. But none of these propositions answers the central constitutional question.

How much power should the State possess to determine what citizens are allowed to see, publish and circulate — and what safeguards must accompany that power?

Nearly 1.95 lakh blocking directions in five months, as reported by The Indian Express, should force that question into the centre of India’s democratic debate. The answer cannot simply be that the government has followed a procedure. A procedure that is too fast to meaningfully challenge, too opaque to independently scrutinise and too automated to permit genuine review can satisfy the appearance of legality while undermining the substance of constitutional protection.

Indian law therefore needs stronger safeguards around government-directed content restrictions. Orders should clearly identify the legal provision relied upon, the authority issuing them and the reasons for restricting the particular material. Affected users should ordinarily receive notice and have access to a meaningful appeal mechanism. Emergency orders should be subject to prompt independent review and should automatically lapse unless their continuation is justified. Platforms should publish greater information about government requests, including anonymised data that allows the public to assess how frequently such powers are being used and how often they are challenged or withdrawn. Most importantly, the burden cannot silently shift from the State having to justify censorship to the citizen having to prove why their speech should remain online.

The extraordinary rise in takedown directions, the targeting of protest-related content, the restrictions imposed on journalists and news organisations, the attempt to interfere with decentralised communication tools and the increasing use of automated compliance together point towards a digital environment in which the speed of censorship may be outpacing the speed of accountability.

Related:

How Can Rehabilitation Work If We Are Not Safe?’ Sanjay Tickoo on the fresh threat to Kashmiri Pandit employees

JNU Cancels Venue, Not the Conversation: Umar Khalid’s book discussion moves outdoors amid protests

After NEET protests ended, the battle moved online: Women protesters face threats, doxing and criminalisation

#STOPKILLINGUS Protest at Jantar Mantar on August 4 against GOI’s “cover-up” of Manual Scavenging deaths

The Supreme Court’s Uneasy Middle Path on Protest Policing

Ken-Betwa protest exposes the cost of state-led displacement

The post The State Wants the Delete Button: India’s new architecture of digital censorship appeared first on SabrangIndia.

According to the data compiled by the Safai Karamchari Andolan, a civil society organisation working against Manual Scavenging – 101 sanitation workers have died cleaning sewers and septic tanks across India during the first 188 days of 2026, amounting to one death every 45 hours. The capital of India, Delhi NCR is alone accounted for 12 deaths. However, what constitutes a greater violation of human rights is the under-reporting of these deaths by the central government in order to evade liability. In an April 2026 through a release of the Press Information Bureau (PIB), the Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment stated that, according to the National Commission for Safai Karamcharis, 317 sanitation workers had died due to hazardous cleaning of sewers and septic tanks between 2021 and 2025, the same release says that 89,248 sewer/septic tank workers had been profiled and validated under NAMASTE scheme. The State’s own numbers reveal a troubling contradiction: thousands of workers are recognised as performing hazardous sanitation work, yet the deaths arising from it remain strikingly few on paper. How, then, are these deaths being counted?

The state justifies this under-reporting by drawing a distinction between “cleaning human excreta” vs “accidents during the hazardous cleaning of sewers and septic tanks”, but for the worker who enters a sewer and never comes out, there is no such distinction. The major question that we as a society should ask is that when a person dies while manually cleaning a sewer, does the legal classification matter more than the death?

If carefully scrutinised, we can find that the section 2(d) of the Prohibition of Employment as Manual Scavengers Act, 2013 separately defines “hazardous cleaning”, whereas section 7 expressly prohibits employing or engaging a person for hazardous cleaning of a sewer or septic tank, and under Sec 33, the act doesn’t merely prohibit hazardous cleaning, it also says that local authorities and other agencies have a duty to use modern technology for cleaning sewers and septic tanks. The emphasis, therefore, should not merely be on providing protective gear to those entering these hazardous spaces, but on completely eliminating the need for human beings to enter them in the first place. Yet, despite the legislative mandate and technological alternatives, State instrumentalities continue to remain criminally silent.

In the case of Safai Karamchari Andolan & Ors. v. Union of India (2014), the Court recognised sewer deaths and directed compensation of Rs. 10 lakhs to the families of deceased workers, which was enhanced to Rs. 30 lakhs in Balram Singh v. Union of India (2023)

The documentary Kakkoos filmed in Tamil Nadu, a state which is said to have the highest number of Manual Scavengers, brings out another disturbing reality: the existence of legislation prohibiting dry latrines has not eliminated the conditions that continue to force people to manually handle human excreta. However, the practice extends far beyond the cleaning of latrines.

Garbage collectors, for instance, are often required to handle human excreta when waste from households of medical patients is disposed of in polythene bags and subsequently has to be removed by hand. In schools without adequate water or sanitation facilities, children may defecate and leave, leaving cleaners to remove the excreta with their bare hands. Yet, such workers are often not recognised as manual scavengers. Kakkoos therefore exposes the gap between the legal understanding of manual scavenging and the lived reality of those who, in one way or another, are compelled to handle human excreta.

However, the danger does not end with the indignity of the work. Manual scavengers are routinely exposed to hazardous gases such as hydrogen sulphide, carbon monoxide, ammonia and methane, with prolonged exposure causing respiratory and visual impairment, seizures and, in severe cases, death. Constant contact with human and animal excreta further exposes them to infections such as leptospirosis. Yet, for a community already pushed to the margins by caste and poverty, access to healthcare remains limited. The physical and mental toll of such work, coupled with poor living conditions and, in some cases, dependence on alcohol as a means of coping, only deepens a cycle of vulnerability that the State has a responsibility to break.

Manual scavenging, thus, is not only a blatant violation of the human rights bestowed upon an individual by virtue of birth, but also raises serious questions about social practices continued in society in the name of “tradition”. The practice is deeply rooted in the caste hierarchy, where a birth-given identity has historically determined the occupation and social position of an individual.

Yet, despite Article 17 of the Constitution abolishing untouchability in 1949, manual scavengers continue to remain among the most disadvantaged communities within the Dalit population, historically placed at the lowest rungs of the caste hierarchy as “Atishudras”. The fact that a birth-assigned tag can continue to determine who performs such inhumane work, decades after constitutional abolition, is perhaps the starkest illustration of the distance between what the law promises and what society continues to practice.

(The author is a law student at BMS College of Law, Bangalore)

Related:

#STOPKILLINGUS Protest at Jantar Mantar on August 4 against GOI’s “cover-up” of Manual Scavenging deaths

Manual scavenger deaths: How effective is the law in preventing them?

Supreme Court bans manual scavenging in metro cities

Manual scavenger deaths: How effective is the law in preventing them?

The post The Deaths behind India’s Cleanliness appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In a conversation with Sabrang India, Sanjay Tickoo, president of the Kashmiri Pandit Sangharsh Samiti (KPSS), said the latest incident must be understood against the backdrop of targeted killings, repeated security concerns and what he described as a persistent failure to address vulnerabilities faced by Kashmiri Pandit employees.

The immediate trigger is a purported threat letter circulated online in the name of the United Liberation Council (ULC), which warned Kashmiri Pandits working in the Valley to “change their ways” and published the names and phone numbers of employees. Police are reportedly verifying the authenticity of the letter, while security officials have suggested that the group could be a front or shadow organisation of Lashkar-e-Taiba.

According to The Indian Express, six employees, all from the Revenue Department, were named in the letter. The newspaper reported that departments, particularly the Revenue Department and School Education Department, had informally asked Kashmiri Pandit employees to remain at home or take leave, although the Director of School Education denied that any formal instructions had been issued. The New Indian Express likewise reported that Pandit employees had been asked to work from home for some time.

The detailed report may be read here.

Tickoo, however, argues that the immediate controversy over the letter obscures a much deeper problem.

A threat that cannot be seen in isolation

According to Tickoo, targeted killings of Kashmiri Pandits began to re-emerge as a serious concern from 2021 onwards. On October 5, 2021, prominent Kashmiri Hindu pharmacist Makhan Lal Bindroo was shot dead inside his pharmacy in Srinagar. Two days later, on October 7, Supinder Kour, a government school principal, and Deepak Chand, a teacher at the same school, were shot dead inside the school premises in Srinagar’s Eidgah area. These killings were part of a broader spate of targeted attacks against civilians, including Kashmiri Pandits and non-local workers. Government data recorded four Kashmiri Pandits among those killed by terrorists in 2021, further deepening the sense of vulnerability among the community and raising renewed questions over the security of those living and working in the Valley. The killings generated widespread fear within the community and renewed concerns over whether Kashmiri Pandits working in the Valley could be adequately protected.

The security environment subsequently intensified, with security forces conducting anti-militancy operations and authorities questioning individuals suspected of having links with militant networks, including alleged overground workers.

But for employees under the Prime Minister’s employment package, the problem was not limited to attacks themselves. The availability and circulation of personal information of employees became a recurring security concern. Around 6,000 Kashmiri Pandits have received government employment under the Prime Minister’s Special Rehabilitation and Employment Package, introduced in 2010 as part of the government’s effort to facilitate the return and rehabilitation of Kashmiri Pandits displaced from the Valley following the outbreak of militancy and the mass displacement of the community in the 1990s.

The employment package was premised on an important condition: beneficiaries were expected to work in the Valley. But, as Tickoo points out, the same requirement that forms the basis of the rehabilitation policy also leaves employees particularly vulnerable when security deteriorates.

The lists that keep resurfacing

This is not the first time the publication of employee details has raised alarm. In December 2022, Kashmiri Pandit employees protested after a purported hit list released by The Resistance Front (TRF) named 56 Kashmiri Pandits working in the Valley under the Prime Minister’s Rehabilitation Package. The employees demanded a high-level investigation into how official information identifying them had reached a militant organisation.

At the time, the employees were already protesting outside the Relief Commissioner’s office in Jammu following the targeted killing of Rahul Bhat in Chadoora on May 1, 2022.

The concern was straightforward: if the State had collected the personal information of employees for the purposes of rehabilitation and employment, how was that information reaching organisations issuing threats against them? Tickoo told Sabrang India that the problem has never really been resolved. According to him, lists containing details of Prime Minister’s Package employees have continued to circulate publicly on social media.

He believes the same publicly available information is now being exploited again. Tickoo said that while a larger list of around 20 employees is allegedly available on social media, the latest threat letter specifically identified seven employees with their full names and phone numbers. This differs from reports in The Indian Express, which identified six employees named in the purported letter.

For Tickoo, the issue is therefore not simply the existence of a threatening poster. It is how such specific personal information continues to become available in the first place. “How are these posters being posted on social media?” is the question he says the government must answer. More importantly, he asks, who is providing private information about government employees to those circulating the threats?

‘Since 2022, meetings have resulted in nothing’

Tickoo said the issue has repeatedly been raised with the government. According to him, several meetings have taken place with the Secretary of the Home Department since 2022, but they have not resulted in any meaningful resolution of the concerns raised by Kashmiri Pandit employees.

The latest episode comes after a period in which violence and insecurity have again been building in parts of Kashmir. Tickoo referred to the recent killing of a policeman in Anantnag and the subsequent killing of two migrant workers in Kulgam. The Wire reported the killing of policeman Ashiq Hussain Qureshi in Anantnag on June 22 while he was deployed for Amarnath Yatra duty, followed by the July 31 killing of two migrant workers from Chhattisgarh at a brick kiln in Kulgam.

The sequence, Tickoo argues, has heightened apprehension that further attacks could take place, including against minorities and migrant workers. For him, the responsibility ultimately rests with the government. Tickoo described the situation as a security lapse on the part of either the Union government or the Jammu and Kashmir administration, while expressing frustration that neither level of government has accepted responsibility.

When security concerns undermine rehabilitation

The contradiction at the heart of the Prime Minister’s Package is difficult to ignore. The government encourages displaced Kashmiri Pandits to return to the Valley and provides employment as part of its rehabilitation programme. Yet when security threats emerge, the immediate response is reportedly to ask those very employees to stay indoors or remain away from work.

That contradiction has existed for years. In 2022, after a series of targeted killings, Kashmiri Pandit employees staged a prolonged protest and demanded transfers outside Kashmir. The Indian Express reported that employees protested for around 350 days and sought permanent relocation to Jammu. The government rejected the demand and instead relocated some employees to areas considered safer within the Valley.

Tickoo argues that the latest episode risks producing the same outcome: employees who have been asked to return to Kashmir are once again made to feel that their presence there is unsafe. And the consequences extend beyond the immediate threat.

According to Tickoo, when employees leave the Valley because they feel unsafe, they risk losing the benefits attached to the rehabilitation package because those benefits are linked to their continuing residence and employment in Kashmir.

In other words, the employee is caught between two vulnerabilities: remaining in Kashmir despite a credible fear for personal safety, or leaving and potentially jeopardising the very rehabilitation benefits that were meant to facilitate their return.

‘They cannot simply return to work’

The latest threat has also created a practical problem for the employees whose names and numbers were published. Tickoo said that once an individual’s identity and telephone number have been publicly circulated alongside a threat, simply telling that person to return to work does not address the fear created by the threat.

The issue is particularly serious, he argues, because several of the employees named in the latest poster work in departments where their official responsibilities may place them in contact with people who have vested interests in government enforcement.

Tickoo specifically referred to employees working in Regional Transport Offices and alleged that private agents operating around these offices had historically relied on bribery to obtain driving licences and vehicle fitness certificates. According to him, the arrival of Kashmiri Pandit employees under the Prime Minister’s Package and their adherence to official procedures had disrupted such practices. He alleged that this could be one reason why employees working in these positions had become targets.

These claims are Tickoo’s allegations and would require independent investigation. But they point towards another dimension of the controversy: whether threats against government employees are connected not only to their identity as Kashmiri Pandits, but also to the particular government functions they perform.

The problem of the ‘unofficial’ order

Another striking feature of the present episode is the absence of a formal government order. The Indian Express reported that departments had verbally instructed Kashmiri Pandit employees to remain at home, while the Director of School Education publicly denied issuing such instructions. The Wire similarly reported that employees had received work-from-home directions through departmental or internal channels, without a publicly available formal order.

Tickoo says this informality is not accidental. According to him, governments in Kashmir often avoid issuing formal orders in such situations because an official directive to keep an entire section of employees away from their workplaces would amount to an acknowledgement that the security establishment has failed to protect them.

He also argues that a formal order could invite judicial scrutiny, particularly if employees are effectively prevented from discharging their duties because of their identity. The result, he says, is a system of verbal instructions in which everyone understands what is expected, but nobody formally accepts responsibility for the decision.

The question of the source

For Tickoo, the publication of phone numbers is perhaps the most troubling aspect of the latest episode. He questioned how individuals operating underground could obtain such specific information and circulate it publicly. He also questioned whether the source of the information could be traced and why the authorities had not yet established who was behind the dissemination of the posters.

The question is particularly significant because the purported threat does not merely make a general warning against a community. It identifies individuals. That transforms the issue from a broad security concern into a question of data security, official confidentiality and institutional responsibility. If employee lists are available openly on social media, the government must establish how they reached the public domain, whether official databases were compromised, whether the information was leaked deliberately or inadvertently, and whether those responsible for the disclosure can be identified.

Without such an investigation, the cycle is likely to repeat.

A growing lack of faith

Tickoo also spoke of what he described as a wider erosion of faith in the security establishment. According to him, people in Kashmir have been warning the Union government for the last three to four years that something appeared to be building up. Those concerns, he believes, have not received adequate attention. The latest threat therefore carries significance beyond the employees reportedly named in it.

If employees believe that their personal details can be obtained, that threats can be issued against them, and that the government response will be to ask them to remain indoors rather than identify the source of the threat, confidence in the security system inevitably weakens. For the Kashmiri Pandit community, this is particularly consequential because rehabilitation itself depends on a measure of trust.

Rehabilitation cannot mean confinement

The contradiction becomes even sharper against the backdrop of public celebrations and government campaigns in the Valley. The Wire reported heightened security arrangements ahead of Independence Day, including additional checkpoints, frisking, night patrols and surveillance. At the same time, authorities and BJP workers have been organising Tiranga rallies, cultural programmes, sporting events and other public activities as part of the Har Ghar Tiranga–Vande Mataram campaign.

Tickoo questions the contrast. If a minority community is being informally asked to remain indoors because of security threats, he asks, how can the government simultaneously claim that normalcy has been restored and organise public celebrations across the Valley?

For him, the issue is not opposition to public celebrations. It is the contradiction between projecting normal public life and privately instructing a vulnerable section of the population to restrict its movement. The question is ultimately one of whose normalcy is being protected.

‘Why are the Pandits still suffering?’

Tickoo’s larger argument is that the government cannot continue treating every such episode as an isolated security incident. The latest threat may be attributed to a purported militant organisation. The police may establish that the letter is genuine or fabricated. The perpetrators may eventually be identified—or they may not. But, Tickoo argues, the underlying problem remains.

Over the past several years, Kashmiri Pandit employees have faced targeted killings, threats, protests, demands for transfers, security restrictions and repeated uncertainty over whether they can safely continue working in the Valley.

A rehabilitation policy that requires employees to live and work in Kashmir cannot succeed merely by providing employment. It must also ensure that they can move freely, access public spaces, perform their jobs and live ordinary lives without being forced into periodic confinement because of their identity.

The latest threat therefore raises questions that go beyond the purported organisation behind the poster. Who has access to the employees’ personal information? Why have repeated concerns about leaked lists not produced a satisfactory answer? Why are employees once again being asked to stay indoors instead of being given a transparent security assessment? And how long can a rehabilitation policy function if its beneficiaries repeatedly feel compelled to leave the Valley for their own safety?

For Tickoo, the larger failure is one of accountability. He argues that when security lapses occur, the State can point towards an organisation, a militant network or actors across the border. But if threats are able to reach identifiable employees and disrupt their everyday lives, the State must also account for the security failures within its own institutional framework.

The danger, he says, is that anyone could claim to represent a fabricated organisation, circulate threats and create fear and disruption, while the government simply attributes the episode to forces operating from across the border. That, however, does not answer the question of how the information reached them. Nor does it answer the question of why, after years of assurances and repeated meetings, Kashmiri Pandit employees continue to feel that their return to the Valley comes with an unresolved risk.

The latest threat letter may disappear from social media. The informal work-from-home instructions may eventually be withdrawn. Employees may be asked to return to their offices. But unless the questions around security, accountability and leaked personal information are answered, the larger problem will remain: a community encouraged to return in the name of rehabilitation, but repeatedly reminded that its safety in the Valley remains uncertain.

Related:

This is what we feared: Sanjay Tickoo on the rising attacks in Kashmir since March

Pleas of non-migrant Kashmiri Pandits have fallen on deaf ears: Sanjay Tickoo

Time has come to go on fast unto death: Sanjay Tickoo

Kashmiri Pandit leader Sanjay Tickoo talks about Governor’s Rule in J&K

A Kashmiri Pandit fact-checks The Kashmir Files

10 reasons why Kashmiri Pandits feel betrayed in the Valley

The post ‘How Can Rehabilitation Work If We Are Not Safe?’ Sanjay Tickoo on the fresh threat to Kashmiri Pandit employees appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The reasons are not far to seek.

Over a decade ago, in 2015-2016, barely a year or two into the first term of this regime that has since been viewed nationally and internationally as autocratic and proto-fascist, it was the Ambedkar-Periyar circles in both Hyderabad Central University and Chennai that were the first targets of power and ideological assault. Ministers from the union government weighed in, first to withhold meritoriously earned scholarships/fellowships of Dalit (read Ambedkarite) and left oriented students like Rohith Vemula and others, thereafter to humiliate them by limiting access to libraries and even hostel accommodation. Muslim student scholars like Umar Khalid and Najeeb Ahmed were particular targets. Najeeb “disappeared” from his JNU room on October 15, 2016, after an alleged scuffle involving the RSS-linked Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP) the day before. He had been injured in that encounter and doctors, according to a witness, had refused timely treatment. Shockingly, the case assiduously pursued by his mother was “closed” by the Rouse Avenue court in 2025.  Two films, Ammi (2019) and Where is Najeeb? (2022) have preserved a contemporary tragedy this regime would rather have us forget.

Rohith Vemula, talented and bright, part of a vibrant student community that was in the cross hairs of the administration for daring to screen Muzaffarnagar Baqi Hai at HCU was driven to suicide, an act the movement has called “institutional murder” on Sunday January 17, 2026. That very night JNU students protested Rohith’s death and the ripples of the movement surged across India. Mumbai that only sometimes steps out collectively against repression saw tens of thousands students and activists march in Mumbai from Byculla to CSMT (CST) to demand justice for Rohith.

Brute power and authority coupled with the supine behaviour of Vice-Chancellors like Appa Rao Podille (HCU) and M Jagadesh Kumar (JNU) actively enabled violent police entry and involvement in both campuses, behaviour that physically brutalised students and also criminalised dissent. [1] Cases were filed, Umar Khalid and Kanhaiya Kumar were jailed for a month and students (35 from the FTII) had to spend precious years battling the vindictiveness the powerful. Payal Kapadia’s A Night of Knowing Nothing (2021) is a film that, in a multi-layered narrative depicts what young Indians have been put through.

2016 then is as significant as 2026 may yet prove to be.

Why then is our public memory so short and our response only episodic? Institutional culpability or even amnesia by our constitutional bodies including courts and a wilful subservience by legacy and traditional commercial media has enabled the irresponsible vilification of student leaders and protesters.

Clearly, the specific targets were young, autonomous students, free in thought and behaviour. Organisations and individuals from Left and Dalit lineages and communities were specific, targets the case(s) made against them more vindictive and pernicious.

Umar was labelled “anti-national” (“desh drohi”) by irresponsible (and unaccountable) “media houses”. Rohith’s unquestionable “merit” was questioned and his caste status “doubted”, his mother hounded as she struggled for justice for her son. Fatima Nafees, Najeeb’s mother proud that her son made it to a central university, regrets that he opted for staying in its hostel! This level of violence and institutional discrimination faced by Dalit and Muslim students has not stemmed before 2016 or since. The deaths of Arman Iqbal Khatri (April 2023) and Darshan Solanki (February 2023) in Mumbai’s Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) and Payal Tadvi (May 2019) studying to become a doctor at BYL Nair Hospital were all victims of targeted violence. Corrective constitutional institutions like courts have been tardy in offering remedies

Today in 2026, while the “westernised youth” or “desh drohi” (anti-national) are labels still sought to be applied to Gen Z as well, for erudite and clear left-leaning scholars like Umar and Rohith it was relentlessly pinned.

The sustained protests in HCU and JNU —among two dozen other institutions of higher learning –a decade ago were the first effective challenges to a regime determined to control behaviour, thought and ideas. In the months and years that followed this protest spawned multiple campuses across India: Film & Television Institute of India (FTII), Pune, Banaras Hindu University (BHU), Varanasi Mumbai University, Kashmir, Assam, Puducherry, all saw spirited and sustained protests. Patna University-Bihar, Jadavpur University-West Bengal, National Law School-Bangalore and the Allahabad Central University-Uttar Pradesh saw similar struggles against repression. Nine months after Rohith Vemula’s “institutional murder” on Sunday, January 17, 2026, eight law students from the Babasaheb Ambedkar University Lucknow protested after two of them were target of vindictive administrative action: two of them toppers, who ranked first and second in the PHD entrance examination had been suspended and thereafter expelled without due process because they protested the caste-ist behaviour of both the government and their professors who they claimed were being protected by the administration and the Ministry for Human Resources Development (MHRD).In an article on SabrangIndia, Prathama Banerjee (in 2016) reported that in Gwalior, a meeting organized by the Ambedkar Manch involving an Ambedkarite professor Vivek Kumar from JNU was attacked by ABVP members, who went on to not only fire guns at the gathering but even burn the Indian Constitution, perhaps to avenge Ambedkar’s burning of the Manusmriti half a century ago!

From the ideological slant on syllabi, to the rights of women to dress as they please and eat non-vegetarian (!), to dubious appointments like Gajendra Chauhan as director (FTII), students and youth mobilised first and immediately against the threat to their very existence and autonomy. By end 2016, the Modi 1.0 regime’s assault on public education and taken the form of simply cancelling (read withdrawing) a staggering 20,000 scholarships to central universities; this was soon followed by withdrawal of all minority scholarships instituted by the previous UPA II government.

So while today’s 2026 Gen Z protests come as another breath of fresh air to a battle weary people, our students and youth, backed by some in the academia have been at the forefront of this democratic challenge for a decade.

What if?

What if the political opposition, despite its poor numerical strength had backed and amplified these voices and demands in Parliament? Since and repeatedly since 2016?

Would India have already witnessed a pushback from the seat of power?

In any truly democratic society, it is the university that is the storehouse of young and budding intellectual opinion and often the bedrock of voices of sharp, critical dissent. Since 2014, India has been going through a determined effort towards homogenisation and imposed majoritarianism—whether through the blind acceptance of commercialization or privatization of education, or the imposition of a culturally-homogenous worldview where the Indian state and nation is equated with “one language, one culture,” in effect denying a plurality of existence and citizenship. These trends are not just dangerous but pose a challenge to the very foundation of India as a constitutional republic. Centres of higher learning within India that have become the battleground for the preservation of Indian democracy and all it stands for.

Before 2014, over the decades of the 1960s and 1970s, through a slow and often painful process within these central universities that came into being through key enactments—the University of Hyderabad Act of 1974, the Jawaharlal Nehru Act of 1966 and the North-Eastern Hill University Act of 1973—baby steps toward affirmative action within teachers’ unions and associations first ensured real diversity among students: students from rural, marginalised and discriminated-against backgrounds made it into institutions of higher learning. That is how, our Umars, Najeebs, Rohiths are household names even in bold challenge or sacrifice. Before that it was the moneyed with access that enjoyed entry within.

Under this regime in its third term however, the dual assault of aggressive neoliberal policies that have ensured a cut in scholarships in institutions of learning, accompanied by an ideological assault of a proto-fascist authoritarian character, have rendered campuses in India the focal points of a resurgent democratic movement. Student leaders and associations that do not fall in line with the majoritarian vision face criminal cases, the worst being the law of Sedition (Section 124-A)..[2] Only a few days ago, a former student of previously prestigious Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS) was denied bail for attending an event in support of academic, now deceased, G.N, Saibaba.

As the monsoon session of Parliament reaches its conclusion, and the union home minister, responsible in the chain of command for the use of pellet guns and nail-tacked lathis on students who protested at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar on July 20, refuses to answer charges of accountability or incompetence, there is every chance that the regime may not back off either surveillance or vindictive action.

The Gen Z generation that is rightly euphoric of its success in shaking up the union government, may yet have to give tests of its resilience to persistent punishment by process. If solidarity shown by older Indians and large sections of independent media, not present a decade ago, holds, victory may still be ours. We need to be prepared though.

In this moment of reckoning, this is my humble tribute. To the inspiring decades plus relentless pushback by India’s young.

[1] Vice-Chancellor of Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) in 2016 was M. Jagadesh Kumar, who assumed office on January 28, 2016, a month before the assaults and arrests of tudents. He succeeded Sudhir Kumar Sopory and later served until February 2022; Appa Rao Podile former Vice-Chancellor of the University of Hyderabad was awarded the Millennium Plaques of Honour for his achievements in Life Sciences by the Prime Minister of India Narendra Modi in 2017!

[2] Teesta Setalvad’s KG Kannabiran Memorial Lecture delivered at Madurai. December 11, 2016

Related:

The post August 11, 2026: A decade plus of students challenging a regime that seeks to control thought & ideas appeared first on SabrangIndia.

New Delhi: On the morning of April 17, 2026, Satyam Verma, a Lucknow-based freelance writer and former journalist, put out a post on his Facebook account, related to the massive fire reported two days ago, on April 15, in Vikas Nagar’s slum area. Hours later, he was arrested by the Noida Police in connection with the workers’ protest case.

Verma seemed angry at the uncertain fate of thousands of residents whose shanties were gutted beyond repair as he wrote: “Where exactly is the government that talks about sabka saath, sabka vikas?  Even as others are coming out to help, the presence of the government, it seems, has been reduced to the polythene spread with the face of Narendra Modi stamped on it inside a burnt jhuggi (shanty).”

Social causes were not the only trigger that nudged Verma to express himself on social media platforms. A scan of his digital footprint also reveals another colourful side to his personality – that of a movie buff. The 60-year-old author was at the helm of an informal group referred to as ‘Lucknow Cinephiles’, which would regularly organise screening of movies followed by a discussion over the main theme.

From The Voice of Hind Rajab, a movie that focused on the plight of a six-year-old girl in Gaza whose desperate call for help to Red Crescent volunteers exposed the human cost of the armed offensive carried out by Israel, to the 2015 film Suffragette, starring Meryl Streep which looked at the struggle of women in the United Kingdom in the late 19th century regarding their right to vote, to the 1980 Bengali classic Akaler Sandhane (In Search of a Famine), which dealt with a filmmaker’s quest to document a famine, and, in the process, unravel the harsh realities confronting ordinary people, it seemed that issues related to human suffering were the centrepiece of Verma’s day-to-day conversations.

However, if one were to go by the over 250 pages of documents related to approval for invoking stringent provisions of the National Security Act (NSA), 1980, against him, submitted by the UP Police to the Noida District Magistrate (DM) Medha Roopam, one would be taken aback by conclusive remarks of the police such as:

“Cyber monitoring trail has revealed that this person who comes from an elite and educated background, whose career has been that of association with media news agencies has given ideological contribution in the form of mental aggression among core group members leading to a volatile situation…

“Ideologue of Marxist thought process, Satyam Verma, in order to provide momentum to workers’ protests against labour codes in Noida industrial area activated his core group members, associated with the Mazdoor Bigul newspaper started in 2010 with its headquarters in Lucknow and Jan Chetna publishing house which publishes his articles based on Marxist ideology with such publicity material being dispatched through Rupesh Roy who is member of outfits such as Mazdoor Ekta Sangharsh Samiti Kulesra Noida, Naujawan Bharat Sabha and Mazdoor Bigul Dasta since 2016 so that a foothold can be established among Noida workers.”

A review of annexures and case diaries that form part of the investigation by the Noida Police in the workers’ protest case shows that implicating journalist Satyam Verma is based on hearsay presented as the testimony of a police informant who won’t be answerable before a court of law. The other ‘evidence’ presented is equally unconvincing – like the exchange of messages in a WhatsApp group presented as a trigger for violence in the testimony of another worker named Mangal, who was in fact part of the group in the hope of finding a better job opportunity. Using these, Noida District Magistrate Medha Roopam launched a sharp attack on Verma as she gave the go-ahead for NSA charges. Her notes reflect that she seemed to believe this was some kind of thought crime, claiming his association with Mazdoor Bigul newspaper and Jan Chetna publication acted as an “ideological catalyst for violence” which was “indirectly abetted”.

In the second part of our special series based on NSA-related documents in journalist Satyam Verma’s case, The Wire accessed annexures included in the 170-page proposal submitted by the Noida Police to the Noida DM’s office on May 12, 2026, and an 81-page dossier submitted as supplementary evidence on May 28, 2026. Here’s what we found after examining the documents and speaking to Verma’s lawyer, friends and colleagues.

1. The police’s theory regarding Verma’s alleged presence at the spot of incident stems from a viral video in which Verma’s identity is established based on a statement by an unnamed mukhbir (police informer), who himself is neither an eyewitness nor related to the case in any manner.
2. Verma is named again in the police diary, in a statement by a factory worker named Mangal Kumar. However, in a telephonic conversation with The Wire, Kumar denied having witnessed any provocative messages in the WhatsApp group under the police’s scanner.
3. Satyam Verma’s “Marxist ideology “and his professional association with the Mazdoor Bigul newspaper have been portrayed by the UP Police as “being indirectly motivated by the banned organization CPI (Maoist) with such an ideology found to have added a momentum to protests in the industrial area in the form of an ideological catalyst”.

Among the writers whose works Verma translated into Hindi was German playwright and poet, Bertolt Brecht, who fled Nazi Germany in 1933, and whose writings conveyed the brusqueness of an authoritarian regime. In his satirical poem Article One of the Weimar Constitution, Brecht wrote:

“From the People proceeds the power of the State.

– But where does it proceed to?
Yes, where is it proceeding to?
There’s some place it’s proceeding to.
The policeman proceeds through the station gate.

– But where does he proceed to?
etc.”

Annexure 4(a): Statement by a ‘mukhbir’ and a factory worker

In Case Diary no. 10, dated April 18, 2026, Inspector Raghvendra Singh, posted at Noida’s Phase-2 police station and the Investigating Officer (IO) in the workers’ protest case, recorded two statements both of which were included in the NSA-related documents submitted by the police to Noida DM Roopam, who also happens to be the daughter of chief election commissioner Gyanesh Kumar.

While one such statement had been attributed to a police informer, the second statement was recorded on behalf of a worker named Mangal. Both these statements have been included as Annexure no. 4(a) in the NSA-related documents.

As reported in part one of this series, the Noida Police had included a list of 17 annexures in its report submitted to the Noida DM on May 12, 2026. These annexures have been cited as pieces of evidence by the UP Police justifying why the NSA had to be invoked in this particular case.

Annexure no. 4(a) has been described by the police as ‘सत्यम वर्मा के अभियोग में प्रकाश में आने वाली केस डायरी (Case diary that brings to light the charges against Satyam Verma)’.

“Today, while we were on a lookout for unknown accused persons in Phase-2 police station area, I showed some viral videos to a mukhbir who then told me that the bald guy as seen in one of the videos, and was wearing spectacles is Aditya Anand. And the person seen behind [Aditya Anand], who is not visible clearly is Satyam Verma; his face is not clearly visible. Mukhbir then further added that he knows and can help in identifying persons associated with the WhatsApp group,” Inspector Singh has been quoted as saying in the case diary.

A mukhbir is a police informer whose identity is not disclosed in official records, and usually provides leads to the local police in connection with an ongoing investigation. While the police can use information provided by a mukhbir to build a case, a mukhbir won’t be part of the trial or be ever held accountable for the information provided.

As reported by The Wire earlier, the police have labelled activist Aditya Anand as the prime accused, with his role as the administrator of a WhatsApp group under probe for allegedly “inciting violence during the workers’ protests”. Anand’s family, on the other hand, maintained that he had in fact posted videos in the same group appealing to people to continue with protests in a peaceful manner.

On the relevance of the testimony of an unnamed mukhbir relied upon by the Noida Police, Supreme Court advocate Kawalpreet Kaur, who is among members of the legal team representing the jailed activists, told The Wire, “The evidentiary value of such a statement is extremely limited. At this stage, it is merely a statement recorded by the investigating agency in the case diary. It is not substantive evidence and, by itself, cannot establish the identity or guilt of an accused during trial.”

“The informer in question was admittedly not an eyewitness to the incident. His statement merely claims that he could identify Satyam Verma from a viral video despite acknowledging that the face is ‘not visible clearly.’ Such identification is inherently speculative and would require independent corroboration through admissible evidence. Courts have consistently held that criminal convictions cannot rest upon conjecture or unverified identification. Moreover, Satyam Verma’s own location records, including call detail records and other electronic evidence, reportedly establish that he was not present at the site of the incident,” she added.

Linking statement by a worker with ‘WhatsApp-initiated violence’

Case Diary no. 10 also included a statement by a worker employed at the Richa Global Company, named Mangal.

Richa Global, with multiple garment manufacturing units in Haryana’s Manesar as well as UP’s Noida, was among the clusters of industrial units whose workers had hit the streets in April demanding that their monthly wage be increased to at least Rs 20,000.

“On April 10, 2026, I got a link in my WhatsApp; upon clicking I joined the Richa Global WhatsApp group  which had Aditya and Rupesh Roy as its admins. In this group, messages were being shared which incited workers to resort to protests while they demanded a wage hike. Some videos which incited the workers were also being shared [in the group],” Mangal has been quoted as saying in his statement to the police.

“Aditya Anand also visited the workers in Phase-2 area and had in an aggressive tone made incendiary speeches before the workers while telling them to continue with the protest. From the workers present there, I had heard that as part of a conspiracy someone by the name of Satyam Verma and Himanshu Thakur had also mingled with the workers trying to incite them,” his statement added.

Contrary to his statement recorded by the Noida Police, when The Wire contacted Mangal Kumar, and he was asked whether any provocative message was shared in the group, he told this reporter, “There was no such thing though a lot of unknown persons were also part of the group. I had joined the group thinking that if I’m out of job it might help me in finding work. There were no other issues as such.”

When asked about whether any of the admins or those in-charge of the WhatsApp group had posted any incendiary message in the days leading up to violence, Kumar told The Wire, “I didn’t know anyone by name or who is the admin, who isn’t. I wasn’t familiar with the members of the group at all.”

Responding to the Noida Police relying on another testimony based on the confessional statement of a worker, advocate Kaur told The Wire, “Firstly, it is again a police-recorded statement made during investigation and is not substantive evidence until the witness appears before the trial court and is subjected to cross-examination. Secondly, the portion stating that Mangal ‘heard from group admins’ that Satyam Verma and Himanshu Thakur were trying to incite workers is hearsay and not evidence. Mangal does not claim to have personally seen Satyam Verma post any message or issue any instructions. Rather, he merely repeats what he allegedly heard from unnamed persons. Such hearsay ordinarily has little or no evidentiary value unless it falls within a recognised exception under the law of evidence.”

In fact, as reported earlier by The Wire, on May 23, 2026, Keshaw Anand, Aditya Anand’s brother, moved the Supreme Court with a petition alleging that “officials of the UP Police were part of the workers’ WhatsApp group ‘Richa Global Noida’ and had an active role in inciting violence”. In a detailed video report published on April 23, The Wire’s reporter Vipul Kumar highlighted the fact that “Sub-Inspector Beena Kaur, posted in Sector-142, Noida, was also part of the WhatsApp group ‘Richa Global Noida’.”

Moreover, the legal team representing the jailed activists maintains that Verma was not a member of any such WhatsApp group. “Available records show that he was not a participant or administrator of the groups connected with the Noida protests. Our criminal law requires proof based on legally admissible evidence rather than suspicion or rumor. Mere assertions attributed to unnamed individuals cannot establish criminal liability,” Kaur told The Wire.

Sudden entry of home ministry’s 2009 notification

A curious entry as Annexure no. 3 (a) in Verma’s NSA case diary is a gazette notification issued by the Union home ministry on June 22, 2009, declaring the “Communist Party of India (Maoist) and all its formations and front organisations as a terrorist organisation” under Section 35 of the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, 1967.

Two other factions of the CPI (Maoist), namely the Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist) People’s War and formations associated with the Maoist Communist Centre (MCC), had already been declared terrorist organisations in the First Schedule of the UAPA.

But what is the link between a banned outfit designated as a terrorist organisation by the Centre and the Noida workers’ protest case, particularly Verma’s NSA case diary?

As reported earlier by The Wire in Part One, Annexure no. 3 in Verma’s NSA case diary – a document titled ‘An overview of multifront agitation engine RWPI’ described by the Noida Police as an ‘article on the structure of RWPI (RWPI का संरचनात्मक आलेख)’, was a verbatim copy of a 21-tweet-long thread by a right-wing X handle, named Chronology.

It was in this Annexure no. 3 that reference was made to the ‘Delhi Pollution Protest: Maoist Signal’, while alluding to the protests in Delhi against air pollution in November 2025, where FIRs were registered after protesters were seen holding posters stating, ‘From Birsa Munda to Madvi Hidma, the struggle of our forests and environment will go on’ along with slogans of ‘Madvi Hidma amar rahe (Long live Madvi Hidma)’.

Hidma was among the top Maoist commanders killed in an encounter in Andhra Pradesh on November 18, 2025.

Annexure no. 3 in the NSA case diary reproduces verbatim a tweet from Chronology’s thread, dated April 14, 2026: “During a Delhi pollution protest, RWPI-linked activists raised slogans of ‘Hidma Zindabad’, a chant honouring Madvi Hidma, a CPI (Maoist) commander killed in an encounter in Andhra Pradesh.”

§

Now here’s where both the Noida Police as well as the right-wing handle Chronology appear to get their facts wrong. In December 2025, 15 days after the Delhi Police arrested 12 students in connection with the anti-pollution protests, a Delhi court, while granting bail to 10 of them, noted that “nothing has been discovered against the accused related to the membership of radical organisations linked to Naxalites”.

As far as the RWPI (Revolutionary Workers’ Party of India) is concerned, after excerpts from the police’ report in connection with the NSA appeared in the online news portal The Print on May 20, 2026, CaRWAN [Campaign for Release of Workers and Activists of Noida] issued a statement on May 24: “We are seeing news reports that are quoting from the Detention Order of Satyam Verma under the NSA, issued by the District Magistrate of Gautam Buddh Nagar, which has been mechanically formed as a cover-up on the basis of the report submitted by the Inspector-in-charge to the Deputy Commissioner of Police. It is troubling to see reputed outlets like The Print treating this as a genuine source of information and taking its contents at face value, as seen in its 20 May 2026 article: ‘Marxist literature, ‘inciting Gen Z – UP cops’ grounds to detain Noida workers’ protest accused under NSA.’”

“The political commentary, accusing Satyam of subscribing to left ideology, by the UP police is a clear indication that the UP police is not doing any investigation, but acting as a trumpet of the UP government. RWPI is an open legal party which has regularly participated in parliamentary, legislative assembly and municipality elections since 2019. RWPI did not even participate in the protest in Delhi against pollution where slogans in support of Hidma were raised,” the CaRWAN statement added.

Another reference to the banned CPI (Maoist) outfit

A second reference to the banned CPI (Maoist) has also been included in the 13-page police report submitted by Inspector Raghvendra Singh to the Deputy Commissioner of Police at the Gautam Buddh Nagar police commissionerate on May 12, 2026.

Making note of the fact that Satyam Verma has been on friendly terms with Arvind Sinha, Executive Editor of the monthly newspaper Mazdoor Bigul, which the police claimed “provides ideological raw material for inciting dissatisfaction and resistance against labour codes”, the report by the Noida Police further concluded: “The reading material associated with Mazdoor Bigul, while directly seems to be inspired by Marxism, indirectly it seems to have been motivated by ideology of the banned organization CPI(Maoist).”

Do such speculations actually constitute a crime under NSA?

According to Kaur, “The mere possession, circulation or discussion of Marxism or even Maoist literature does not, by itself, constitute a criminal offence. Indian courts have repeatedly distinguished holding ideas from participating in criminal activities. In Arup Bhuyan v. State of Assam (2011), the Supreme Court held that mere membership of a banned organisation, without incitement to violence or involvement in violent acts, cannot attract criminal liability.  Similarly, in Thwaha Fasal v. Union of India (2021), the Supreme Court stated that possession of books, pamphlets or ideological material, or sympathy for a political ideology, cannot by itself establish offences under the anti-terror law. In that case, the accused were arrested for their links to the banned group CPI (Maoist), yet the Supreme Court held that passive interest in an ideology or books does not amount to active participation in the goals of a banned organisation.”

DM Noida’s conclusion based on ‘psychological’ interpretation

On May 12, 2026, the same day that DM Medha Roopam wrote to the UP home secretary apprising the concerned authorities of her decision to invoke the NSA against Verma, she also informed the detenue, through a nine-page letter, of the grounds for his detention under the law.

This is a mandatory requirement under Section 8 of the NSA Act which states: “When a person is detained in pursuance of a detention order, the authority…shall as soon as may be, but ordinarily not later than five days and in exceptional circumstances…not later than ten days from the date of detention, communicate to him the ground on which the order has been made.”

As illustrated in this 2019 piece titled for The Wire by Bhamati Sivapalan and Vidyun Sabhaney, the NSA is popularly known as the law of “no vakil, no appeal, no daleel (no lawyer, no appeal, no argument)”. Since all preventive detention laws “mirror the colonial era 1818 Bengal Regulation in its principles of criminalising dissent”, NSA can also be added to the same list as Defence of India Act, 1962 which “was infamously used against Indians of Chinese ethnicity”.

The reasoning adopted by Noida DM Medha Roopam seems to have taken a cue from Hollywood actor Tom Cruise’s 2002 film, Minority Report, centred around a dystopian set-up in 2054 when a policing unit could foresee a crime and tried to stop it.

At the very outset, Roopam, in her May 12 letter, refers to the nature of involvement as “अप्रत्यक्षतः दुष्प्रेरित किया गया”, which translates to “indirectly abetted” violence during the workers’ protest. The DM’s letter also accuses Verma of “indulging in a form of pseudo writing with undertone of violence on account of being a writer and publisher of the Mazdoor Bigul newspaper”. It continues:

“Since you are among the founding members of RWPI (Revolutionary Workers’ Party of India), a communist who, with the help of books and literature available at the Jan Chetna bookstore acted as an ideological catalyst aimed at preparing a new generation of cadres who are part of such rebel organizations. Both the RWPI as well as Jan Chetna publication have been found to be the main facilitators of violence in Noida as concluded in the investigation.”

The document titled ‘Annexure No. 10’, prepared by the Local Intelligence Unit (LIU) and forming part of Verma’s NSA case diary, lists 138 sites across Noida, Central Noida Zone and Greater Noida where protests took place between April 10 and April 15, 2026. While instances of arson were reported from three such protest sites, the LIU report mentioned 33 sites where properties had been damaged.

For the DM, this appears to have been a red flag warranting preventive action.

According to a profile piece published in July 2025 by The Print, “since her appointment was announced, she [Roopam] has been dubbed Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath’s choice” with her top priority then being “the Jewar airport and its completion”.

“This violent protest has created circumstances which will adversely impact forthcoming capital investment in the state’s IT and hosiery sectors while at present Gautam Buddh Nagar has more than Rs 1 lakh crore capital investment across its 21,000 industrial units which generate 6 lakh jobs. Such an environment of industrial growth has been impacted negatively because of irrational, obstinate and violent andolanjeevis like yourself, who owing to their vile mentality are involved in planning civil unrest as was seen in Haryana’s Manesar and Noida industrial unrest,” Roopam’s letter cited as one of the grounds why NSA needs to be invoked.

The nine-page letter signed off by the DM, largely in Hindi, abruptly  switches to English to state that  “violent circumstances are deliberately created such that the hearts and minds of industrial labourers are filled with rebellion which amounts to actions against the state’s investment policy”.

“Narrative making through mass communication with [an] aim to provoking labour class and general public by creating anti state, anti-administration thinking with the motive of disturbing public tranquility,” the letter states in English.

It is, however, not specified in the DM’s letter what exactly those means of mass communication reportedly used by Verma were, and how they are linked with the April violence.

The DM’s letter tends to dwell a bit more on the psychological aspect of allegedly influencing workers, hence the earlier analogy to Tom Cruise’s Minority Report – of mentally mapping someone who has allegedly committed a crime.

The letter concludes with the following observation:

“You tend to encourage such activities which on the very outset may seem like part of a non-violent protest but in fact among the age group of 18-25 years among workers, ideologically they [activities] actually make an individual so agitated and angry that they indulge in collective activities related to the disruption of peace.”

This reporter contacted Noida Police Commissioner Laxmi Singh, but the phone calls went unanswered. The Wire has sent a questionnaire to the Commissioner’s official email ID. This story will be updated as and when a response is received.

The Wire also reached out to District Magistrate Medha Roopam for a response. We were told she was busy in a meeting, and that we could send questions. A questionnaire has been sent at the official email ID of DM Gautam Buddh Nagar. This article will be updated when a response is received.

Courtesy: The Wire

The post ID Based on Anonymous Informant, Sudden Reference to 2009 Home Ministry Notification: Why NSA Case Against Satyam Verma Is Unconvincing appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The students’ union did not cancel the discussion. Instead, it moved it outside the School of Social Sciences-II building. According to The New Indian Express, students and faculty gathered in substantial numbers despite the change of venue, while the programme was disrupted by protests from members of the Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP). The episode has since become about far more than a cancelled auditorium. It has raised questions about who gets to determine what can be discussed inside a university, how far administrative control over campus spaces can extend, and whether a book — even one written by a jailed political figure — can be treated as an object of academic inquiry independently of the controversies surrounding its author.

The cancellation came at the last minute

The JNU administration announced on August 9 that the booking of the SSS-I auditorium had been cancelled. Its explanation was brief. In a post on its official X account, the university said that JNU was a “democratic and decentralised institution” and that the permission had originally been granted by the Dean of the School of Social Sciences. It then said the booking stood cancelled because of the “non-disclosure of the full facts” concerning the programme scheduled for August 10. But the administration did not publicly specify what information had allegedly been withheld.

That omission lies at the heart of the controversy. Documents relating to the booking showed that the programme had gone through the formal process. The requisition described it as a “Public Talk for Adivasi Diwas (Book Discussion)” and identified the date, time and auditorium. The booking was subsequently approved by the Dean of the School of Social Sciences on August 7.

The organisers therefore questioned why an event that had gone through the university’s own booking procedure could be cancelled two days later on the ground that its “full facts” had not been disclosed.

Professor Avinash Kumar, who had submitted the requisition for the auditorium, was particularly categorical. “The stated reason for the cancellation of the booking of the SSS auditorium is false,” he said, according to Hindustan Times report. Kumar maintained that the Dean had been fully informed that the event was going to discuss Khalid’s book and that the requisition had been prepared in the format suggested by the Dean himself.

His question was simple: if the university did not know what the event was about, why was the auditorium booking approved in the first place?

Kumar also challenged the administration to disclose the actual rule under which the booking had been unilaterally withdrawn. He pointed out that the book itself emerged from Khalid’s doctoral research at JNU and asked why the university could not permit a discussion of a thesis for which it had itself awarded him a PhD.

‘They cancelled the room, not the discussion’

The JNUSU saw the cancellation as something much larger than a dispute over paperwork. In a statement, the union called the decision “arbitrary and authoritarian” and accused the administration of attempting to suppress academic discussion and dissent, according to Indian Express report.

Its argument was that book discussions are not merely social events; they are a basic part of academic life. A university, the union maintained, should be a space where students can encounter controversial arguments, question them, disagree with them and debate them — rather than one where subjects are removed from discussion because of the identity or political status of their author.

The union was particularly scathing about the administration’s explanation that “full details” had not been disclosed. According to the JNUSU, the Dean himself had instructed the organisers on how the auditorium requisition should be made. It therefore described the stated reason as a pretext for what it considered censorship. The union’s position was summed up in its response: “cancelling a room does not cancel a conversation.” And that is precisely what happened.

Gopika Babu, vice-president of the JNUSU, said the large turnout was a response to what she described as pressure from the administration and the ABVP. “Despite all threats of the admin-ABVP nexus, the students gathered in large numbers to assert campus democracy,” she said, reported The New Indian Express.

Babu described debate, dissent and discussion as central to JNU’s institutional character, arguing that the outdoor gathering demonstrated that “JNU stays alive in this spirit”. She also framed the event as an expression of solidarity with Umar Khalid and other political prisoners awaiting trial, while accusing the university administration of pursuing what she described as a “casteist” agenda.

“JNU stood in solidarity with Umar Khalid today, and through him, in solidarity with umpteen other political prisoners languishing in jail without trial,” Babu said. She further described the gathering as a response to what she called the “empty threats” of ABVP members.

JNUSU president Aditi also criticised the administration’s decision, saying, “I condemn the way the administration tried stealing our classrooms. We’ll continue to have such events on the campus.”

The statements underline how the cancellation transformed the character of the event. What began as an academic discussion around Fractured Communities became, after the auditorium was withdrawn, a visible contest over who controls the university’s physical and intellectual spaces. The administration had cancelled the venue. The students’ response was to occupy another space and continue the discussion. In that sense, the outdoor gathering became a message of its own: the withdrawal of institutional permission could change where the conversation happened, but it could not determine whether the conversation happened at all.

The discussion goes ahead — outside

On Monday afternoon, the organisers gathered outside the SSS-II building. The event began around the scheduled time and attracted students, teachers and visitors from outside JNU. The New Indian Express reported that the discussion proceeded despite the cancellation, while Rediff reported that students and teachers attended the outdoor programme from around 3 pm.

The weather itself became almost symbolic. Students gathered in the open despite the rain, listening to speakers discuss the book, its methodology and the history it attempts to recover.

The panel included historian Uma Chakravarti, Professor Prabhu Mahapatra, writer and journalist Shuddhabrata Sengupta, and scholar Banojyotsana Lahiri. The discussion focused on Fractured Communities, rather than turning exclusively into a political meeting about Khalid’s incarceration. Panellists discussed the book’s academic method and its treatment of Adivasi history, while copies of the book were also sold at the venue.

For some students, the fact that the book was written by Khalid was itself a reason to read it rather than a reason to prevent its discussion. JNU student Aniket, who bought a copy at the event, told The Hindu that he wanted to read the thesis to understand how Khalid viewed the world and, importantly, to study how an academic thesis was written. He contrasted that with what he described as a contemporary academic environment increasingly affected by plagiarism and AI-generated material. The sentiment captures an important distinction in the controversy: reading a book is not the same thing as endorsing its author. A university’s academic culture depends precisely on the ability to examine arguments without requiring prior agreement with the person who made them.

Then came the slogans

The outdoor discussion was not free from confrontation. ABVP members protested the programme and raised slogans against Khalid. The New Indian Express reported slogans including “Umar Khalid ko fansi do”, while The Times of India also reported that the event was disrupted by ABVP members who entered the gathering and raised slogans.

The protests reflected the political fault line surrounding Khalid himself. Khalid has been in custody since September 2020 in connection with the case concerning the alleged larger conspiracy behind the February 2020 Northeast Delhi riots. He faces charges under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA) among other provisions and continues to contest the allegations against him. The trial against him has not started since the past 6 years.

The case against him highlights both the prolonged incarceration and the continuing litigation over bail. In July 2026, a Delhi court rejected fresh bail applications by Khalid and Sharjeel Imam, saying it was bound by an earlier Supreme Court order. The question of his imprisonment therefore inevitably hangs over any public discussion of his work. But that also makes the distinction between the author and the academic work more significant.

 

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What exactly is Fractured Communities?

The controversy risks obscuring what the event was actually supposed to discuss. Fractured Communities: Adivasi Histories and the Politics of Power is based on Khalid’s doctoral thesis, submitted to JNU’s Centre for Historical Studies in July 2018. He was subsequently awarded his PhD.

The book examines Adivasi societies in the Singhbhum region of present-day Jharkhand under British rule, including questions of indigenous agency, local governance, resistance and the politics of colonial power. Khalid himself wrote in The Indian Express in July that the thesis had been written years before its publication as a book and that he had never expected the work to acquire the political significance it now carries. He described the thesis as an engagement with history, propaganda and the use of power in shaping narratives.

The book’s publisher, Juggernaut, describes it as an archival study of Singhbhum’s tribal societies and a critique of historical accounts that flatten differences within communities. Its subject, therefore, is not the 2020 Delhi riots, Khalid’s UAPA case or contemporary electoral politics. It is a work of history. That distinction matters.

The irony of JNU cancelling a discussion on a JNU-approved thesis

Perhaps the sharpest contradiction in the episode lies here. The book at the centre of the dispute is not an anonymous political pamphlet being brought onto campus without institutional connection. It is derived from a doctoral thesis that Khalid submitted to JNU. The university examined that research. Academic processes assessed it. He was awarded a PhD.

And now, the university found itself cancelling the venue for a public discussion of the work. That does not automatically establish that the cancellation was censorship. JNU is entitled to regulate the use of its buildings and to require organisers to comply with institutional procedures. Its stated position is that the organisers failed to disclose complete information about the programme.

But the administration has not publicly identified what those allegedly undisclosed facts were. And that is where the explanation becomes difficult to assess. If the problem was procedural, the university could have identified the missing information and explained why it warranted cancellation rather than correction. Instead, the auditorium was cancelled immediately before the programme. That left the organisers, and the wider university community, to infer the reason.

Students question the double standard

The controversy has also acquired another layer because of a separate dispute involving an ISKCON programme at JNU. The JNUSU had previously objected to a programme involving an ISKCON representative at the university’s Central Library, titled “Empowering Youth for a Brighter Future”. The union had questioned the permission granted for religious programming on campus.

After the Umar Khalid book discussion was cancelled, the union revived the comparison, accusing the administration of adopting different standards for different events. That comparison remains contested, but it raises a broader question: what should the standard for campus events actually be?

If the concern is procedural compliance, the same rules should apply regardless of whether an event features a religious organisation, a political speaker, a controversial academic or a jailed activist. If the concern is the content of an event, the university should say so openly and identify the applicable rule. What becomes dangerous for an academic institution is a system in which apparently neutral procedural requirements can be invoked selectively, without clearly explaining what triggered their application.

Not everyone attending supported the event uncritically

The outdoor discussion also exposed an important criticism from within the student movement itself. Kranthi Kumar, president of the Birsa Ambedkar Phule Students’ Association, told The Hindu that while his organisation opposed the incarceration of political prisoners and the suppression of dissent, it also agreed with concerns about the composition of the panel. The criticism was that a discussion centred on Adivasi histories did not include members of Adivasi communities on the panel.

That objection complicates the binary framing of the controversy. It is entirely possible to oppose the cancellation of a discussion while simultaneously questioning who gets to speak about Adivasi history. In fact, that is precisely the kind of disagreement a university ought to be capable of accommodating.

The larger question: what is a university for?

The most consequential aspect of the JNU episode may therefore not be Umar Khalid at all. It is the question of whether universities can remain spaces where controversial scholarship is examined without the discussion itself being treated as an endorsement. There is a fundamental difference between giving someone a platform to promote a political position and allowing students to read and debate a published academic work.

There is also a difference between disagreeing with a thesis and preventing people from discussing it. A university does not become democratic because its administration describes it as one. It becomes democratic when disagreement can occur without the institution deciding in advance which questions are legitimate.

JNU’s own explanation invokes its character as a “democratic and decentralised institution”. But democracy on a university campus cannot simply mean administrative discretion. It must also include intellectual pluralism, transparency in decision-making and the ability of students and faculty to question institutional decisions. In this case, the administration cancelled the auditorium.

The students responded by taking the discussion outside. They were joined by faculty members, students from other institutions and others who wanted to hear the debate. The rain did not stop the event. Neither did the cancellation. And that may be the most telling image from the entire episode: a university discussion that the administration could remove from a room, but could not remove from the campus. Because once a university begins treating the discussion of a controversial scholar’s work as something that must be administratively contained, the question is no longer merely what Umar Khalid wrote. It becomes who gets to decide what students are allowed to read, discuss and question.

Related:

July 2026: A dissent that was brutally put down, a crackdown after the protest ended

Permission to Protest? Why the right to dissent needs no licence

NSA slapped on journalist, DU scholar in Noida workers’ protest case amid allegations of crackdown on dissent

JNU Students Lathi-charged, Injured, first detained during protest over V-C remarks, UGC Equity guidelines, now Jailed

UGC Guidelines 2026: AISA Protest at Delhi University followed by sexual abuse allegations amid police presence

Campuses in Revolt: How the UGC Equity Stay and Criminalised Dissent Have Ignited Student Protests Across India

The post JNU Cancels Venue, Not the Conversation: Umar Khalid’s book discussion moves outdoors amid protests appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In the days after the Cockroach Janata Party (CJP)-led protests concluded, several women protesters alleged that they became targets of coordinated online harassment, rape threats, doxing campaigns, morphed images, character attacks and demands for their arrest. What began as a debate over slogans raised during demonstrations transformed into a larger controversy over whether women participating in public dissent were being punished not only for their political expression but also for refusing traditional expectations of silence and conformity.

The aftermath of the protests saw several women participants alleging that their visibility as protesters made them targets of coordinated online attacks, with personal information being circulated, threats issued and attempts made to undermine their credibility and character.  The developments that followed also brought several legal questions before the Supreme Court, with petitions challenging alleged police excesses during the protests, seeking clarity on the withdrawal of FIRs against students, raising concerns over surveillance practices and demanding accountability for the use of force against demonstrators.

Detailed reports on the withdrawal of FIRs may be read here, here and here.

The protests that triggered a national confrontation

The NEET-UG 2026 protests began after allegations of a question paper leak and irregularities in the medical entrance examination created widespread anger among students. The movement, initially amplified through social media under the banner of the satirical Cockroach Janata Party (CJP), eventually grew into a nationwide student mobilisation.

The protests gained momentum after three student activists associated with the All India Students’ Association (AISA), namely Neha, Manish and Aameen and activist Sonam Wangchuk joined the agitation and observed a prolonged hunger strike at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar. Student organisations and youth groups demanded accountability, reforms in examination systems and action against those responsible for compromising the integrity of competitive examinations.

The movement reached its peak during the July 20 “Chalo Sansad” march, when clashes broke out between protesters and police in New Delhi. Student groups and civil liberties advocates alleged that security forces responded with excessive force, including the use of tear gas, pellet guns and repeated baton charges to disperse demonstrators. Petitioners before the Supreme Court alleged that several students suffered pellet injuries, while videos circulating on social media appeared to show protesters with bleeding head wounds allegedly caused by lathi blows. Protesters also alleged that some batons used during the operation had metal nails or studs attached, an allegation that has since been raised before the Supreme Court and is part of the ongoing proceedings. Similar allegations emerged from Bihar, where student activists claimed that police resorted to firing during demonstrations. One incident in Siwan drew particular attention after a police constable allegedly fired an AK-47 rifle towards protesters; the constable was subsequently suspended, although protesters have continued to demand accountability from senior officers. Police authorities have maintained that force was used only after demonstrators attempted to breach security arrangements and denied allegations of unlawful or excessive action.

Detailed reports may be read here, here, here and here.

The agitation eventually concluded after the Union government accepted several key demands, including the resignation of Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan on July 25. The government also announced that criminal cases registered against many student protesters during the demonstrations would be reviewed, with FIRs against students who had not been accused of serious acts of violence proposed to be withdrawn. However, the selective withdrawal of cases became another point of contention, with petitioners arguing that the criminal process had been used to deter participation in the protests and demanding greater transparency and accountability in the registration and withdrawal of FIRs.

Meanwhile, the end of the protest did not end the controversy. Instead, a new battle emerged — over the treatment of protesters after the demonstrations.

Women protesters become the centre of backlash

One of the most striking features of the aftermath was the disproportionate targeting of women who had participated in the protests. Several women who became recognisable faces of the movement alleged that they were subjected to misogynistic attacks, including rape threats, sexualised comments, fabricated allegations and attempts to publicly shame them.

A report by ThePrint noted that women protesters across Delhi, Mumbai and Kolkata became targets of social media campaigns after the protests ended. Images of women were allegedly cropped, altered or circulated with calls to identify them and take action against them. The report highlighted that although protesters of different genders participated in raising slogans during demonstrations, women were specifically singled out afterwards.

The pattern, activists argued, reflected a familiar method of discrediting women in public movements — shifting attention from their political arguments to their appearance, morality, personal lives and character. Women protesters said that rather than addressing the issues raised by the movement, online campaigns focused on portraying them as irresponsible, immoral or deserving of punishment.

Rhiya Ahir: From protest symbol to target of online attacks

One of the most visible examples was Rhiya Ahir, a Mumbai-based actor and model whose image of standing in front of a police vehicle carrying detained protesters went viral during the demonstrations. The photograph turned her into one of the recognisable faces of the movement. However, according to Rhiya, the public attention soon transformed into online abuse.

Speaking to ANI, as reported by LiveMint, Rhiya said she approached the Maharashtra Police cyber cell after allegedly facing harassment and defamatory content online. She stated that while criticism was part of democratic expression, attacks targeting her dignity and personal reputation crossed the line.

“Everyone has the right to express their opinion, but no one has the right to degrade someone, malign their reputation, attack their dignity publicly, or make statements suggesting that a person does not have the right to live,” she said.

Rhiya also clarified that the movement was not organised for any political party, religion or individual but was about issues affecting students.

A detailed report by ThePrint described how women protesters became targets of online campaigns involving alleged fake images, sexualised misinformation and calls for police action. The report quoted Rhiya alleging that fabricated images of her were circulated along with false claims about her personal life and profession. She argued that when critics could not challenge the substance of the protest, they shifted towards attacking the character of women participants.

“If you cannot attack the cause, attack the character”

The backlash against women protesters was described by many activists as part of a broader pattern seen during previous movements, including the protests against the Citizenship Amendment Act and the farmers’ agitation. Alt News co-founder Mohammed Zubair, speaking to ThePrint, pointed out that similar tactics had been used earlier — including spreading misleading videos, manipulated images and personal attacks to delegitimise protesters.

The focus on women, activists argued, was not accidental. Women participating in political protests often face a different form of scrutiny. Their clothing, language, relationships and personal choices become subjects of public debate in ways that male protesters frequently do not experience.

A protester quoted by ThePrint said: “Patriarchy becomes a rather perfect tool when it comes to attacking women, because if you cannot attack the cause, you attack the character.”

This raised a larger question: whether women’s participation in democratic protest continues to be judged through expectations of “acceptable” behaviour rather than constitutional rights.

The apology controversy: A minor protester caught between forgiveness and criminal action

The moral policing and attacks on women for using abusive slogans against Prime Minister Narendra Modi further intensified the backlash against women protesters. On July 31, Prime Minister Modi posted a video message saying he had forgiven students who had used abusive language against him during the protests. He described them as “misled children” and said the focus should be on guiding them rather than punishing them.

The Prime Minister’s remarks also betrayed a deeply paternalistic view of women’s place in political protest. Declaring that he could forgive youngsters for abusing him, Narendra Modi nevertheless singled out women, saying it was a “culture shock” that they had used abusive language. The outrage, then, was not directed at the abuse itself but at the fact that women had dared to express anger in a manner that defied conventional expectations of femininity. Such framing reduces women protesters to custodians of culture, holding them to standards of civility and respectability that are rarely imposed on men. Rather than confronting the grievances that drove thousands of students to the streets, the remarks shifted the conversation to whether women had behaved as society expects them to. That distinction is not incidental—it reflects the persistence of gendered expectations in India’s political discourse, where women are often judged less for what they demand than for how they choose to demand it. Predictably, according to The News Minute, several women protesters said that online abuse against them continued despite the Prime Minister’s message.

The case of the 15-year-old protester who was accused of using abusive language against Prime Minister Narendra Modi became one of the most distasteful examples. During the protest, a video surfaced showing the teenager at the protest site shouting and repeating vulgar profanities directed at PM Modi while expressing her frustration. Once it went viral, the video took a life of its own.

A Zero FIR against her was initially registered in Noida and later transferred to Delhi. The allegations invoked provisions of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), including sections relating to intentional insult, statements allegedly causing public mischief and defamation.

Even after there came a video of the teenager apologising publicly went viral after Prime Minister Modi’s remarks urging society to forgive young protesters. In the video, the girl expressed regret for her comments, said she had been influenced by the atmosphere around her and described the incident as her “first and last mistake”.

Only a 15-year-old minor girl, she said that she continued receiving rape threats and sexually explicit messages from unknown accounts and phone numbers. The teenager told IANS that people threatened her with rape and continued targeting her even after her apology. She also alleged that police continued searching for her despite the apology. However, the controversy did not end with her apology.

According to The News Minute, the teenager alleged that she continued receiving rape threats and abusive messages despite publicly apologising. She said unknown accounts sent sexually explicit material and threatened violence against her. As per the report of The Print, the child had to stop going to school, and had to shift out of her house along with her single mother.

The episode highlighted a contradiction at the centre of the debate: while public discussions focused heavily on the language used by protesters, there was comparatively less attention on the gendered abuse directed towards young women who participated in the movement.

On August 5, Hindustan Times reported that the complainant in the case against the teenager withdrew the complaint, stating that she no longer wished to pursue the matter after the Prime Minister had forgiven the protesters. Lawyer Smriti Singh, who had filed the complaint, said that the FIR was initially registered against multiple girls and that she decided not to continue the matter.

When gender meets religion

Beyond the cases involving slogans and online criticism, several women activists alleged that their participation itself had triggered police scrutiny. One such case involved JNU Students’ Union leader Danish Ali.

According to Maktoob Media, Danish alleged that Madhya Pradesh Police visited her family home after her participation in the NEET protests and questioned her relatives despite no FIR being registered against her. She said police contacted her father and advised him to ask her to focus on studies instead of activism. Danish alleged that she was singled out because of her Muslim identity.

“Coming from a Muslim community, with the peak Islamophobia in the country, my family is concerned,” she told Maktoob. She questioned why police action was directed towards her when several other activists had participated in the same protest.

A similar concern was raised by Amreen Shaikh, an organiser of the NEET protest in Goa. According to Maktoob Media, Shaikh was summoned by Goa Police for questioning after helping organise a demonstration that had received official permission. She alleged that during questioning, police asked whether she would take responsibility if a “bomb blast” occurred during the protest.

She said officers also questioned her about her father, his business and foreign travel history. Shaikh said she struggled to understand why questions unrelated to the education protest were raised. She alleged that her identity as a Muslim woman had contributed to the scrutiny she faced.

Although she was not named as an accused, she said the police action and online harassment caused significant mental distress. The FIRs associated with the protest invoked provisions of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita relating to unlawful assembly and related offences.

Vismaya Mohanlal and dissent

The backlash against protesters also extended to celebrities and public figures who expressed support for student demonstrators. Actor Vismaya Mohanlal, daughter of Malayalam superstar Mohanlal, faced online criticism after expressing support for students protesting over the NEET paper leak. According to Indulge Express, Vismaya responded to criticism by saying she stood by her views and believed democracy required citizens to question those in power.

She stated: “We should always be allowed to question and be heard. We should always have dialogue instead of force, and I don’t think your politics should ever supersede your humanity.”

She clarified that her position was not aligned with any political party and that her concern was based on humanitarian principles. Her comments triggered online backlash, with some social media users calling for a boycott of her debut film. Filmmaker Major Ravi defended her position, saying her comments reflected concern for students rather than political affiliation.

Shradha Singh: Online misogyny after becoming a face of the movement

Another woman who became a target after the protests was content creator Shradha Singh. According to The News Minute, Singh’s seven-second Instagram video recorded alongside Rapid Action Force personnel became a subject of controversy after it was amplified by television channels and social media accounts.

She alleged that she was invited to participate in a television discussion under the impression that she would be allowed to explain her position, but instead found herself in a confrontational debate where she faced criticism. Speaking to BBC Hindi, as reported by TNM, Singh said she felt humiliated during the programme but chose not to react emotionally because millions of people were watching. She later spoke about the sexualised abuse directed at her online.

She said comments under her social media posts included degrading remarks targeting her dignity and character. Singh contrasted this experience with her time at the protest site, saying she had stood among hundreds of men without facing harassment but had experienced severe abuse from people online. She appealed for greater attention towards misogynistic online attacks against women protesters.

Gendered backlash: When women become the issue

If the protests challenged the government’s handling of the NEET crisis, the backlash exposed the deeply gendered nature of political dissent in India. Women who stood at the forefront of the movement were not merely criticised for their politics—they were punished for their visibility. Instead of engaging with their demands, detractors sought to discredit them through misogyny. Their clothing was dissected, their professions questioned, their morality policed, sexual rumours manufactured, morphed images circulated, rape threats issued and calls made for their arrest. The objective was unmistakable: to shift the conversation from what women were saying to whether they deserved to be heard at all.

This is a familiar script in Indian protest politics. When a movement proves difficult to defeat on its merits, its women are turned into the battleground. Their political agency is recast as moral transgression; their dissent reduced to questions of character and respectability. The message is clear—women may participate in public life, but only so long as they remain within the boundaries of acceptable femininity. The moment they speak too loudly, lead too visibly or challenge authority too forcefully, they cease to be citizens exercising constitutional rights and become subjects of public moral scrutiny.

The outrage over abusive slogans exemplified this selective moralism. For weeks, public debate fixated on the language used by a handful of protesters, while allegations of excessive police force—including pellet guns fired at students, lathi blows to the heads of demonstrators, and reports of live ammunition being used against protesters in Bihar—struggled to command comparable attention. The disproportionate focus on slogans effectively displaced the central questions the movement had raised: whether the state had responded lawfully and proportionately, and whether those responsible for violence against students would ever be held accountable.

The Prime Minister’s response only reinforced that imbalance. While PM Modi declared that he could forgive youngsters for abusing him, he singled out women, saying it was a “culture shock” that women had used abusive language. The implication was difficult to ignore. Abuse itself was not the singular concern; it became uniquely shocking when it came from women. By holding women protesters to a higher standard of civility than men, the remarks echoed a deeply paternalistic expectation that women must remain composed, respectful and restrained—even when confronting injustice. In doing so, the country’s highest political office did not simply comment on the protests; it reinforced the patriarchal logic that women in politics are judged less by the legitimacy of their demands than by whether they conform to society’s expectations of femininity. In the end, the conduct of women became a bigger controversy than the conduct of the state.

From online abuse to institutional response: Legal aid emerges as protesters seek protection

As allegations of harassment, intimidation and threats against student protesters continued to emerge, political organisations and civil society groups began creating support mechanisms for those facing legal and online challenges.

The Indian Youth Congress (IYC)v launched a nationwide legal helpline under its “Chhatron Ki Goonj” campaign to assist students who claimed they were facing threats, intimidation and online abuse following their participation in the NEET protests. According to The New Indian Express, the helpline was created to receive complaints from students alleging harassment connected with their participation in demonstrations. The organisation said complaints would be reviewed and that legal and organisational assistance would be provided wherever required.

IYC president Uday Bhanu Chib said young Indians had a constitutional right to question the government and raise their voices without fear. The organisation specifically referred to cases involving women protesters, including Rhiya Yadav and Shradha Singh, who had spoken publicly about online abuse. The launch of the helpline highlighted a growing concern: that the consequences of participating in a public protest were extending beyond the protest sites into private lives, families and digital spaces.

A broader crackdown narrative: arrests, FIRs and continuing protests

While the Jantar Mantar protest ended after assurances from the government, several state-level demonstrations continued. In Bihar, students returned to the streets demanding the release of protesters arrested during earlier demonstrations.

According to The Times of India, hundreds of students and youth activists gathered in Patna demanding that the government honour its promise to withdraw cases and release detained students. The protesters alleged that many students had not returned home despite government assurances.

They demanded:

• a verified list of released and detained protesters;
• withdrawal of criminal cases;
• accountability for alleged police excesses.

The demonstrations were dispersed by police using water cannons after protesters attempted to march towards the Chief Minister’s residence. The police maintained that action was taken only after protesters attempted to enter restricted areas.

Supreme Court intervenes: FIRs, surveillance and police action under scrutiny

The aftermath of the NEET protests reached the Supreme Court, where multiple petitions challenged alleged police excesses during the July 20 “Chalo Sansad” march and subsequent demonstrations.

The petitions raised serious allegations, including:

• use of excessive force against protesters;
• alleged use of pellet guns;
• baton charges;
• injuries suffered by students;
• alleged assault of journalists and lawyers;
• detention of minors;
• surveillance and collection of protesters’ personal data.

The Supreme Court bench comprising Chief Justice of India Surya Kant, Justice Joymalya Bagchi and Justice V Mohana clarified that States were free to withdraw FIRs against student protesters if permitted under law. The clarification came after petitioners pointed out that the Court’s earlier order allowing investigations to continue could affect the government’s commitment to withdraw cases against protesters.

The Court also clarified that the phrase “criminal antecedents” used in its earlier order would refer only to serious and heinous offences, after concerns were raised that students with minor cases could face difficulties. According to LiveLaw, Solicitor General Tushar Mehta informed the Court that the government remained committed to addressing cases against student protesters but that criminal law procedures did not provide a simple mechanism for “withdrawing FIRs”.

Possible legal routes included filing closure reports, seeking withdrawal of prosecution or approaching courts for quashing proceedings. Senior Advocate Vrinda Grover argued that withdrawing cases individually would be complicated, particularly where FIRs involved large numbers of unidentified persons. One Patna FIR, she pointed out, named thousands of unidentified individuals, raising concerns that such broad FIRs could potentially be used against students.

The Supreme Court also examined allegations of excessive police action during the protests. Petitioners alleged that security forces used disproportionate force against demonstrators, including pellet guns and other crowd-control measures.

Senior Advocate Gopal Sankaranarayanan argued that accountability must extend to senior officials responsible for authorising police action. He urged the Court to examine how security forces were permitted to use such methods against civilian protesters.

The petitioners also alleged the use of:

• pellet guns;
• shock batons;
• sticks with nails;
• force against women protesters;
• detention of minors.

The Court directed authorities to preserve relevant evidence, including:

• CCTV footage;
• drone recordings;
• body camera footage;
• videography;
• wireless communication records;
• PCR logs.

The Court also directed authorities not to disclose protesters’ personal information and digital data while the matter remained under consideration. Chief Justice Surya Kant observed that police officers responsible for excessive force should not receive undue protection. At the same time, the Court noted that genuine criminal acts committed during protests could not be ignored merely because they occurred in the context of demonstrations. The matter was listed for further hearing on August 18.

Detailed report on the proceedings before the Supreme Court may be read here.

Tamil Nadu keeps the anti-NEET movement alive

Although the nationwide agitation lost momentum after the resignation of the Union Education Minister, resistance to NEET remained alive in Tamil Nadu, where opposition to the examination has long been rooted in questions of social justice and federalism rather than administrative reform alone. As reported by The News Minute, Members of the Ban NEET Movement under the Anti-NEET Federation launched an indefinite hunger strike in Chennai, demanding the complete abolition of the examination. Protesters argued that NEET continues to privilege students with access to costly coaching while placing first-generation learners, rural students and those from economically weaker backgrounds at a structural disadvantage. They also renewed demands for education to be shifted from the Concurrent List to the State List, contending that states should have greater autonomy over admissions and education policy. The movement once again invoked the memory of S. Anitha, whose death in 2017 transformed the anti-NEET campaign into a larger struggle against educational inequality and the centralisation of policy.

Beyond NEET: The democratic questions remain

What began as a demand for accountability over an examination leak ultimately evolved into a far broader test of India’s democratic institutions. The movement forced difficult questions that remain unanswered: How far can the state go in policing dissent? When does crowd control become excessive force? Can criminal law be used to discourage political participation? Why are women who protest subjected to uniquely gendered abuse? And who is held accountable when constitutional rights are allegedly violated in the name of maintaining public order?

The legal battle is far from over. The Supreme Court’s scrutiny of police action, FIRs, surveillance and the preservation of evidence signal that the questions raised by the protests have outlived the demonstrations themselves. Whether those proceedings result in meaningful accountability will shape not only the legacy of the NEET movement but also the boundaries of the right to protest in the New India.

Equally enduring is the lesson the protests offered about gender and dissent. For many women, participation in the movement meant confronting not only the coercive power of the state but also orchestrated campaigns of misogyny, intimidation and character assassination. Their experiences underscored a troubling reality: in India, women who claim political space are still expected to defend their morality before their message is heard.

The NEET protests may have ended, but the questions they raised continue to reverberate. The movement is no longer only about a competitive examination or an alleged paper leak. It has become a referendum on the state’s response to dissent, the shrinking space for democratic protest, and whether young citizens can challenge authority without being met with criminal prosecution, excessive force or targeted harassment.

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The post After NEET protests ended, the battle moved online: Women protesters face threats, doxing and criminalisation appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In a statement issued on Sunday, August 9, the organisations said that the Committee has been entrusted with examining the overall ecology of the Aravalli region, its impact on people’s lives, social and economic conditions, water resources and groundwater, mining, employment, animal husbandry and other related issues.

Such an assessment is simply not possible through what amounts to a token tour of nine districts in just four days, the organisations said.

Only One Hour for the Ajmer Hearing

The organisations also questioned the decision to allot only one hour for the Ajmer public hearing. People were invited from different districts, but were asked to make their submissions within just two minutes. This, they said, clearly demonstrates that the Committee is not serious about hearing the concerns and experiences of different sections of the population.

The organisations had submitted the names of 11 representatives from Ajmer, Jaipur, Beawar, Bhim and Bhilwara to represent the people. However, only a few were actually given an opportunity to speak.

The organisations strongly condemned the systematic hijacking of today’s Ajmer public hearing by the mining lobby, with large numbers of mining operators and other stakeholders reportedly brought in from Nagaur and Makrana.

The presence of hundreds of people associated with the mining business, who repeatedly raised their hands in a show of strength during the proceedings, raises serious questions about the role of the administration and suggests possible administrative complicity, the organisations said.

No Genuine Effort to Involve the Public

There was no meaningful effort by the administration to inform or involve ordinary people in the public hearing. No public notice was issued in newspapers and no adequate publicity was undertaken. As a result, there was very little participation from rural areas.

Instead, the gathering of government officials from different departments and large numbers of business representatives appeared to be an attempt to create the appearance of a public hearing, the organisations alleged.

When representatives of people’s organisations objected to the manner in which the hearing was being conducted, attempts were made to silence them, and several sections were denied an opportunity to put forward their views.

Aravalli Cannot Be Discussed Without Those Who Live and Work There

The organisations emphasised that any meaningful discussion on the Aravallis remains incomplete without the participation of rural communities, farmers, pastoralists, environmental activists, scientists, geologists and experts on water and groundwater resources.

The Committee must travel to rural areas and mining-affected regions and directly examine the ground realities faced by local communities, they said. It must also meet and directly assess the condition of silicosis patients whose lives have been devastated by mining.

Concerns over the Composition of the High-Level Committee

The organisations also termed the composition of the High powered Committee inappropriate and demanded representation for all relevant stakeholders.

They pointed out that it is deeply problematic that the Chairperson and two members of the Committee are representatives of the very department that had earlier recommended that only hills rising more than 100 metres should be considered part of the Aravallis.

The exclusion of even a single environmental activist from the Committee is equally alarming and indicates, the organisations said, that the government continues to pursue a policy of protecting the interests responsible for the destruction of the Aravallis, rather than protecting the range itself.

“Mining Lobby Creates an Unsafe Atmosphere”

The most disturbing development, the organisations said, was the aggressive behaviour and threatening and violent language used by persons associated with the mining lobby during the public hearing.

Representatives of people’s organisations were specifically targeted. After the hearing, some of the mining lobby representatives confronted them outside the venue, engaged in heated arguments, hurled abuses and issued threats, creating an atmosphere of considerable insecurity.

The organisations said that such intimidation is completely unacceptable in a process that is supposed to provide a safe and democratic space for citizens to express their concerns.

Demands for a Genuine and Comprehensive Process were made

Representatives of the people’s organisations, including Kavita Srivastava, Bhanwar Meghwanshi, Anant Bhatnagar, Indira Pancholi, Shankar Singh, Komal Srivastava, Tarachand Verma, Dhiresh Kumar Jain, Shashi Meena, Prashant Patni, Mary Reen, Rajkumar Nahar, Suresh Mathur, Jyoti Prakash Bhati, Kuldeep Gehlot and Neelam Ahluwalia, have demanded:

(i) Extension of the tenure of the High-Level Committee

(ii) A transparent and meaningful process to ensure participation of the general public;

(iii) Adequate opportunity for all affected sections and stakeholders to present their views;

(iv) A comprehensive study covering all districts falling within the Aravalli region;

(v)Field visits to rural and mining-affected areas;

(vi) Direct assessment of the impact of mining on communities, including the condition of silicosis-affected workers and families; and

(vii) A comprehensive ecological, social, economic and hydrological assessment of the Aravalli region before any final conclusions are drawn.

The People’s Union for Civil Liberties, Save Aravalli, Mazdoor Kisan Shakti Sangathan, Bharat Gyan Vigyan Samiti, Save Dol Ka Badh Movement, Shahabad Valley Sangharsh Samiti, Climate Action for Youth, Jaldhara, People for Aravalli, and other organisations said that if the Committee fails to make the process genuinely participatory and inclusive, people’s organisations will organise their own genuine public hearings at different locations across the Aravalli region.

Related:

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The post As mining lobby “hijacks” Ajmer public hearing, “tokenism” on Aravallis condemned appeared first on SabrangIndia.

His life story is full of contradictions. He emerged from Delhi’s politically charged theatre culture and was associated with the Left, but later developed an intense hostility towards leftists. He has himself described his decision to play a part in the politically controversial Jahangir National University as being driven by resentment rather than conviction and subsequently apologised for it.[1]

There is a similar contradiction in the way he talks about relationships, women and responsibility. Mishra has publicly admitted to cheating on his wife and has spoken about being emotionally absent and irresponsible during the early years of his marriage. He has also spoken about making obscene calls to women while drunk and acknowledged behaviour that he himself considered deeply inappropriate.

The point isn’t that a person’s private mistakes automatically invalidate their political opinions. They don’t. People can change, grow and genuinely repent.

The problem begins when someone turns their own personal journey into a source of moral authority over society, while refusing to interrogate the power structures, prejudices and contradictions embedded in their worldview.

And yet, somewhere along the way, Piyush Mishra has become something of a sweetheart of the young, progressive podcast circuit. He is presented as the rebellious, uncompromising, revolutionary intellectual, the older, irreverent voice who supposedly says what others are afraid to say. In the process, his history of misogynistic behaviour and his increasingly right-leaning political positions often seem to disappear from the conversation. The rebel is celebrated; the contradictions are merely a side note. There is also something deeply uncomfortable about the cultural archetype he represents: the brilliant, troubled, self-confessional male artist whose excesses are romanticised as evidence of his genius, while women are expected to absorb the consequences of those excesses with patience, forgiveness and understanding.

Mishra’s artistic talent is real. His self-awareness about some of his failures may also be real. But self-confession isn’t the same thing as political introspection.

And then comes Jharkhand.

This contradiction becomes particularly visible when Piyush Mishra enters the Jharkhand student protest.

A student movement is, at its core, about young people demanding accountability, dignity, opportunity and a future that isn’t determined by the whims of those in power. It is about challenging structures, not surrendering to personalities.

So his presence in the Jharkhand protest raises an uncomfortable question: what exactly does he represent there? If the movement claims inter-sectionality, shouldn’t that lens apply to the men it celebrates too?

If the protest is about challenging patriarchy, hierarchy, privilege and the normalisation of power without accountability, then elevating a celebrity whose own public narrative is marked by admitted infidelity, misogynistic behaviour and ideological contradictions sits uneasily with the politics of the movement.

The issue isn’t whether Piyush Mishra is allowed to speak. Of course he is. The issue is what his presence symbolises.

There is an additional question worth asking here. Mishra did publicly support the Jantar Mantar student protest, condemning the violence and saying that the government should have opened a dialogue with the students earlier. But he was not physically present at Jantar Mantar, where the violence against students was severe enough to move an empathetic heart to action. In Jharkhand, by contrast, he travelled to Ranchi, joined the students in person and sang Aarambh Hai Prachand at the protest site. He has said that watching interviews with the students and seeing their pain moved him to join them.

So the question is I’d keep it as an open-ended question rather than implying an answer:

So the question is: what made his solidarity more visible in Jharkhand? Does the difference in the governments being confronted have anything to do with it?

And perhaps the sharper question is for the progressive men, at least those who celebrate his presence at the protest: can a movement that seeks to challenge hierarchy and privilege afford to simultaneously romanticise the very contradictions it claims to resist? And why are those same contradictions disqualifying when they belong to people they oppose, but fascinating, forgivable or even revolutionary when they belong to a man they admire?

Perhaps the real test of progressive politics is whether we are willing to apply the same scrutiny to ourselves and the people we admire as we do to those we oppose.

(The author, is a branding and design strategist with over 25 years of experience across leading advertising agencies. She has worked with the Congress Party for the past six years)

Disclaimer: The views expressed here are the author’s personal views, and do not necessarily represent the views of Sabrangindia.

[1] Piyush Mishra played the character of “Guru Ji” and sang the promotional track “Main Nahi Manta” for the controversial political drama film Jahangir National University (JNU), which was released on June 21, 2024. Following the film’s release, Mishra publicly offered an unconditional apology for taking on the role, admitting that signing the project without reading the complete script stemmed from his past opposition to communist ideologies

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