Democracy, you beauty!

അമാവാസി കണ്ട് നിലാവുദിക്കില്ലെന്ന് കരുതരുത്.

ശിശിരത്തിലെ മരം കണ്ട്

ഇലകളുടെ കാലം കഴിഞ്ഞെന്ന്

നിലവിളികൂട്ടുകയുമരുത്….

….ഇതൊരിടവേള മാത്രമാണെന്നു നമുക്കറിയാം.

പൂവുകളെക്കുറിച്ച് പാടാവുന്ന സമയം വരും

അപ്പോള്‍ എല്ലാ മനുഷ്യരും കവികളാവും”

“Do not think the moon’s light is lost

because you glimpsed the new moon’s shadow.

Do not weep for the leaves, believing their time is past

just because you saw the tree in winter’s grip…

…This is merely a pause, a breath held in suspense,

an interlude in the relentless march of seasons.

The time will come when flowers will burst forth in defiance,

and in that fierce blooming, all souls will become poets.”

(A Reply, by K Satchidanandan, a free translation by Yours Truly)

In September 1975, when Malayalam poet K. Satchidanandan wrote A Reply, India was under The Emergency, imposed by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi on June 25, 1975. It was a bleak time. Many believed that the clampdown on civil liberties would never end. Censorship was rampant, and horror stories of administrative atrocities and police brutality spread through the few independent media outlets still operating. Yet, a motley group of poets, artists, students, and a few political parties clung to a thin ray of hope, reassuring each other that the dark days (as Satchidanandan named his poetry collection which includes A Reply) would soon pass. When the Emergency ended in March 1977, and Indira Gandhi’s party was voted out, it was seen as a victory not just for the political opposition but for Indian society’s resilience.

Nearly 50 Junes later, in 2024, Indian voters have given a major shock to another spell of autocratic rule, known as The Silent Emergency. This latest period of authoritarianism was more pronounced and pervasive than its 1975 counterpart. The Silent Emergency operated both overtly and covertly, suppressing civil liberties, dismantling democratic institutions, abusing constitutional agencies, terrorising dissent by jailing even incumbent Chief Ministers and distorting electoral processes. It also involved silencing the mass media through proxy buyouts, raids, and intimidation, and spreading blatant, shameless propaganda. There were calls to alter the Constitution’s tenets and to demolish the secular foundations of India by systematically bullying minorities and employing meticulously planned social media strategies to malign democratic forces.

This scenario seemed formidable when India entered the 2024 general election mode in March. All one could hear were praises for the ruling party and its supreme leader, who went on to unleash a venom-spewing campaign that dragged public discourse to a historic nadir and saw even basic courtesies being abandoned. 

Equally alarming was the downfall of mass media organisations that failed to highlight the divisive rhetoric or educate voters about the perils of authoritarianism. The series of rehearsed interviews with the Prime Minister during the election will be case studies for the fall of India’s “free media”.

With mass media becoming farcical, comedians and artists rose up, tearing down the aura around the powerful by reducing them to memes. Young singers, theatre artists, painters, graphic artists, students, and rural content creators responded to communal narratives, highlighting bread-and-butter issues, and creating a counter-narrative that finally prevailed on June 4.

The Lok Sabha election results, where the BJP couldn’t secure absolute majority as a single party while the opposition INDIA bloc made spectacular gains, especially in BJP-ruled Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan, are a triumph of political diversity and economic issues over the politics of hate. Early signs of this shift were visible in the Central government’s emphasis on welfare schemes, which attempted to cover up the gaping holes in social spending. The Prime Minister’s frantic othering and demonising of minorities and opposition parties were seen as signs of desperation, revealing the ruling dispensation’s lack of practical solutions to the country’s problems, especially in rural areas.

Just one stat makes this clear: The BJP, which held 201 rural seats, retained only 126 in 2024, according to Delhi’s Centre for Policy Research. Rural families, 60 per cent of India’s 1.4 billion, saw incomes halve due to fewer jobs and rising costs. When hate politics hit their roti, kapda, paani and makaan, they realised, as Lincoln said, that “The ballot is stronger than the bullet,” and sent a message to the Prime Minister and his party. Yes, the NDA is back in power for a third consecutive time, but he now leads a coalition with parties that are unlikely to easily allow anti-minority rhetoric or rural neglect.

In a way, it is not so surprising. Throughout history, the ballot box has proven a powerful weapon against dictatorships and authoritarian regimes. Despite attempts to cling to power through force, fear, and rigged elections, the will of the people, expressed through free and fair elections, has ousted or curbed oppressive rulers—from Ferdinand Marcos in the Philippines to General Augusto Pinochet in Chile, to the more recent defeats of Abdoulaye Wade in Senegal and Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, and others of their ilk. Understanding these lessons helps us appreciate democratic institutions and the importance of safeguarding the electoral process. Free and fair elections ensure peaceful transitions of power and hold leaders accountable.

Which is why the 2024 Lok Sabha election becomes an epochal event demonstrating that amavasya (the dark phase of the new moon) does not signify perpetual darkness. The road to democracy is long and arduous, but the power of the ballot remains a potent weapon against oppression and authoritarianism. As India continues to face challenges, and as the ruling party shows little sign of mending its ways despite the setback, we must draw inspiration from those who fought for the right to have their voices heard, their votes counted, and their will respected.

In this context, we present the latest issue of Frontline, an Election Special featuring essays, ground analysis, and data capsules. The line-up has Nirupama Subramanian, Saba Naqvi, Smita Gupta, G. N. Devy, Mitali Mukherjee, K. Kalyani, Vivek Katju and ground analysis from our ace reporters who travelled across the country braving heatwaves and rough terrains to give you campaign stories from Kashmir to Kongunadu.

POST SCRIPT: On a deeply personal note, for many like this writer—a generation that grew up amid the fiery Ram Janmabhoomi movement—June 4 presented a cathartic full-circle moment. We witnessed as children the shattering demolition of the Babri Masjid. The ensuing riots, hatred, and psychological warfare inflicted upon our friends from minority communities, especially after the Godhra tragedy, and later the rise of Narendra Modi in 2014, ushered in an era of suffocating majoritarianism, all cloaked in the name of Ram. Yet, in 2024, the year the long-awaited Ram Temple finally arose in Ayodhya, on the very site that had come to symbolise decades of right-wing madness, we found poetic justice and relieving closure. The Faizabad constituency, encompassing Ayodhya, resoundingly elected Samajwadi Party’s Awadhesh Prasad in a powerful rebuke to those who sought to wield Ram’s name as a weapon against secular India. Ayodhya’s vote was a balm on our old wounds—a reclamation of Lord Ram’s true teachings of compassion over the forces that profaned his name.

For Frontline,

Jinoy Jose P.

We hope you’ve been enjoying our newsletters featuring a selection of articles that we believe will be of interest to a cross-section of our readers. Tell us if you like what you read. And also, what you don’t like! Mail us at frontline@thehindu.co.in