Cockroaches and Kings: The Dos and Don’ts in a democracy

THE TIME HAS COME,” the Walrus said,

To talk of many things:

Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—

Of cabbages—and kings—

And why the sea is boiling hot—

And whether pigs have wings.”

Famous lines from a famous poem, narrated by Tweedledum and Tweedledee to Alice in Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass.

“Cabbages and kings”: nonsense verse phrase or metaphor for a rambling mélange of unrelated topics? But people often forget that it was designed to distract the innocent oysters before they were eaten.

This essay is not about cabbages and kings—or, should we say, cockroaches and ministers? For Dharmendra Pradhan has, indeed, resigned.

His resignation, I would say, is better than cockroaches. For cockroaches, unlike oysters, make a tasty morsel only for lizards.

As to fasting protesters? Already emaciated, they are likely to give indigestion even to the most hardened appetites. It’s not the mere flesh and bones, silly, but the halo that can’t be easily swallowed.

Cockroach is a pesky sort of creature. Though you may want to crush it under your heel, it is much resilient than you reckon at first. Some even say that he is likely to outlast the best of us.

Not cockroaches nor the cleverest of the 3 Idiots is the subject of this reflection. Especially, if we are to assume that the charismatic

protagonist of one of Bollywood’s highest grossers, played by Aamir Khan, was actually the fictional portrait of Sonam Wangchuk.

Most recently, Wangchuk’s aatmanirbharkavach has been earned by fasting for 20 days. No mean feat when activists of the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP), whose protest he was supporting, were scarfing kachoris and hamburgers while Wangchuk was famished to the point of zoning out, potassium levels plummeting.

But he too was administered life-saving liquid nourishment at the hands of two Cabinet ministers.

What if Wangchuk himself has been propped and promoted over decades, what if his first wife, Rebecca, was herself an alleged George Soros plant? I should only marvel at how long a game has been played.

And what if CJP’s meteoric rise, as sudden as that of blazing comet with a dark and dangerous tail, was an outcome of a much-defamed toolkit, activated long back?

Luckily, cockroaches, generally speaking, scamper and scatter about; they are not known to march in a phalanx like ants. Let’s just say that there are many lambe race ke ghode in Indian politics. Bharatiya rajneeti or siyasati Hindustan is certainly not a one-horse-race or one-trick-pony.

But enough symbolism.

THIS ESSAY IS on how not to turn dividends into disadvantages. Both dividends, demographic and democratic, if misunderstood or mishandled, might belatedly become liabilities.

BJP is facing precisely this problem: Pradhan’s resignation is a “stop loss” gamble.

That is why I wish to sound a note of caution over the typical follies and fallacies of the “Eastminster Model” of democracy. The phrase and concept invented by Harshan Kumarasingham has been popularised by Atul Singh, the founder-editor of The Fair Observer.

Because these perils and pitfalls are sure to turn dividends into drawdowns. Even to the extent of takhtapalat, the unseating of a ruling regime. What, then, are these “Don’ts”?

Here’s a shortlist.

Let’s just call these reflections my one-fourth version of George Kennan’s famous “Long Telegram”: not prescriptions for one government or warnings against another, but enduring maxims of democratic statecraft.

First, don’t dismiss every protest as conspiracy. Governments, especially those enjoying large electoral mandates, are often tempted to attribute every eruption of public discontent to hidden hands, foreign funding, political manipulation, or shadowy toolkits.

Sometimes, such suspicions are justified. Modern politics is rarely innocent, and organised interests—domestic and

international—do seek to influence public opinion. Yet, to stop there is to mistake explanation for understanding.

Even if every protest has organisers, sponsors, or oppor­tunists hovering in the background, no movement gathers momentum unless it taps into genuine public anxieties.

Second, don’t confuse electoral majority with moral infal­libility. Winning elections confers legitimacy, not omniscience. A decisive mandate gives a government the authority to govern, but not a monopoly over wisdom or virtue. Democra­cies are healthiest when electoral victory breeds confidence tempered by humility, not triumphalism.

The temptation to believe that repeated victories amount to permanent public endorsement has undone many govern­ments before. Public opinion is a reservoir of goodwill. But it must be replenished continuously through responsiveness, self-correction, and a willingness to admit mistakes. In politics, as in life, confidence without self-reflection easily degenerates into arrogance or hubris.

Third, don’t leave civil society entirely to your opponents. Political parties win elections; civil society shapes nations. Uni­versities, voluntary organisations, professional associations, religious communities, artists, writers, scientists, entrepre­neurs, and social reformers constitute the living tissue between the individual and the state.

To surrender this entire space to ideological opponents is to concede the long game while concentrating only on immediate electoral victories.Or, worse, constantly trying to discredit or decry those who disagree. That will not wash forever. Now that you are in power, how can you continue to play the misunder­stood victim?

Governments need not agree with every activist or intel­lectual. But neither should they regard independent voices as inherently hostile. Engagement is often wiser than estrange­ment. A democracy that alienates its own civil society gradu­ally loses access to some of its finest talent, creativity, not to speak of moral legitimacy.

Fourth, don’t centralise every political response. Large mandates often produce another illusion—that every problem requires direction from the very top. As political authority becomes increasingly centralised, lower levels of leadership become hesitant, waiting for signals rather than exercising initiative.

Bureaucracies, too, become risk-averse. Vacillating or com­plaint, they always look above and behind, afraid or unwilling to do the right thing, even when the situation demands it.As ministers defer upward, and institutions lose the habit of inde­pendent judgement, there is a system-wide governance crisis.

India’s diversity makes such over-centralisation particularly costly. Many crises are local before they become national. They demand dialogue, flexibility and decentralised leadership. Strong governments are not those that personally solve every problem. Instead, they build institutions capable of solving problems without waiting for constant supervision.

Fifth, don’t underestimate political symbology. Politics is conducted not only through budgets, legislation and execu­tive orders. It also unfolds through symbols, gestures and public perception. A single arrest, an insensitive remark, an unnecessary display of force or an avoidable confrontation can outweigh months of competent administration in the public imagination.This is particularly true in an age of instantaneous communication.

Governments often calculate the legal consequences of their actions while underestimating their symbolic impact.The image of a fasting protester, a student badly bruised or beaten, a woman with her clothes torn in the scuffle, an elderly activist being detained or dragged about, or the leader of the opposition bleeding and carried into a police van may acquire a political force disproportionate to the event itself.In democracy, percep­tion is not everything, but it is never insignificant.

Sixth, don’t ignore talented dissenters until they become martyrs. One of India’s greatest untapped strengths is what I have elsewhere called its democratic dividend. It is the extraor­dinary pool of talent produced by a free society. Democracies flourish when they absorb such talent into public life, even when it is inconvenient, argumentative, or sharply critical. When gifted individuals are repeated ignored or slighted, they can be transformed into symbols of resistance.

History offers many examples of governments inadvertent­ly manufacturing their own adversaries. A scientist, teacher, social worker or reformer may command little attention until official overreaction elevates him or her into a national icon.

Political prudence therefore lies not in suppressing intelligent critics, but in engaging them before grievance hardens into persecution. The best democracies do not fear exceptional individuals; they find ways to enlist them in the larger national enterprise.

Lastly, don’t mistake criticism for sedition. Should the Indian government have such a thin skin? Critics become enemies, sceptics become saboteurs, and dissenters are painted as anti-nationals. Such habits impoverish democratic life.

The strength of a confident state lies precisely in its ability to distinguish disagreement from disloyalty. Patriotism has many voices. Some sing praises; others warn of dangers ahead. Democracies become brittle when they cease to hear the latter.

For all the political theatre surrounding the present agitation, we must not lose sight of a far more sobering reality. The anger, anxiety and frustration of India’s youth are real. They cannot simply be wished away, dismissed as orchestrated mischief, or attributed to bad faith. Political parties will, of course, exploit such discontent. But political opportunism should not blind us to the underlying causes that make such mobilisation possible in the first place.

MORE THAN 150 REPORTED examination paper leaks over the past decade cannot be attributed to isolated administrative lapses. They point to a deeper systemic malaise. They expose an educational ecosys­tem under severe strain: millions of young Indians increasingly frustrated over the debasement of merit and the politicisation or commodification of education.

The explosion of coaching centres, the tyranny of high-stakes entrance examinations, and the commercialisation of aspiration have together created a vast machinery that profits from scarcity of opportunities whilebetraying the very young people whose futures it claims to secure.

Managing the narrative is no substitute for repairing the system.

And the elephant in the not-so-NEET protest theatre is, of course, reservations. That no one dares to touch. The same caste quotas which, ironically, protected, until recently, one of the ruling party’s most visible OBC faces, our former education minister.

That is why every protest need not be viewed with instinctive suspicion. The Constitution does not treat dissent as an inconvenience reluctantly tolerated by the state; it recognises peaceful assembly and free expression as integral to democratic citizenship.

History offers its own cautionary tale. Democratic govern­ments rarely fall because of a single protest or a single controversy. They lose touch gradually, mistaking silence for consent and obedience for trust.

Beneath the surface, grievances accumulate until, at some unpredictable tipping point, simmering dissatisfac­tion turns into an electoral tsunami. The verdict against Indira Gandhi after the Emergency remains the classic reminder that democratic legitimacy, once weakened, can unravel with astonishing speed.

These reflections, therefore, are not directed only at the present government. Nor are they intended as talking points for the opposition, whose own record in office scarcely inspires confidence.

The “Don’ts” of Eastminster democracies are perennial prob­lems confronting every government in our part of the world. Inherited Westminster institutions overlaid upon the central­ising and authoritarian instincts of the postcolonial state.

Whatever the party in power, the temptations remain remarkably similar.

The real question, then, is not whether today’s protesters are wholly right or whether the government is wholly wrong. Or vice versa. Democracies seldom present us with such comforting simplicities. The real question is whether we possess the institutional wisdom to distinguish between transient political agitation and genuine public distress. Strong governments are not those that suppress every protest. Rather, they recognise when protests signal correction rather than condemnation.

Our democratic dividend is not a self-executing mechanism activated by a five-year auto-pilot election switch. Because democracy is itself not a machine or contraption but a living, breathing organism.

Governments come and go. Electoral fortunes rise and fall. But democratic trust, once squandered, is painfully difficult to rebuild. India’s greatest resource is the confidence of its people, especially its young. They must be assured that this Republic still belongs to them, listens to them, and offers them a future worthy of their talent. That, in the end, is the democratic divi­dend we can least afford to lose.

A democracy begins to decline not when its young people protest, but when their elected representatives stop listening. Pradhan’s resignation shows that the government is listening.

But without purity of purpose, without demonstrable integ­rity, politics is merely powerplay which breeds cynicism and de­spair. What our youth need is the opposite: optimism and hope.