Democratic erosion does not always announce itself through the suspension of elections or the sudden dismantling of institutions.

It may unfold incrementally when public institutions become less responsive, dissent is increasingly treated as disruption, independent voices grow weaker and ordinary citizens struggle to make themselves heard.

Thinkers such as Alexis de Tocqueville and Seymour Martin Lipset remind us that elections alone cannot sustain democracy. A meaningful democracy also requires an active civil society, an independent media, access to education, freedom of speech and expression, institutional accountability and a political culture that accommodates disagreement.

Democracy must therefore be evaluated not merely by whether elections are conducted but by what happens between elections, particularly when citizens question those in power.

This brings us to a fundamental question- what are the hallmarks of a strong democracy, and to what extent does India, the country frequently described as the "mother of democracy", embody them today?

Most of us encountered Abraham Lincoln's celebrated formulation in school: democracy is "government of the people, by the people, for the people." Yet the phrase demands more reflection than its frequent repetition usually permits.

Who exactly are "the people" in contemporary Indian democracy? Does the term encompass citizens irrespective of class, caste, religion, gender, ethnicity, tribe, region and disability? Or are some sections of society heard more readily than others because of their proximity to economic, political and social power?

Democracy is also commonly understood as majority rule. But when the majority rules without constitutional safeguards, minority rights, institutional checks, and respect for dissent, it can easily become majoritarian domination.

The ethical strength of a democracy lies not simply in allowing the majority to govern but in ensuring that those who disagree with the government retain an equal right to speak, assemble and demand accountability. The ongoing protests at Jantar Mantar invite us to confront these questions.

Sonam Wangchuk, an engineer, educator, innovator and environmental activist, began an indefinite hunger strike on 28 June 2026 in solidarity with a student-led movement demanding accountability for alleged examination irregularities and recurring paper leaks. Students and other protesters have also participated in parallel fasts and demonstrations.

Wangchuk was forcefully moved to a hospital on 18 July 2026 with the authorities citing medical advice and a Delhi High Court direction concerning intervention if his condition worsened.d.

The legal and medical questions surrounding that intervention deserve careful consideration. But there are also crucial democratic questions here: how have we reached a point where citizens of the world's largest democracy must place their bodies at risk before their grievances elicit a meaningful institutional response?

If citizens have had to protest using non-violent ways such as hunger strike, do the democratically elected representatives in positions of power have no accountability or obligation to at least listen to them and engage in a dialogue?

I am not writing merely to declare support for or opposition to every demand raised at Jantar Mantar. Nor must one necessarily agree with every method or slogan of a protest to defend its democratic legitimacy.

I write as a concerned citizen, a former civil servant and a present academic because the willingness of the state to listen to peaceful dissent is itself a measure of democratic health.

A peaceful, Gandhian-style protest should not primarily be treated as an administrative inconvenience or a law-and-order problem.

The first response of a democratic government should be to engage with the grievances that have brought citizens to the street. Dialogue does not require the government to concede every demand. It requires authorities to acknowledge citizens as legitimate political interlocutors and publicly explain their position.

The protests also draw attention to a deeper crisis surrounding education and public trust. Repeated allegations of paper leaks, irregularities in major examinations and errors affecting the futures of thousands of students are not merely administrative lapses.

They affect young people's faith in fairness, merit and public institutions. Similarly, the top-down implementation of educational reforms without sufficient attention to institutional capacities and regional realities can widen the distance between policy aspirations and lived experiences.

Education is not peripheral to democracy; it is one of its foundations. T. H. Marshall's account of citizenship reminds us that political rights cannot be meaningfully exercised in isolation from social rights such as education.

When access to quality education is unequal, examinations lose credibility, or students believe that institutional systems are indifferent to their futures, citizenship itself becomes unevenly experienced.

This is why the concerns raised by students cannot be dismissed as belonging only to examination candidates.

They highlight a larger democratic problem as to whether ordinary citizens can expect transparency, accountability and an intelligible response from public institutions.

Hence the concerns raised at Jantar Mantar resonate strongly in Northeast India as well. Students in the region frequently contend with unequal educational opportunities, limited employment options and the expense of travelling outside their hometowns for examinations and higher education.

Moreover, the larger question emerges as to whether citizens can make themselves heard by those in power, particularly in a region where geographical distance from New Delhi has often been accompanied by a sense of political apathy.

Charles Tilly viewed demonstrations, petitions, marches and public assemblies as part of the repertoires of contention through which citizens make claims related to their grievances. Protest is therefore not external to democracy. It is one of the ways in which democracy is practised.

When institutional channels seem inaccessible or unresponsive, the street becomes a political forum. Jantar Mantar is not simply a physical protest site. It is one of the spaces through which citizens attempt to become visible to the state. The democratic question is not whether governments find such protests agreeable. It is whether protesters can make claims peacefully without being dismissed.

This moment also raises a broader question about the relationship between capitalism and democracy. Across much of the twentieth and then also twenty-first century, democracy, citizenship and welfare capitalism developed alongside one another, although in different forms across regions. India too has witnessed this in its post-independence period.

Today, however, widening inequalities and the marketisation of education increasingly determine whose aspirations are protected, whose failures are forgiven and whose grievances are heard.

When democratic participation is formally equal but substantive access to power remains profoundly unequal, citizenship risks becoming a privilege experienced differently according to one's social position.

International democracy indices have repeatedly raised concerns about the quality of Indian democracy. These assessments can certainly be questioned for their methodologies and their often-Eurocentric assumptions.

But rejecting an external evaluation does not automatically legitimise a lack of introspection and research.

If we seek a decolonial understanding of Indian democracy, it cannot simply mean insulating the state from criticism. Such an approach must draw upon India's own diverse histories of deliberation between state and society, collective decision-making, satyagraha, social reform and resistance to domination.

An Indian or decolonial democracy should therefore be rather more responsive than being less responsive to peaceful dissent.

Its measure should lie in how it enables historically marginalised communities, students, workers, women, queer, indigenous peoples, religious minorities and other ordinary citizens to participate in shaping public life.

We must not forget that India is also a multiparty democracy. Responsibility consequently rests not only with the ruling government but also with opposition parties, the media, universities, civil society organisations and citizens.

The Jantar Mantar protests should not be understood merely as another confrontation between a government and its critics. They should compel us to ask what kind of relationship exists between citizens and the state. Can governments disagree with protesters while still recognising their democratic legitimacy?

India's democracy has survived many difficult moments because citizens have continued to invest hope in its institutions and ideals.

This democratic hope is expressed through questioning, organising, speaking and demanding that power remain answerable to the people. The success of democracy lies not in the absence of grievances, but in the willingness of the state to hear them and in the courage of citizens to keep showing up until it does.

Views expressed are that of the author and do not reflect EastMojo's stance on this or any other issue. The author is Head of Department and Assistant Professor, Department of Sociology, Cotton University, Guwahati.

Climate change costs Guwahati residents six hours of sleep a year