A mature republic cannot allow violence to be broadcast for profit and then rewarded with legitimacy
A constitutional democracy survives not by denying the right to protest, but by preserving the line between peaceful dissent and organised violence. When that line is blurred by arson, assault, slander, and digital spectacle, protest ceases to be a civic exercise and becomes a test of the State’s resolve.
The disturbances in Delhi’s Jantar Mantar area cannot be described as an ordinary protest. Numerous assaults were carried out against the State, and outright slander was directed at the country and at its constitutional Head, the Prime Minister of India. His name was violated in the most humiliating manner. Thousands who proclaimed themselves students did not even appear to be students fit for a college campus; their language was so degrading that even their own parents would have hung their heads in shame. Death wishes and curses were hurled at key elected representatives, including the Prime Minister and others. Police officials were assaulted with what appeared to be a clear intent to kill. Several influencers were openly inciting violence against the State. That is not the definition of a protester, nor of a protest.
The comparison with the Nirbhaya movement and the Anna Andolan is instructive. Those mobilisations generated enormous public pressure and transformed the national conversation, but their legitimacy rested on moral force, not intimidation, arson, or violence. The difference is not ideological; it is behavioural. One was civic mobilisation. The other was a clear descent into coercion.
That is why the question of pardon matters. Offering pardon to those involved would be a grave injustice to the spirit of our guardians and to the Delhi Police, even while acknowledging that policing itself requires reform and better conduct. Was this a protest, or a machinery of content creators? Was the gathering designed to incite violence, create sensational content, and trade that disorder for viewership and money? Where is the protest in that? Must the Government pardon a congress of motivated arsonists and anarchists whose sole intent was to make money at taxpayers’ expense?
The greater danger lies in precedent. If the State responds weakly to a violent, media-savvy mobilisation, it risks teaching future agitators that coercion works. The Ladakh episode, including the question of whether the Government should have acted earlier with Sonam Wangchuk, is part of that larger warning. In an age where even a small crowd with social-media reach can multiply its impact, delay can look like weakness, and negotiation under pressure can look like surrender. What, then, would happen if a Khalistani group sought to force a political outcome in Delhi? What precedent is being set when governments appear to talk first and act later?
The nation must preserve the difference between rioters and protesters, and it must respect the mandate of the people who elected the Government to govern. A mature republic cannot allow violence to be broadcast for profit and then rewarded with legitimacy. Protest deserves protection. Violence deserves prosecution. Confusing the two invites a politics of intimidation that democracy cannot afford.
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