Far from being spontaneous expressions of popular will, many of the bandhs in India even today are coordinated exercises in manufactured consent, often backed by the very institutions meant to resist coercion.
Published Jul 13, 2025 | 9:00 AM ⚊ Updated Jul 13, 2025 | 9:00 AM
Bharat bandh. Representative Image. (iStock)
Synopsis: Bandhs do not measure popular will. They measure the erosion of state capacity. And when they are encouraged, either through government silence or passive policing, they become a dangerous precedent for the normalisation of mob logic over institutional process. In a true democracy, governance is not about amplifying slogans, but about ensuring rights. The right to strike cannot supersede the right to safety, movement, livelihood, and education. When governments sanction shutdowns, they do not defend the people – they desert them.
In every constitutional democracy, the boundaries between protest and paralysis must be drawn.
As the machinery of governance routinely grinds to a halt during politically motivated shutdowns, a dangerous culture takes shape: from democratic dissent to a spectacle of orchestrated disruption.
Far from being spontaneous expressions of popular will, many of the bandhs in India even today are coordinated exercises in manufactured consent, often backed by the very institutions meant to resist coercion.
This growing state complicity in civic disruption is not simply a political misjudgement – it is a fundamental breach of constitutional trust. At stake is not just public order, but the very credibility of democratic governance.
On 9 July 2025, Kerala witnessed yet another troubling chapter in India’s recurring saga of state-sponsored shutdowns.
As part of a nationwide “Bharat Bandh” called by central trade unions to oppose labour reforms and privatisation, public life across the state ground to a halt.
Schools, public transport, shops, and government offices shut down, despite the state government’s declaration that the day would be treated as “dies non,” meaning absentees would be penalised.
Yet, the administrative machinery failed to function, and law enforcement stood largely disengaged.
The bandh was far from a voluntary civil protest. In Kerala and similar states with a deep culture of street mobilisation, bandhs have taken on an entrenched form: not of free expression, but of coercion.
Shops were forced shut, public transport was obstructed, and daily wage workers were left without income. These are not hallmarks of democratic dissent. They are signs of institutional weakness and civic capture.
Bandhs parade as expressions of public will, but in reality, they are engineered disruptions.
The state, whose core responsibility is to maintain public order and uphold individual rights, becomes complicit in their suspension, whether through direct endorsement or passive withdrawal.
When even essential services are disrupted and dissenters fear retaliation, public space ceases to be a site for democratic dialogue and becomes one of enforced compliance.
At the heart of this issue lies a deeper failure: the abdication of constitutional responsibility by the state.
Kerala’s bandh this week revealed how the government’s public assurances, such as running KSRTC buses, were rendered meaningless by inaction.
The police presence was tokenistic. Officers who were deployed failed to prevent obstruction, and many refrained from intervening altogether.
When state institutions cede ground to partisan street pressure, it sends a disturbing message: your fundamental rights are conditional on the majority’s political mood.
Multiple videos now circulating on social media lay bare the systematic assault on individual liberty and human dignity, raising urgent questions about the state’s role in safeguarding fundamental rights.
What unfolds on screen is not merely interpersonal violence, but a breakdown of the social contract itself, where the ‘Leviathan’ fails in its ‘Hobbesian’ duty to protect, and instead becomes complicit; or at best, indifferent.
These images are not isolated aberrations or administrative slack; they reflect deeper structural decay in our democratic institutions, where constitutional guarantees are too often subordinated to majoritarian impulses and political convenience.
The right to protest is protected, but not at the expense of others’ rights to movement, livelihood, or safety. Democracy does not grant any group the authority to impose silence on those who dissent from the protest.
When protests become compulsory, and silence is enforced with complicity or fear, democracy ceases to function.
The state’s failure to act reflects a deeper erosion of constitutional morality. In tolerating shutdowns that disrupt essential services and individual freedoms, governments convert protests into instruments of domination.
Public trust in governance erodes, and the very institutions meant to serve citizens instead serve political expediency.
The economic fallout from shutdowns is rarely accounted for, yet it is the most tangible and painful outcome. Across India, the 9 July bandh affected transport, banking, mining, and public utility sectors.
According to early assessments, the financial losses ran into hundreds of crores. Daily wage workers, gig economy earners, and small vendors – ironically, the very groups the bandh claimed to defend – were hit the hardest.
They lost an entire day’s income, with no form of compensation.
A shutdown is not merely an inconvenience. It is an act of economic violence against those who can least afford it.
Children lose days of learning. Patients miss appointments. Entrepreneurs lose productivity. When political messaging comes at the cost of daily survival, it is no longer democratic; it is exploitative.
Moreover, there is a hypocrisy embedded in the bandh culture. Political groups that weaponise shutdowns while in opposition are often the same ones that decry them when in power.
This cynical duplicity undermines democratic integrity and teaches the public that power, not principle, dictates the law.
Let there be no confusion: protest is an essential pillar of democracy. It gives voice to the unheard, challenges injustice, and often precipitates meaningful reform.
But a bandh is not a protest. It is a forced stoppage. It replaces dialogue with disruption, and consent with compliance.
India needs to outgrow this colonial-era model of political assertion. The culture of shutdowns, born during anti-colonial resistance, no longer serves a democratic republic. Today, it silences the very people it once claimed to liberate.
What we need instead is a new model of civic engagement – one that values deliberation over disruption.
First, there must be clear legal prohibitions against enforced shutdowns. Blocking roads, vandalising property, and coercing businesses to close must attract legal penalties. Protesters must not be permitted to override public order.
Second, police reform is essential. Law enforcement must be empowered and expected to act with impartiality. Officers cannot remain bystanders or yield to political instructions. Their job is to protect rights, not to choose sides.
Third, civic education must be strengthened. Citizens must understand that while protest is a right, so is dissent from protest.
A robust democracy allows both. Peaceful assemblies, petitions, signature campaigns, and structured debates offer avenues for dissent without denying others their rights.
Fourth, political accountability must be codified. State governments must bear legal and financial responsibility for the consequences of shutdowns they fail to prevent.
Where public property is damaged, costs must be recovered from organisers. Where commerce is halted, compensation must be ensured.
India now faces a pivotal choice. Will it remain a democracy grounded in individual rights, rule of law, and accountable governance, or will it devolve into a federation where coercion is legitimised and shutdowns become the default grammar of political opposition?
The case of the 9 July bandh in Kerala is not merely a state-level issue. It is a national alarm bell.
It highlights how fragile the constitutional order becomes when state governments retreat from their duty in favour of political alignment. It shows how institutions falter when street power replaces lawful authority.
Bandhs do not measure popular will. They measure the erosion of state capacity.
And when they are encouraged, either through government silence or passive policing, they become a dangerous precedent for the normalisation of mob logic over institutional process.
In a true democracy, governance is not about amplifying slogans, but about ensuring rights.
The right to strike cannot supersede the right to safety, movement, livelihood, and education. When governments sanction shutdowns, they do not defend the people – they desert them.
India must draw the line. Protest must remain a legitimate tool, but not when it becomes indistinguishable from disruption.
The republic cannot afford to let coercion masquerade as popular will. The cost is not merely economic – it is democratic.
(The writer is an author, political analyst, and columnist.)
