Onus of salvaging democracy lies with us

Neera Chandhoke
Political scientist

In recent years, reams of literature mourning the decline and demise of democracy have been written. The argument has become repetitive by now: the rise to power of right-wing populists, elite capture of institutions, destruction of procedures and practices that protect citizens against the untrammelled power of democratic states, suspension of the rule of law, crackdowns on civil society and a complicit media and judiciary.

Right-wing populists regard civility with disdain, dismiss everything that threatens them — from power-sharing arrangements to intellectuals — as elitist, celebrate mediocrity and deliver hate speech. They have shaped societies in dreadful ways. Violence is the new normal. The shocking incident of policemen in Gujarat whipping young men evokes memories of medieval times when people were executed before cheering crowds.

When did India begin to revel in violence? When did festivals become harbingers of minority baiting? What happened to our sacred tradition of ‘Advaita’ — treat the other the way you treat yourself, for the other is part of the self? Without the other, we are incomplete. What about democracy that allows citizens to appreciate the significance of freedom, equality and justice for all?

The holders of power are to blame. The fault is primarily ours. We have betrayed democracy, particularly the concept of ‘we the people’. The ‘people’ is not a demographic category. It captures the idea of a political public. As part of a political public, we should cultivate an attitude of healthy scepticism towards politicians who desire absolute power. The notion of ‘we the people’ can only be realised when we courageously stand up and speak up every time democracy is let down by power holders. But, when our fellow citizens are lynched publicly, many people stand around, bay for blood and make video clips on their mobile phones. Indians seem to have given up on ‘we the people’. We have become a mob.

In a civilised society, people learn to live with others who are not like them. Diversity expands our minds and enlarges our horizons. We learn to respect others because they are a part of us, even if we belong to different religions or castes. In a civilised society, people do not perversely stereotype other communities as ‘inferior’, ‘polluting’ or as ‘enemy’. Otherwise, we infringe the democratic principle of ‘we the people’.

The onus of salvaging democracy lies with us, upon the renewal of our common humanity and upon our refusal to be manipulated by demagogues. Politicians will try to divide us; this is their job. We have to resist. We are part of the political public — this is our job.

We can only make the transition when instead of making a laundry list of the features of democracy, we take a close look at what democracy means. Democracy cannot be reduced to elections; elections are but a blip in a conversation that people have with each other in the space of associational life: civil society. Democracy is about the grant of freedom to each citizen so that she can, along with fellow citizens, reflect on the good life and learn to distinguish between mere life and a fulfilling one.

In the space of civil society, ordinary citizens can engage in modes of politics that allow people to dream and struggle together for the realisation of that dream. It is only then that a population becomes ‘we the people’ — a sovereign entity. This enables us to stand up and tell politicians who sweep by in their convoys of luxury vehicles surrounded by their personal security guards, and who flourish their petty foibles and vanities, that “Hey guys you are not medieval rulers, you are but our representatives; the caretaker of our wellbeing till the next election.”

The second value that democracy upholds is equality. Equality is not only about one vote per person; it is about the equitable distribution of resources. Across the world, we see in democracies the rise of oligarchs; of 1 per cent of the population that controls one-third to one-half of the country’s wealth.

Democracy has gone wrong if our ruling class enables a few men to acquire riches beyond imagination, and when it cynically looks away from poverty-stricken shanty towns, from hungry villagers and from malnourished little children with bloated bellies begging at traffic lights. We should be protesting against this ugly and obscene inequality, which pervades our collective life. We do not.

Democracy is about justice; the equal right to realise our projects. And above all, democracy is about solidarity which encourages us to link up with our fellow citizens who have been deprived of their rights. We should recognise that the weight of upholding democracy rests upon our shoulders. Justice is our birthright, but we have to struggle for it. Politicians are, but, representatives. We need to remind them periodically of this, only then can we hold them to account.

Democracy’s demise is not only about elite capture of institutions by populists; it is about us, the people, who have not taken on the responsibilities of a political public. Unless we stand up and speak back to history, it will judge us as a people who failed democracy, who are responsible for its downfall or demise. We are, sadly, the authors of obituaries that are regularly written about the collapse of democracy around the world.