17

May

When Dissent Is Dehumanised The Peril of Calling Critics ‘Cockroaches’

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Dr. M. Iqbal Siddiqui

New Delhi | Sunday | May 17, 2026

CJI’s Remarks Generate Widespread Unease.

India’s constitutional republic was founded upon a profound moral promise: that every citizen, regardless of status or ideology, possesses dignity. Institutions were not created merely to govern people; they were created to protect the moral worth of every human being. That is why words spoken from positions of constitutional authority carry unusual weight. They do not remain confined to courtrooms or headlines. They shape public culture, legitimise attitudes, and define the boundaries of acceptable discourse.

It is in this context that the recent remarks attributed to Chief Justice of India Surya Kant have generated such widespread unease. During court proceedings relating to a petition by a lawyer seeking designation as a senior advocate, the CJI reportedly remarked that there are “youngsters like cockroaches” who fail to find employment and then become “media”, “social media”, “RTI activists” and “other activists” who “start attacking everyone”. He also referred to certain critics of institutions as “parasites”.

The controversy is not merely about one metaphor. Democracies survive disagreements every day. Courts are criticised; journalists are attacked; activists challenge governments; governments question activists. Such friction is natural in an open society. What has disturbed many observers is the deeper implication of the language itself: the dehumanisation of dissent.

For in history, whenever citizens cease to be seen as fellow human beings and begin to be described as insects, parasites, infestations or contaminants, democracy begins to lose its moral vocabulary.

The Burden of Constitutional Language

Judges are not ordinary public commentators. Their words possess institutional authority. The office of the Chief Justice is not merely administrative; it symbolises constitutional balance, judicial wisdom and democratic restraint. Citizens may disagree with judicial decisions, but they still look towards the judiciary as the final guardian of dignity and rights.

This is why even rhetorical excess from constitutional offices matters.

In everyday conversation, people often speak emotionally, hyperbolically or carelessly. Constitutional functionaries, however, are held to a higher standard because their language shapes institutional culture. A minister’s speech can influence governance; a judge’s remark can influence public morality.

The concern here is not that courts should become emotionless or incapable of criticism. Institutions have every right to defend themselves against malicious attacks or reckless allegations. The judiciary too faces abuse, misinformation and orchestrated campaigns. But criticism of critics must itself remain within the boundaries of constitutional civility.

A democracy cannot protect dignity in law while eroding it in language.

The Indian Constitution repeatedly invokes this moral principle. Article 21 has evolved into a charter of human dignity. The Preamble speaks of fraternity, assuring the dignity of the individual. Constitutional morality, as articulated in several Supreme Court judgments, demands respect for pluralism, disagreement and coexistence.

Against such a constitutional background, describing unemployed or critical youth as “cockroaches” appears deeply troubling—not only politically, but ethically.

The Dangerous History of Dehumanisation

History teaches us that dehumanising language is never harmless. Before societies descend into exclusion or persecution, they first normalise contempt. People are rhetorically reduced to pests, parasites or contaminants; once that happens, empathy begins to erode and fellow citizens cease to appear fully human.

The twentieth century offers chilling examples. Nazi propaganda portrayed Jews as vermin polluting society. During the Rwandan genocide, Tutsis were repeatedly called “cockroaches” in broadcasts that helped prepare ordinary minds for extraordinary brutality. Authoritarian systems across the world have similarly branded dissenters as traitors, parasites or internal enemies weakening the nation from within.

India is nowhere near such horrors, and simplistic comparisons would be irresponsible. Yet history’s warning lies precisely in recognising patterns before they deepen. Democracies rarely collapse overnight; they wane gradually through corrosive habits of speech, intolerance and moral desensitisation.

The danger, therefore, lies not merely in one isolated remark, but in the growing normalisation of contemptuous language in public life. Television debates routinely turn opponents into enemies. Social media rewards humiliation over dialogue. Political discourse increasingly replaces argument with abuse, branding critics as “anti-national”, “urban naxals”, “tukde-tukde gang”, “parasites” or foreign agents.

In such an atmosphere, every constitutional institution must act as a force of restraint and democratic civility.

Especially the judiciary.

Youth Dissent Is Not a Disease

Perhaps the most worrying aspect of the remark is its apparent dismissal of young critics and activists.

India today is a young nation confronting extraordinary pressures. Unemployment remains a persistent concern. Educational aspirations are rising faster than opportunities. Millions of educated young people live with uncertainty, anxiety and frustration. Some turn towards journalism, activism, public advocacy or social media because these spaces offer them a voice when formal structures appear inaccessible.

Certainly, activism can sometimes become reckless. Social media outrage often lacks nuance. False allegations and performative indignation are genuine problems. But to caricature critical youth collectively as “cockroaches” risks confusing democratic participation with social nuisance.

History tells a different story about youth dissent.

Young people stood at the forefront of India’s anti-colonial movement. Students resisted the Emergency. Youth movements exposed corruption, demanded transparency and defended civil liberties. Across the world, from civil rights struggles to anti-apartheid campaigns, democratic renewal has frequently emerged from restless young voices refusing silent conformity.

No society progresses without questioning generations.

Indeed, the Right to Information movement—specifically mentioned in the remarks—has strengthened Indian democracy immeasurably. RTI activists exposed corruption, improved transparency and empowered ordinary citizens against bureaucratic opacity. Many paid for this work with harassment, violence and even death. To casually club such activism with parasitic behaviour diminishes one of the most transformative democratic reforms in independent India.

Criticism of institutions is not always hostility towards institutions. Often, it is an attempt—however imperfect—to make them more accountable.

Democracies decay not when citizens ask difficult questions, but when institutions stop listening.

The Judiciary and the Right to Criticise

India’s judiciary has historically defended the citizen’s right to dissent. From free speech jurisprudence to protections for peaceful protest, courts have repeatedly affirmed that criticism of the state is not sedition and disagreement is not disloyalty. The Supreme Court has often described dissent as the “safety valve” of democracy.

That tradition becomes difficult to sustain when critics themselves are rhetorically dehumanised.

A mature judiciary derives authority not from fear but from credibility. Public trust cannot be commanded through outrage; it must be earned through fairness, restraint and openness. Institutional confidence grows when criticism is answered with reason rather than contempt.

This does not mean courts must silently tolerate abuse. But there is a clear difference between condemning misconduct and stereotyping entire categories of citizens.

When a constitutional authority appears dismissive towards journalists, activists or unemployed youth, the message can be chilling: criticism itself is suspect.

The Crisis Beneath the Controversy

The episode also reveals a deeper democratic anxiety. India today is witnessing a widening emotional distance between institutions and ordinary citizens. Many young Indians feel unheard. Many institutions feel unfairly attacked. Social trust is weakening. Dialogue is being replaced by suspicion.

This is not merely a legal crisis; it is a cultural one. The language of democracy is slowly giving way to the language of irritation. Public discourse increasingly prefers aggression over reflection. Nuance appears weak; outrage appears powerful.

In such times, constitutional institutions carry an even greater responsibility to preserve civility.

The judiciary, particularly, occupies a unique moral space. Unlike political actors, courts are expected to rise above ideological tempers. Their legitimacy depends not only upon legal correctness but also upon ethical composure. That is why moments like these matter.

A Humanist and Constitutional Response

At the heart of this controversy lies a simple moral question: how should a democracy speak about its own citizens?

The answer cannot come merely from law books. It must come from the ethical foundations of civilisation itself.

Mahatma Gandhi insisted that dissenters must be engaged through persuasion, not hatred. Dr. B. R. Ambedkar warned that constitutional morality requires restraint and respect for equality. Rabindranath Tagore feared any nationalism that crushed the individual spirit.

Islam places extraordinary emphasis on human dignity. The Qur’an declares that God has honoured all children of Adam (17:70) —not merely the obedient, powerful or agreeable among them. Human worth is intrinsic, not conditional upon conformity.

A citizen may be mistaken, angry, unemployed, rebellious or harshly critical. Yet in a constitutional democracy, he or she remains a citizen—not an infestation.

Civilisation is measured precisely by how societies treat inconvenient voices. Authoritarian systems humiliate critics. Democracies debate them.

The Need for Democratic Restraint

The controversy surrounding the CJI’s remarks should therefore not become another partisan shouting match. The issue is larger than ideological camps. Today one section may cheer such rhetoric because it targets activists; tomorrow another may justify similar contempt against different groups. Democratic standards cannot survive selective morality.

What is required instead is collective introspection.

Public discourse in India urgently needs recovery from the culture of dehumanisation. Politicians, television anchors, influencers, activists, judges and citizens alike must rediscover the discipline of respectful disagreement.

Democracy is not sustained merely by constitutions and courts. It survives through habits of mutual recognition—the ability to see even one’s harshest critic as fully human.

Young critics are not insects to be crushed. They are citizens to be heard, challenged, corrected and engaged.

A republic that begins to fear its questioning youth risks losing not merely criticism, but its democratic soul.

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