What Happened 50 Years Ago That Threatened India's Democracy?

New Delhi, June 24 (NationPress) Half a century ago, on the fateful night of June 25, an insidious attempt was made to assassinate democracy, yet the power of the populace triumphed, ultimately preserving India.

The Congress party, which vocally champions democracy, was the orchestrator of this egregious act, imprisoning opposition leaders at both local and national levels, enacting stringent censorship on the media, and detaining editors to suppress public dissent and manipulate the judiciary.

In 1975, widespread discontent over rampant corruption and authoritarianism ignited a fierce backlash against Indira Gandhi, whose authority had been undermined by an Allahabad High Court ruling that disqualified her from Parliament due to electoral misconduct.

Leading a formidable mass movement that initiated in Gujarat and spread across the northern plains, Jayaprakash Narayan—affectionately known as JP—brought the spirit of rebellion to the heart of power in Delhi on June 25.

Before an audience of 100,000 at Ramlila Maidan, a site revered for its annual celebration of good defeating evil, JP proclaimed, "Singhasan Khaali Karo Ke Janata Aaati Hai,” urging Indira Gandhi to relinquish her grip on the prime ministership, which she was clinging to by a temporary court stay.

With foresight, he also urged the police and armed forces to act according to their conscience and reject unlawful commands.

This writer, then a sub-editor with only three years of experience at the United News of India (UNI), observed the assault on democracy unfold.

The reporters and senior editors completed their day’s stories and departed, leaving the desk to me, Arul Louis, now the correspondent in New York for IANS, alongside my colleague Tarun Basu, a former chief editor of IANS.

Just after midnight, foreboding news began to flow through the teleprinter machines—an archaic technology of the pre-digital era.

Reports trickled in from Haryana, Punjab, Madhya Pradesh, and Himachal Pradesh indicating that police were halting newspaper trucks and disrupting power at press offices, while several local opposition figures were being detained for undisclosed reasons.

A report from Madhya Pradesh leaked a rumor among local officials about impending martial law. Unknown to a slumbering nation, the Emergency had been declared.

After 2 a.m., I answered a ringing landline. The caller ominously conveyed a shocking revelation that would alter the trajectory of modern Indian history: "JP giraftar ho gaye (JP has been arrested).”

A concise bulletin was dispatched via the teleprinter: F L A S H J P ARRESTED, marking the onset of a long night marred by fascist terror—21 harrowing months characterized by brutality, censorship, cowardice, and despair, yet also by heroism, unwavering dedication to democracy, and hope.

I reached out to Myron L Belkind, the Associated Press bureau chief, to disseminate the news before censorship could stifle communication. My colleague and I hurried to the nearby Parliament Street Police Station.

In the dim light of the colonnade building, the officers did not yet comprehend the vast powers the Emergency had granted them, responding courteously that nothing was amiss.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted as the frail JP was escorted out.

When asked about the situation through a barrier of uniformed and plainclothes officers, he expressed sorrow, but there was a hint of resolve in his demeanor.

He uttered softly: "Vinaashakaale Viparita Buddhi.” Krishna Kant, a dissident from the Congress party and a supporter of JP, reiterated the Sanskrit phrase for all to hear, which translates as, "Madness takes hold at the moment of disaster.”

JP was placed in a white Ambassador tourist taxi and driven away, suffering kidney failure during his harsh imprisonment.

Returning to the UNI office, a report was filed featuring his quote that became emblematic of the opposition to the Emergency.

GG Mirchandani, the fearless general manager of UNI, commanded that news of arrests and intimidation be disseminated unimpeded. Each phone call brought reports of additional arrests—Morarji Desai, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, Jyotirmoy Basu, among others—spanning the political spectrum. Notably absent from the list of detainees were George Fernandes and Subramanian Swamy, both of whom had strategically evaded capture to lead the resistance.

As dawn approached, editors and reporters flocked to the office to document the initial draft of a tragic history unfolding.

UNI was fortunate to retain access to electricity and communications, unlike many media offices that suffered interruptions that morning, sharing the grid with numerous government facilities and Parliament. The machines churned out reports on arrests and interferences from across the nation, while some ceased functioning due to power or communication outages.

Around 7 a.m., Indira Gandhi addressed the nation through All India Radio, the government’s monopoly on broadcasting, to announce the principles of dictatorship.

Two government censors, summoned from the Press Information Bureau, entered with rubber stamps—one for censored stories and another for approved articles—assertively taking their places at the news desk.

Later, they invaded other newspaper offices, stifling journalism.

Mirchandani defiantly ensured that reports continued to flow until the censors issued an ultimatum: comply with censorship or the agency would face permanent closure.

Mirchandani acquiesced, instructing the staff to maintain professional news coverage without self-censorship, emphasizing that censorship was the censors' responsibility, not that of the reporters.

The censors rendered reports meaningless or marked them as "Not for publication." However, the reports clandestinely circulated through the emergent samizdat, underground bulletins crudely reproduced or run on cyclostyle machines, the primitive forerunner of modern photocopiers.

Some journalists aligned with the Congress Party or the pro-Moscow Communist Party strutted about, offering advice—and veiled threats—to colleagues regarding the new era under Indira Gandhi, proclaiming an end to indiscipline.

Outside, a queue rapidly formed of politicians, businessmen, trade unionists, and self-proclaimed civic activists, presenting press releases pledging loyalty to the dictator.

In the media—and across all sectors—many conformed to BJP leader L. K. Advani’s dismal description: “Some who were asked to bend chose to crawl.”

Among those arrested were Kuldip Nayar, resident editor of The Statesman, and KR Malkani, editor of The Motherland, an English-language daily linked to the Jan Sangh, the precursor to the BJP.

UNI journalist SS Prakash perished from head injuries found near the dictator's residence, his scooter containing underground pamphlets. This was the era of true fascism—not the term flung about lightly, often by the intellectual and political descendants of those who imposed fascist oppression on the nation.

Those who have faced censors at news desks, witnessed colleagues from the media and universities arrested, or saw individuals betray others, understand the reality of fascism. This was a time when, under the guise of socialism and secularism, people in rural areas were forcibly sterilized, the homes of the impoverished were demolished based solely on the whims of those in power, films were confiscated and destroyed, and those with connections became known as “extra-constitutional authorities.”

Let no one—especially not the Congress party—speak of fascism. Apart from the BJP, the Marxists, various socialists now fragmented across different parties, the DMK, and brave independents, others forfeited their moral standing on that day 50 years ago.

Yet some, like the DMK, have now allied with the Congress that once incarcerated their leaders.

The power of the people and their devotion to democracy simmered like a river of magma beneath a facade of falsehood, ultimately erupting like a volcano through the fascism when elections were conducted by the oblivious dictator.

The nation regained its freedom after 21 months on March 21, 1977. "Vinaashakaale Viparita Buddhi" stands as the epitaph for that infamous era.

(The writer, Arul Louis, who experienced firsthand the rise of a failed dictatorship, is the founding executive editor of IANS and is now its correspondent in New York.)