Thirteen Essays & Reports by Kumar Gaurav
The Ambedkar Lecture
by Kumar Guarev
Children, let me begin by asking you something. How many of you love coming to school? Raise your hands high! And how many sometimes feel a little lazy when it comes to opening your books and doing your homework? Be honest, no one is going to scold you here.
Now, imagine this: What if I told you that there was once a time in our country when many children like you were not even allowed to enter a school? Imagine standing outside a classroom, hearing the sound of lessons, but not being allowed inside just because of your family or your caste. How would that feel? Sad, right? Unfair, right?
Today, I am going to tell you the story of a man who changed all this. A man who made it possible for children like you to sit in this school today, to open books, to dream of becoming doctors, teachers, leaders, and more. His name was Dr. Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar, and people lovingly call him Babasaheb.
Babasaheb was born a very long time ago, in 1891, in a small town in Madhya Pradesh. His family was poor, and they belonged to a caste that society at that time treated as “untouchables.” That word itself is so harsh, isn’t it? To think that people once believed another human being could not even be touched! But this was the reality in which young Bhimrao grew up.
When he was a small boy, he went to school, just like you all. But the treatment he got there was cruel and humiliating. He was not allowed to sit with other children. He had to sit on the floor in a corner. He was not allowed to drink water from the same pot as other children. If he ever felt thirsty, he had to wait until the peon came and poured water into his hands. Sometimes the peon was not even willing to touch the vessel after Bhimrao drank, so he had to remain thirsty for hours.
Imagine that for a moment. Imagine you are sitting in this classroom, but you are told to sit alone in the corner, and you are not allowed to touch the books, the blackboard, or even the water. Would you still feel like coming to school? Most of us would give up. But young Bhimrao didn’t. He felt hurt, yes. He felt angry, yes. But inside his heart, he made a promise to himself: “One day, I will study so hard that people will have to respect me. One day, I will prove that education can break any chain.”
And so, Bhimrao worked very, very hard. His father also believed in education and encouraged him. Though many people discouraged him, he never gave up. Slowly, his efforts started to shine. He did so well in his studies that he got a chance to go abroad. Can you imagine, a boy from such a poor and humiliated background, getting the chance to study in America and later in England? At that time, even rich people in India rarely went abroad to study, but Bhimrao did.
In America, he studied economics, law, and many other subjects. He learned about how societies work, how countries make their laws, and how people can be treated equally. He became one of the most educated men of his time. People used to be shocked when they saw him because they never expected a person from his caste to achieve such greatness.
Children, think about this for a second: why do you think Dr. Ambedkar worked so hard to study, even when the whole world seemed against him? (Pause here when speaking to children, let them answer.) Yes, because he knew that education is the strongest weapon. If you want to change your life, if you want to fight injustice, if you want to rise above difficulties, education is the key.
That’s why Dr. Ambedkar always said, “Educate, Agitate, Organize.” Educate yourself first, so you can understand the world. Then agitate — which means raise your voice against injustice. And finally, organize — stand together as a community to make change possible.
Now let’s talk about what happened when India became free from the British in 1947. After so many years of struggle, our leaders needed to make a new set of rules for the country. They needed a Constitution, which is like the big rulebook that tells us how the country should run. Do you know who was chosen to lead this most important task? Yes, it was Dr. B. R. Ambedkar.
Think about it: a boy who was once thrown out of classrooms, who was denied water and respect, was now writing the most important book of independent India! Doesn’t that sound like a miracle? But it wasn’t magic, it was the result of hard work, determination, and education.
As the chief architect of the Constitution, Dr. Ambedkar made sure that the new India would not be like the old India. He wrote rules that said every person is equal. He made sure there would be no untouchability, no discrimination based on caste, religion, or gender. He made sure that children like you would have the right to education, that women would have the right to dignity, and that every person, whether rich or poor, would be equal in the eyes of the law.
Now children, let me ask you another question: what is the use of studying? Why do we open books every day? Is it only to pass exams? Or is it to become something bigger, like Babasaheb dreamed?
Dr. Ambedkar had a beautiful saying: “Education is the milk of a lioness. Whoever drinks it can roar like a lion.” Imagine a lion roaring in the jungle — strong, fearless, and respected. That’s what education makes you. It gives you the roar, the power, the confidence to stand tall in front of the world.
So let’s try something fun. On the count of three, I want everyone to roar like a lion, to remind yourself that you too can be strong if you study. Ready? One… two… three… ROAR!
See? That’s the energy education gives you.
Dr. Ambedkar’s own life is proof of this. He could have given up many times. He could have said, “People are unfair, so what’s the point of trying?” But he didn’t. Instead, he used education as his weapon. And because of that, today he is remembered as the Father of the Indian Constitution, a man who gave voice to millions of people who had been silenced for centuries.
And he didn’t just write laws. He also spent his life fighting for the rights of women, workers, and the poor. He believed that a society cannot progress unless it takes everyone along. He used to say that the greatness of a society is judged by how it treats its weakest members. Isn’t that true?
So, whenever you see someone being treated unfairly, whether it’s in school, at home, or in your community, remember Babasaheb’s words. Don’t stay silent. Stand up for what is right.
Children, let’s think for a moment: what do you want to become when you grow up? (Pause here in real delivery, let the children answer: some will say doctor, teacher, engineer, police, etc.)
Beautiful! You all have dreams. And Dr. Ambedkar wanted exactly this — that every child should have the freedom to dream big, no matter where they come from. He wanted children like you to grow up with confidence, with pride, and with the courage to change the world.
So whenever you feel lazy, or whenever you think, “Oh, studying is too hard,” remember that Babasaheb fought so that you could even hold that book in your hands. Remember that he walked miles and miles, sat in humiliation, yet never gave up on education. If he could do it, then surely, you can too.
Now let me tell you something very important. Dr. Ambedkar’s life also teaches us about self-respect. He never accepted the insults people gave him as truth. He believed, “I am equal, I am capable, and I will prove it.” That is the spirit I want each one of you to carry. Never think that you are less than anyone else. Never think that your background decides your future. Only your effort, your education, and your courage decide your future.
Look around you. Each one of you sitting here is full of possibilities. Some of you will become doctors, some teachers, some leaders, some artists. Maybe one of you will even grow up to write new laws for our country, just like Babasaheb did.
But for that, you have to promise me something. Will you promise me that you will never stop studying? Will you promise me that you will respect yourself and others? Will you promise me that you will carry forward Babasaheb’s dream of an equal, educated India?
Good! That’s the best way to honor Dr. B. R. Ambedkar. Not just by remembering him on special days, but by living his dream every day.
So children, whenever you open your books, whenever you sit in class, whenever you dream about your future, think of Babasaheb. He is not just a leader of the past — he is your guide for the future.
And remember, his journey teaches us this one powerful truth: Education is freedom. Education is power. Education is the roar of a lion.
So, let’s roar together, not just today but every day, with our books, our knowledge, and our dreams. That will be our tribute to the great Dr. B. R. Ambedkar.
Resistance Against Modi: India’s Fight to Remember Itself
by Kumar Guarav
For over a decade, Narendra Modi has stood at the center of Indian politics — part populist, part brand, part myth. To his supporters, he is the man who made India visible to the world; to his critics, he is the leader who made dissent invisible at home. But beyond the headlines, what’s unfolding in India is not just a political story. It’s a quiet, stubborn resistance — an attempt by millions to defend an older idea of India, one that refuses to vanish.
The Making of an Empire
Modi’s rise from a tea seller in Gujarat to the prime minister’s office is often told as a tale of grit and destiny. What’s less discussed is how his leadership turned politics into spectacle. His rallies look like rock concerts, his image floods billboards, his voice fills radio airwaves. For many Indians, Modi is not merely a politician but a presence — a symbol of pride wrapped in nationalism.
But power built on personality always casts a long shadow. Institutions once designed to question authority now orbit around it. The media, the judiciary, even universities — all have felt the quiet pressure of conformity. Those who speak up are branded as “anti-national,” a phrase that has become both weapon and warning.
The Language of Resistance
Yet India, with its messy, argumentative soul, does not stay silent easily. Resistance takes many forms here. Sometimes it looks like a farmer sitting on a dusty road near Delhi, holding a protest banner. Sometimes it sounds like a student shouting slogans inside a campus courtyard. Sometimes it’s a journalist refusing to delete a story.
This defiance may not always make the front pages, but it builds a rhythm of its own. The 2020–21 farmers’ protests were a turning point — the largest democratic mobilization in decades. For more than a year, farmers camped at the borders of the capital, demanding the repeal of three agricultural laws. The government eventually stepped back. It was a rare admission that power, however absolute it seems, can still be challenged when the streets speak together.
The Digital Battlefield In today’s India, resistance also lives online. Independent news portals, fact-checkers, and small creators on YouTube and Instagram have become the new pamphleteers. They expose hate crimes, question propaganda, and keep the conversation alive in a digital space increasingly watched by the state.
Of course, the internet is not a safe space — accounts are banned, cases are filed, surveillance is constant — but it remains a field of rebellion where humor, art, and truth still find cracks to slip through.
A New Generation of Dissent
Unlike earlier movements led by established parties or unions, the new resistance is fluid. It has no single leader, no fixed ideology. It draws strength from students, farmers, writers, women, and minorities — people who have little in common except a refusal to surrender the idea of India as a plural, democratic, and noisy place.
Across cities and villages, you can see the outlines of this quiet movement: young people filming police excesses, lawyers offering free defense to protestors, poets reclaiming public spaces through verse. It’s not a revolution with slogans and barricades — it’s one built on endurance and memory.
India’s Unfinished Argument
Modi’s India is powerful, but not invincible. Beneath the layer of spectacle, there’s fatigue — over joblessness, over censorship, over the feeling that democracy has been reduced to applause. And within that fatigue lies the spark of resistance.
India’s story has always been an argument between fear and freedom. Today, that argument continues in the smallest acts of defiance — in a protest that survives a ban, in a journalist who refuses to bend, in a citizen who still believes her voice matters.
Resistance here is not about overthrowing a ruler; it’s about refusing to forget who we are.
Bhim Army: India’s Revolutionary Force for Dalit Empowerment
by Kumar Guarav
An Army Named After a Visionary
The Bhim Army takes its name from Baba Saheb Bhim Rao Ambedkar—the architect of India’s Constitution and one of the fiercest critics of caste oppression. For its members, the name is not just symbolic. It’s a reminder that dignity and justice are rights, not favors, and that they must be defended. What began as a response to everyday discrimination in western Uttar Pradesh has grown into a movement that blends grassroots activism with political vision.
Leadership That Inspires Action
At the center stands Chandrashekhar Azad ‘Ravan’. He grew up witnessing the daily humiliations Dalits endure, from schoolrooms to village squares, and turned that anger into collective action. Under his leadership, the Bhim Army has evolved from a local defense network into a nationwide presence, giving marginalized communities a platform to demand rights rather than plead for them.
Education as Resistance
One of the Bhim Army’s most radical strategies is deceptively simple: running schools. More than 350 of them operate in villages across western Uttar Pradesh. These aren’t just spaces to teach children to read and write—they are places where young Dalits learn history that includes them, develop self-respect, and understand the power of collective struggle. Each classroom becomes a seedbed of awareness, where education itself becomes an act of defiance.
Radical Activism on the Ground
The Bhim Army is equally visible on the streets. When caste violence erupts or Dalits are denied basic rights, its members mobilize—marching, protesting, demanding accountability. Legal support is organized, officials are pressured, and silence is broken. Ravan himself has been jailed more than once, yet every attempt to suppress the movement has only drawn more attention to its cause.
From Streets to Politics
In 2020, Ravan launched the Aazad Samaj Party as a political extension of the movement. For him, elections are not just about winning seats—they’re about creating space in India’s political imagination for communities that have long been kept out. By combining agitation with electoral participation, the Bhim Army blurs the line between social movement and political force.
Why the World is Watching
Globally, marginalized groups face versions of the same struggle: inequality reinforced by tradition, custom, or law. The Bhim Army’s model—linking education, activism, and politics—offers a roadmap for how oppressed communities can organize themselves without waiting for deliverance from above. A Revolution in Progress The Bhim Army is not a finished story. It is a work in progress, carried forward by young people who refuse to accept caste as fate. Whether in a village school or a crowded protest march, it insists that dignity cannot be postponed. In its persistence lies its power: a reminder that equality is never gifted, only won.
Bihar Politics: The Heartbeat of India’s Democracy
by Kumar Guarav
To understand India, you have to understand Bihar. This eastern Indian state, one of the poorest yet most politically alive, has shaped the nation’s democratic soul for decades. It is the land that gave India leaders like Jayaprakash Narayan who inspired a generation to fight dictatorship, and Lalu Prasad Yadav who turned caste into a language of power. Bihar’s politics is raw, unpredictable, and deeply human, a mix of survival, ideology, and theatre.
A Land of Contradictions
Bihar is a paradox. It sends millions of migrant workers to cities like Delhi and Mumbai, yet its villages remain politically aware in a way that urban India rarely is. In the same home, you might find someone who curses the government for corruption and yet never misses a chance to vote. Politics here is not distant; it is lived, debated, and fought over tea, in buses, and at panchayat squares.
Caste: The Unfinished Revolution
You cannot talk about Bihar without talking about caste. For centuries, caste dictated who could own land, go to school, or even walk with dignity. The post Mandal era of the 1990s changed that. Lalu Prasad Yadav emerged as the voice of the backward castes, turning humiliation into pride. His slogan, “Bhoora baal saaf karo” (wipe out upper caste dominance), was not just rhetoric, it was rebellion.
Today, the landscape is more complex. Nitish Kumar, Bihar’s long serving chief minister, projects himself as a moderate, balancing welfare politics with development talk. But beneath the surface, caste equations still decide everything from cabinet posts to local elections. Even young voters, who scroll through Instagram and dream of Dubai, often end up voting along caste lines. It is not loyalty, it is protection.
Nitish Kumar: The Survivor
If Bihar’s politics is a game of chess, Nitish Kumar is the player who always avoids checkmate. Since 2005, he has ruled the state through alliances that keep changing like seasons. One day he is with the BJP; the next, he is back with Lalu’s party. Critics call him opportunistic. Supporters call him pragmatic. Either way, his political instinct is unmatched.
Nitish’s governance model, often described as “Sushasan” or good governance, focused on roads, education for girls, and prohibition of alcohol. But the shine has faded. Youth unemployment is high, migration continues, and law and order remains shaky. Still, Nitish endures, reminding everyone that in Bihar, politics is about staying relevant, not staying pure.
The New Generation Rising
Bihar’s younger generation is not content with old slogans. They want jobs, not just justice. The rise of leaders like Tejashwi Yadav, Lalu’s son, marks a generational shift. Tejashwi talks about employment, education, and governance more than caste pride. His rallies attract massive crowds of young people hungry for change, but translating that energy into actual power is the real test.
Social media has changed the battlefield too. YouTube channels, Twitter threads, and memes now drive political conversations as much as rallies. A new digital caste of influencers has emerged, amplifying local voices to national audiences.
The Pulse of a Democracy
Bihar teaches that democracy is not a ceremony, it is a struggle. It is the farmer arguing about policy in a field, the student marching for a government job, the mother who walks miles to vote. Behind every headline of chaos, there is a deep desire for dignity and voice.
In that sense, Bihar is not India’s political backwater; it is its conscience. A reminder that democracy, at its core, belongs to those who have the least, but dream the most.
India at the Crossroads: Ambedkar’s Vision of State Socialism and the BJP’s Capitalist Turn
by Kumar Gaurav
India today stands at a defining economic and moral crossroads. The ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), since coming to power in 2014, has aggressively pursued policies of privatization, deregulation, and corporate expansion, an ideological shift that starkly contrasts with Dr. B.R. Ambedkar’s vision of state socialism and economic democracy. While the BJP often invokes Ambedkar’s name for political legitimacy, its policies betray his fundamental economic ideals—equality through state-led redistribution, social ownership of key industries, and protection of the working class from capitalist exploitation. This contradiction reveals a deeper philosophical divide between Ambedkar’s dream of a welfare-oriented state and the BJP’s model of market-centric governance that increasingly benefits the wealthy few at the expense of the working majority.
To understand the gravity of this contrast, it is essential to revisit what Ambedkar meant by “state socialism.” For Ambedkar, political democracy—universal adult franchise and equal civil rights—could not stand on its own without economic democracy. He believed that liberty, equality, and fraternity, the trinity of his philosophy, would collapse in a society marked by extreme economic disparity. His idea of socialism was not borrowed wholesale from Marx or Western models. It was a uniquely Indian adaptation, where the state would own and manage vital industries, ensure equitable distribution of wealth, and guarantee land reforms to eliminate the feudal and caste-based hierarchies embedded in India’s economy. Ambedkar’s socialism was built on moral reasoning rather than dogma; he understood that a democratic state that leaves its people hungry and unemployed cannot sustain itself on slogans of nationalism or religion.
Ambedkar’s economic proposals, presented in his 1947 memorandum “States and Minorities,” envisioned a model where the state would retain control over agriculture, key industries, and insurance, ensuring that resources served the collective interest, not private greed. He warned that capitalism, left unchecked, would reproduce the inequalities of caste in a new economic form, where wealth, not birth, would determine privilege—but the result would remain the same: a society divided between exploiters and the exploited. His call for land reforms and collective farming was not just about agricultural productivity but about breaking centuries-old patterns of oppression that tied Dalits and other marginalized groups to bonded labor and economic dependency. In Ambedkar’s view, the ownership of resources was inseparable from the ownership of dignity.
The BJP’s policies since 2014 have followed the opposite path. The government’s economic agenda, marketed under slogans like “Make in India,” “Ease of Doing Business,” and “Atmanirbhar Bharat,” has been less about self-reliance and more about self-enrichment for the corporate elite. Large-scale privatization of public enterprises, from Air India to coal mining and railways, represents not efficiency but a retreat of the state from its responsibility to protect public welfare. Deregulation in labor and environmental laws has weakened workers’ rights and made it easier for corporations to exploit natural resources with little accountability. Ambedkar warned of this danger decades ago when he wrote that the concentration of wealth in a few hands would destroy the foundations of democracy. His concern was not merely economic—it was moral and philosophical. A democracy, he said, cannot survive if its citizens are divided between “a handful of rich and the masses of poor.” Yet under the BJP, India’s billionaires have multiplied while wages stagnate and unemployment rises. According to Oxfam’s 2023 report, the top 1% of Indians now own over 40% of the country’s wealth. This concentration mirrors Ambedkar’s worst fears—an India where liberty exists in law but not in life.
Privatization, in the BJP’s narrative, is a symbol of modernization, an escape from the inefficiencies of the socialist past. But this argument ignores how public institutions once served as vehicles of social mobility. Public sector jobs provided stability to lower and middle-class families, particularly Dalits, Adivasis, and backward castes, who were systematically excluded from private industry. The shrinking of the public sector, combined with the government’s failure to enforce affirmative action in private enterprises, has eroded one of the few ladders available for marginalized communities to climb out of poverty. Ambedkar’s idea of state control was not bureaucratic paternalism; it was a means to ensure that the economy served the many, not the few. The BJP’s deregulation drive also exposes a deep ideological contradiction. While the party celebrates India’s cultural nationalism and traditional values, its economic policies are rooted in neoliberalism—a Western capitalist doctrine that prioritizes markets over people. This mix of cultural conservatism and economic liberalization has created a peculiar form of crony capitalism, where political loyalty often determines corporate success. The growing nexus between politics and big business, epitomized by the rise of conglomerates close to the ruling party, has tilted India’s economy toward oligarchy.
Ambedkar foresaw that political democracy without economic equality would become hollow. “On the economic side,” he said, “we must have a society based on the principle of ‘from each according to his ability, to each according to his need.’” His advocacy for collective agriculture and land reform stemmed from a recognition that India’s rural structure, dominated by upper-caste landlords, was both economically inefficient and socially oppressive. Yet land reform remains incomplete even after seven decades of independence, and under the BJP, the trend has reversed. Corporate farming and the weakening of agricultural subsidies have exposed small farmers to market volatility and indebtedness. The 2020 farm laws, which the government was forced to repeal after massive protests, symbolized this tension between profit-driven policy and the agrarian realities Ambedkar warned about. The farmers’ movement, led largely by small and middle farmers, echoed Ambedkar’s core message: that economic decisions must protect the vulnerable rather than empower the powerful.
The deeper tragedy lies in how Ambedkar’s image has been commodified by those who reject his economic vision. The BJP celebrates him as a champion of individual merit and social justice but strips his thought of its radical critique of capitalism. This selective remembrance sanitizes Ambedkar into a symbol of social upliftment while ignoring his revolutionary call for structural change. His belief that the state must actively shape the economy to ensure equality is now dismissed as outdated socialism, even as inequality reaches historic highs. Globally, India’s trajectory mirrors that of many developing nations trapped between democratic ideals and capitalist pressures. The privatization of essential services like education, health, and transport has eroded the very social fabric Ambedkar hoped to strengthen through public ownership. When access to quality healthcare or education depends on wealth, democracy ceases to be meaningful.
In this sense, Ambedkar’s socialism was not just about economic planning; it was about moral responsibility. It sought to humanize the economy, to remind society that production and profit are not ends in themselves but means to secure human dignity. What India faces today is not merely an economic debate but a civilizational question: can a democracy built on Ambedkar’s ideals survive under a regime that celebrates wealth over welfare? The BJP’s model of governance, centralized, corporate-friendly, and indifferent to redistribution, undermines the foundations of social justice. It replaces the state as protector of citizens with the state as broker for the rich.
Ambedkar’s warnings echo with renewed urgency. He believed that “political democracy cannot last unless there lies at the base of it social democracy.” As India privatizes its public institutions, deregulates its safeguards, and redistributes wealth upward, it risks hollowing out its democratic core. The economy may grow, but the republic will shrink. In reclaiming Ambedkar’s vision, India must move beyond token tributes and confront the uncomfortable truth that neoliberalism and democracy are uneasy allies. A truly Ambedkarite economy would restore public ownership of critical sectors, empower cooperatives, and ensure that every citizen—not just the wealthy—shares in the nation’s progress. Economic equality is not a relic of the past; it is the precondition for a just and enduring future.
In the end, Ambedkar’s challenge remains as relevant as ever. Will India choose the path of collective upliftment or continue down the road of concentrated privilege? The answer will determine not just the shape of its economy but the soul of its democracy.
Reclaiming Ambedkar’s Economic Vision
by Kumar Gaurav
Across India today, millions of workers, farmers, and small traders feel the quiet weight of an economy that no longer belongs to them. The promises of development have turned into headlines for the rich, while ordinary people are left negotiating higher prices, stagnant wages, and shrinking public support. The distance between India’s rich and poor has become more than economic — it is moral.
This widening gap is not accidental. It’s the result of a deliberate shift — a move away from the collective, people-centered economy that Dr. B.R. Ambedkar envisioned, toward a system ruled by corporate interests and private monopolies. The state, instead of acting as a guardian of social justice, has become an agent of privatization.
Ambedkar warned long ago that political democracy cannot survive without economic democracy. He believed that liberty must rest on equality of opportunity, not on the charity of the rich. Yet today’s India seems to have forgotten that lesson. Public assets are being auctioned in the name of “reform.” National institutions, built through public effort and sacrifice, are handed to a few who already control most of the nation’s wealth.
The Ambedkar Humanist Action Team (AHAT) believes India should abandon its present direction and re-embrace the egalitarian vision and strategy that Ambedkar proposed.
The drift toward hyper-capitalism is not modernization — it is moral regression. It replaces the idea of service with the logic of profit. It dismantles collective ownership and reduces citizenship to consumption. In this climate, Ambedkar’s economic vision isn’t just relevant; it is urgent.
Ambedkar’s framework of economic democracy was rooted in collective ownership and public accountability. He argued that political freedom without economic equality collapses into domination by wealth. What we witness now is exactly that: corporate interests shaping policy from the top, while the poor negotiate survival from the bottom. When sectors like energy, insurance, transport, and natural resources are reoriented around private profit, the public loses its say over essentials that decide life chances.
The country’s founding promise positioned the state as custodian of welfare, not broker for private gain. Selling national assets is not a technical fix; it is a moral choice. Every divestment weakens the social floor. Every subsidy to monopoly power tightens the ladder that people are trying to climb.
Efficiency is the slogan, but whose efficiency? If “efficiency” means shedding jobs, raising prices, and abandoning unprofitable regions, then the metric is rigged against the public. India’s railways weren’t built to please shareholders — they were built to connect lives. Public banks didn’t reach remote villages because it was lucrative — they did it because development requires presence.
Ambedkar anticipated these tensions. In his state-socialist proposals, he argued for public ownership of key industries, land, and insurance to block the emergence of private oligarchy. He saw that caste hierarchies morph inside markets unless the state builds countervailing power for workers, women, Dalits, Adivasis, and all marginalized groups. Economic democracy, in his hands, was not a slogan — it was a set of institutions designed to distribute power.
Reclaiming that vision today means drawing a clear boundary around strategic sectors — health, education, banking, energy, transport, and natural resources — and treating them as public goods. Private enterprise can flourish at the edges, but the core that determines life chances must remain democratically controlled. This is not hostility to business; it is loyalty to the Constitution’s promise of justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity.
Economic democracy also grows from below. Cooperatives, producer companies, self-help federations, and worker-owned firms anchor dignity in everyday life. When farmers own the value chain, when sanitation workers formalize into publicly backed enterprises with social security, when gig workers gain sectoral bargaining and floors on pay, we get the kind of freedom Ambedkar meant — not charity, but power.
The last decade shows the limits of trickle-down. Growth without redistribution is a headcount of winners and a silence around the rest. Inflation wipes out savings, precarious jobs erase planning, and privatized services push families into debt. None of this is “reform.” It is extraction.
A humane economy demands public investment in universal healthcare, neighborhood schools, affordable housing, and green transport. It demands mission-driven industrial policy that creates secure jobs and builds climate resilience. It demands taxing windfalls and closing loopholes that let wealth escape while workers carry the load.
This is the call: put people before monopolies, institutions before markets, and dignity before dividends. Bring PSUs back to mission, fund them properly, and govern them transparently. Create watchdog bodies with worker and citizen representation. Publish performance dashboards that track social outcomes, not just balance sheets.
Ambedkar’s dream was of a Republic where no person is reduced to pleading for their rights. That requires an economy designed for belonging, not exclusion. Reclaiming his economic vision means restoring public purpose to the center of policy and placing democratic control over the systems that decide who gets to live well.
This is not nostalgia. It is repair. It is the practical route to an India where democracy is more than voting, where the economy is more than markets, and where equality is more than a speech. Reclaim the public. Rebuild the social floor. Redistribute power. That is how we honor Ambedkar — not with words, but with institutions that put his promise to work.
Stop Selling the Public Sector, Save the Republic
by Kumar Gaurav
The story repeats itself in too many towns to ignore: a depot closes, a timetable shrinks, a local bank branch disappears, premiums inch up, fees multiply, and the poorest pay more for less. This is privatization translated into daily life. It’s not a theory on a panel; it’s the bus that no longer runs, the call that never connects, the claim that gets denied.
India’s public sector was created to do what markets avoid — serve where profit is thin, build where risk is high, and protect where vulnerability is greatest. That spine is being snapped. Strategic assets and services are sold as if the Republic were a yard sale. Airports, ports, rail corridors, transmission lines, insurers, banks — the list grows while public oversight shrinks.
We are told this is “efficiency.” In practice, it looks like job cuts, price hikes, asset stripping, and the quiet abandonment of regions that don’t make the spreadsheet smile. When essential services are priced for profit, citizenship is reduced to purchasing power. The Republic becomes a marketplace, and those without money step outside its doors.
Ambedkar’s warning is clear: political democracy cannot endure where economic power is concentrated. Privatization at this scale concentrates power. It narrows who decides, who benefits, and who matters. Selling what we collectively built weakens what we collectively are.
The Ambedkar Humanist Action Team (AHAT) believes India should discontinue its present hyper-capitalist politices and return to the public ownership model that Ambedkar envisioned.
Public enterprises are imperfect. Some are slow. Some were starved of capital or packed with patronage. But the cure for weak governance is better governance — not liquidation. Give PSUs a clear social mandate, operational autonomy, professional leadership, worker representation on boards, and transparent targets tied to public outcomes: access, affordability, regional coverage, safety, and decent work.
The “unprofitable” label is often manufactured. Starve a service, strip its staff, freeze capex, then declare it failing and sell it. After transfer, watch margins bloom while coverage shrinks. This is not reform; it is value transfer from citizens to conglomerates.
We reject the false choice between modernization and public ownership. Modernization is a set of tools — technology, process redesign, dynamic pricing where appropriate, open data, and rigorous audits. Ownership is a question of power and accountability. Keep ownership public where services shape life chances. Modernize relentlessly. Measure publicly. That is how you protect both dignity and delivery.
A people-first economy needs institutions designed for solidarity. That means expanding public banking for rural credit and MSMEs. It means doubling down on LIC’s social insurance role with better grievance redressal and digital access that doesn’t exclude the elderly or the poor. It means railways focused on safety, mass mobility, and climate-smart freight, not premium classes for a few. It means public telecom capacity that treats connectivity like the utility it is.
Labor must be central. Privatization often breaks unions, fragments work into contracts, and erodes safety. We call for statutory floors on wages and social security across supply chains, worker representation in restructuring, and just transition plans where technology changes roles. Jobs are not a side effect; they are the point.
Financing a strong public sector is possible. Curb tax giveaways that don’t generate jobs, close avoidance loopholes, introduce windfall levies where markets gift extraordinary gains, and redirect proceeds to capex in health, education, clean energy, logistics, and research. Publish a green paper annually that shows the social return on public investment — time saved, accidents avoided, emissions cut, livelihoods secured.
Governance must be sunlight. Put PSU performance dashboards online with service coverage, downtime, safety incidents, grievance response times, and citizen satisfaction. Mandate independent boards with reserved seats for workers and consumer advocates. Audit not just finances, but mission delivery. Build pride through transparency, not secrecy.
The Constitution sets the compass: justice, liberty, equality, fraternity. Privatization at scale spins the needle toward private power. We choose the constitutional direction — a Republic where core services belong to the people, are run for the people, and are accountable to the people.
So here is the commitment:
• No sale of strategic assets that determine life chances.
• Reform and recapitalize PSUs with clear social mandates.
• Universal access and affordability as non-negotiable metrics.
• Worker voice and protections embedded in governance.
• Public investment aimed at jobs, climate resilience, and regional balance.
• Radical transparency so citizens can see what is being delivered in their name.
Stop selling the public sector. Save the Republic. Keep the things that hold us together in the hands of the people they are meant to serve. This is not a plea for nostalgia. It is a plan for dignity.
Report on the Ambedkar Lecture at APNA School
by Kumar Gaurav
APNA School organized a special two-session lecture on the life and vision of Dr. B. R. Ambedkar, celebrating his enduring legacy as a social reformer, thinker, and architect of the Indian Constitution. The event saw an inspiring turnout of students, women, and community members, all coming together to reflect on Babasaheb’s message of education, equality, and empowerment.
The first session of the day was led by SNS Jigyasu, the director of APNA School, who addressed women and members of the APNA community. He spoke with depth and passion about Dr. Ambedkar’s lifelong struggle against caste discrimination and his efforts to build a just and inclusive India. Jigyasu emphasized how Ambedkar’s ideas continue to hold relevance in today’s world — especially at a time when society continues to grapple with inequality, prejudice, and marginalization.
He began by reminding the audience that Dr. Ambedkar’s journey was not just about personal success, but about collective upliftment. “Babasaheb gave India not only a Constitution but also a conscience,” Jigyasu said, urging everyone to look at Ambedkar’s message as a living guide rather than a chapter in history.
He drew attention to Ambedkar’s vision for gender equality and the central role women played in his social philosophy. Quoting Ambedkar’s own words — “I measure the progress of a community by the degree of progress which women have achieved” — Jigyasu highlighted that empowering women through education and self-respect was one of Ambedkar’s most revolutionary ideas.
Many women attending the session shared how they felt encouraged to pursue further education for themselves and their children. The discussion opened up space for women to speak about everyday forms of discrimination they continue to face, and how Ambedkar’s principles offer both hope and direction for change.
Jigyasu concluded the session by reminding the audience that Ambedkar’s life teaches one fundamental truth: progress begins with education. “He taught us that knowledge is the greatest tool of social transformation,” he said. “If we want an equal India, we must first build an educated India.”
The second session was conducted by Kumar Gaurav, who spoke directly to the children of APNA School in an engaging and interactive way. His talk, titled “The Ambedkar Lecture”, brought Dr. Ambedkar’s story alive through the eyes of young learners.
Kumar began by asking the children simple questions — “How many of you love coming to school?” and “What if you weren’t allowed to enter your classroom?” — setting the stage for a deeper reflection on the privilege of education. Through this interactive storytelling, he transported the children to a time when schools were closed to children of certain castes, and learning was a distant dream for many.
He narrated the moving story of young Bhimrao, who despite facing humiliation, thirst, and exclusion in school, never gave up on his education. “Imagine being told to sit in a corner, away from your classmates, just because of your caste,” Kumar told the children, “and yet deciding to study harder than everyone else.” His storytelling left many students visibly moved — some even responding aloud, saying it was unfair and wrong.
From there, Kumar connected Ambedkar’s personal struggle to his larger mission — to use education as a weapon against injustice. He introduced the children to Ambedkar’s famous slogan: “Educate, Agitate, Organize.” He explained that “educate” means learning to understand the world, “agitate” means raising your voice when something is wrong, and “organize” means coming together to make change happen.
Kumar encouraged the students to see Ambedkar not as a distant historical figure but as a living inspiration. “The boy who was once denied water in school grew up to write the Indian Constitution,” he said. “That is the power of education and determination.”
To make the lesson memorable, he invited the children to “roar like lions” — echoing Ambedkar’s words that “education is the milk of a lioness; whoever drinks it can roar like a lion.” The classroom filled with laughter and roaring voices, symbolizing the courage and confidence that education brings.
He ended his session by asking the children to make three promises — never to stop studying, to respect themselves and others, and to carry forward Babasaheb’s dream of an equal India. The students enthusiastically agreed, many raising their hands and saying “yes” in unison.
The day long programme concluded with a group reflection, where both the women and children shared what they had learned from the sessions. Several students expressed newfound admiration for Dr. Ambedkar, while some women said they were inspired to ensure that their daughters continue their education without interruption.
The Ambedkar Lecture at APNA School was more than a classroom event — it became a bridge connecting generations through shared values of equality, justice, and knowledge. It reminded everyone that Dr. Ambedkar’s mission is not yet complete; it continues wherever a child opens a book, wherever a woman finds her voice, and wherever a community decides that dignity belongs to all.
In the words of one participant, “We often remember Babasaheb on anniversaries, but today, we understood his dream — that education is not just about passing exams, it’s about freedom.”
Through both sessions, APNA School reaffirmed its commitment to creating an environment where the spirit of Ambedkar’s philosophy lives on — in the classroom, in the community, and in the everyday pursuit of equality.
Refreshment were provided to the participants.
Ambedkar on US and European Right Wing Populism
by Kumar Gaurav
B. R. Ambedkar never witnessed Trump, Brexit, or the rise of right wing parties across Europe, yet his warnings about majoritarian domination read like an analysis of today’s Western politics. His political philosophy emerged from a deep study of how democracies collapse when identity becomes a tool of power. Although he fought the caste hierarchy in India, his framework applies easily to the racial, religious, and cultural tensions shaping the US and Europe. When his ideas are placed next to Trumpism, Brexit, or the growing influence of parties such as the National Rally in France, Alternative for Germany, and Fidesz in Hungary, the patterns become unmistakable.
Ambedkar consistently warned that democracy fails when the majority sees itself not as one political group among many but as the nation itself. In such moments, he argued, the majority begins to believe it has a natural right to rule. This produces what he called the tyranny of the majority, where the numerical power of one community becomes a justification for restricting the rights of others. Trumpism embodies this danger clearly. The “Make America Great Again” campaign framed a nostalgic idea of the country centered around white identity. Immigrants, Muslims, African American activists, journalists, and political opponents were portrayed as threats to the true America. Ambedkar would identify this as a form of majoritarian politics that risks replacing democratic norms with identity driven antagonism.
His idea of constitutional morality also fits neatly into the current American landscape. Ambedkar believed that institutions survive only when political actors restrain themselves voluntarily. He insisted that leaders must respect norms even when those norms are inconvenient. Trump’s repeated attacks on the press, the intelligence community, the judiciary, and even the electoral process contradict those principles. Ambedkar described democracy as a moral order rather than just a method of choosing governments. A democracy where the legitimacy of elections is questioned only when one side loses would, in his view, be drifting away from constitutional morality.
Brexit offers a similar example. The 2016 referendum was heavily influenced by campaigns focused on immigration, security, and cultural difference. Large sections of the public were convinced that migrants from the European Union and refugees from conflict zones were undermining social stability and national identity. Ambedkar would see in this rhetoric the same pattern he warned about in India: the transformation of cultural anxieties into political power by claiming that the majority is under threat. When the Brexit slogan “take back control” was used, it suggested that democratic control had been stolen by outsiders, bureaucrats, or minorities. Ambedkar would argue that this kind of messaging turns democratic debate into a contest of identity rather than a discussion of policy.
Europe’s broader political shifts would strengthen his concerns. Parties such as the National Rally in France, the Freedom Party in Austria, the Sweden Democrats, the Danish People’s Party, and the Brothers of Italy have gained influence using arguments that frame refugees and Muslim communities as demographic or cultural dangers. Several European governments have adopted harsher border policies, expanded detention facilities, and normalized suspicion toward migrants. Ambedkar’s understanding of social hierarchy helps explain this. He believed that discrimination does not survive only through law but through a structure of ideas that ranks communities by their perceived worth. These structures can be racial, religious, or cultural. Western societies, he would argue, often reproduce hierarchies that function the way caste did in India. When groups are consistently portrayed as inferior, threatening, or incompatible, a graded social order emerges even without explicit legal segregation.
Ambedkar’s perspective on minority rights also offers clarity. He insisted that minorities are not a problem for democracy. The real threat comes from the majority’s unwillingness to limit its own power. For him, democracy required not only free elections but a moral commitment to protect those with less power. Policies such as the United States travel ban targeting several Muslim majority countries, the United Kingdom’s attempt to deport asylum seekers to Rwanda, and the European Union’s border pushback controversies would trouble him deeply. These actions treat entire populations as security risks rather than individuals deserving legal protection. Ambedkar criticized similar attitudes when they were used to justify caste based prejudice in India. He would read today’s Western policies as modern forms of exclusion rooted in fear, not in democratic principle.
Another troubling trend for Ambedkar would be the weakening of institutions. Several right wing governments in the West have shown impatience with judicial oversight, independent media, and academic autonomy. In Hungary, the government has restricted press freedom and restructured universities. In the United States, political polarization has undermined public trust in the Supreme Court and other institutions. Ambedkar believed that democracy depends on institutions that stand above partisan politics. He designed India’s constitutional system precisely to prevent the concentration of power. When Western leaders dismiss judicial decisions, question the legitimacy of elections, or show hostility toward critical journalism, Ambedkar’s warnings feel entirely relevant.
Ambedkar’s analysis also applies to the cultural dimension of Western populism. Many of these movements claim that national identity is fixed and must be protected from change. Ambedkar argued the opposite. He believed societies evolve through debate, conflict, and reform. A nation that fears diversity becomes rigid, and rigidity leads to authoritarianism. In the United States, debates about immigration, racial justice, and religious freedom often turn into zero sum contests. In Europe, arguments about the compatibility of Islam with “European values” simplify complex social questions into cultural binaries. Ambedkar would reject this framing. For him, democracy thrives when it embraces difference rather than treating it as a threat.
His ideas offer one final insight into the current moment. Ambedkar argued that democracy is always vulnerable to emotional politics. He believed that reason must guide political life, but he acknowledged that fear and resentment are powerful forces. Right wing populism in the West has succeeded largely by channeling economic anxieties, cultural insecurity, and distrust of elites. Ambedkar would not dismiss these concerns, but he would warn that using them to justify exclusion will erode the moral foundation of democracy. The real test of a political system, he believed, is how it treats those who are weakest. By that measure, the rise of anti immigrant sentiment across the West signals a democratic decline rather than a democratic renewal.
Ambedkar did not write for the West, but his concepts travel easily across borders. His framework for understanding domination, identity, and democratic ethics allows us to see the deeper patterns behind Trumpism, Brexit, and Europe’s far right movements. When he warned about majoritarian tyranny, he was describing a universal danger: the moment when a majority stops believing it shares the nation with others and starts believing it owns it. That warning should be taken seriously today.
Ambedkar on Anti Immigrant Politics and Border Militarization
by Kumar Gaurav
B. R. Ambedkar spent much of his life fighting systems that excluded people by birth, restricted mobility, and denied dignity to those considered outside the boundaries of the dominant social order. Although his struggle took place inside India’s caste society, the principles he articulated travel far beyond that context. When placed alongside the anti immigrant politics shaping the United States, the United Kingdom, and Europe today, his framework becomes a powerful way to understand the ethical crisis unfolding at global borders. From the United States attempt to build a wall along its southern border to the United Kingdom’s plan to deport asylum seekers to Rwanda, contemporary border policies raise fundamental questions that Ambedkar spent his life addressing. He would have viewed many of these practices as modern forms of exclusion by birth, rooted not in democratic values but in fear, hierarchy, and a narrow definition of national belonging.
Ambedkar believed that equality was the foundational principle of any real democracy. Equality for him was not restricted to political rights. It also meant equal moral worth and a commitment to protect the lives and liberties of vulnerable groups. When he wrote that democracy is “a mode of associated living,” he meant that individuals tied together in a political community owe each other mutual respect and protection. Anti immigrant politics, which portrays entire categories of people as threats solely because of their birthplace or background, stands in direct opposition to this principle. Ambedkar would have identified the logic behind these policies as the same logic he fought in caste society: assigning value to individuals based on inherited identity.
Take the United States debate over immigration and border security. The decision to build a wall along the Mexico border was justified through claims that migrants were dangerous or undesirable. Ambedkar would have rejected this entire framing. He consistently argued that democracy cannot reduce people to stereotypes or collective judgments. He also warned that fear driven politics tends to create permanent divisions that weaken democratic culture. In his critique of caste, he pointed out that social hierarchies are maintained through repeated claims that some groups are naturally inferior or threatening. The rhetoric surrounding the wall, which treated migrants as an undifferentiated mass of risk rather than as human beings with rights, mirrors this logic closely.
He would also object to the idea that borders justify exceptional treatment. Ambedkar believed that the rule of law applies universally and should not be suspended simply because individuals come from another land. Policies that separate children from parents, detain asylum seekers indefinitely, or deny them due process would violate his core belief in the dignity of the person. He would view the use of state power at the border through the same lens that led him to critique oppressive laws in colonial India. In both cases, the issue is not national security but the morality of a state that treats certain people as unworthy of protection.
The United Kingdom’s Rwanda deportation plan raises even more direct concerns. Under this policy, asylum seekers who reach the UK could be sent thousands of miles away to Rwanda regardless of their individual circumstances. This effectively denies them meaningful asylum rights and treats their presence as a burden to be offloaded elsewhere. Ambedkar worked tirelessly to ensure that India’s Constitution protected the rights of minorities, migrants, and those without social power. He believed that a democratic state must offer refuge and fairness to those escaping violence and persecution. A policy that relocates vulnerable people to another country simply to discourage migration would violate this responsibility completely.
Ambedkar’s idea of social exclusion also helps explain how he would interpret the larger trend of border militarization. He argued that social hierarchies survive not only through explicit discrimination but through the creation of psychological and physical barriers. In caste society, segregation was enforced through rules about where people could live, what they could touch, and which spaces they could enter. Modern border walls serve a similar symbolic purpose: they draw a line between those who are accepted and those who are permanently outside the circle of national belonging. Ambedkar would not ignore the differences between caste and immigration policy, but he would see a shared structure. Both use inherited identity to determine who deserves protection and who is denied it.
Across Europe, the use of surveillance, fortified borders, pushbacks at sea, and detention centers reflects a continent struggling to reconcile its democratic values with a fear driven response to migration. Ambedkar emphasized that a society’s treatment of the weak exposes its true character. A state that relies on deterrence, intimidation, or cruelty to manage migration betrays its commitment to equality. He would argue that Europe’s policies toward refugees from Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia reveal a hierarchy of human worth shaped by race, religion, and geopolitics. When certain groups are treated as security threats before they are treated as human beings, democracy loses its moral foundation.
Ambedkar also warned that policies rooted in exclusion damage the majority as well. When a society normalizes harsh treatment of outsiders, it becomes easier to extend those practices inward. Rights weaken for everyone. In his writings, he described how caste society harmed both the privileged and the oppressed by reducing human relationships to rigid categories. Border militarization creates a similar dynamic. When a state expands its detention powers, surveillance systems, and enforcement apparatus for migrants, those tools can be redirected domestically. Ambedkar would see this as a predictable slide toward authoritarianism.
There is another dimension to Ambedkar’s perspective that applies to this debate. He believed that migration is a natural human response to inequality and injustice. Throughout his life, he fought for Dalits to have the freedom to move, work, and live where they chose. He argued that mobility is essential for dignity. Modern anti immigrant politics attempts to freeze people in place, treating movement as a privilege rather than a right. This contradicts his belief in human agency and the importance of expanding opportunities rather than restricting them.
Ambedkar never dismissed the need for orderly governance or legitimate security measures. He understood that states must regulate entry and maintain social stability. But he insisted that these goals must be pursued without violating the principles of equality, liberty, and justice. Policies like the US wall or the UK Rwanda plan, which rely on fear and deterrence rather than fairness and due process, would fail this test completely.
His work offers a clear conclusion. Anti immigrant politics and border militarization represent a crisis of democratic ethics. They divide people based on birthplace, deny protection to the vulnerable, and expand state power in ways that undermine constitutional values. Ambedkar would view these developments not as isolated political choices but as symptoms of a deeper moral failure. When a society begins to treat entire categories of people as dangers to be managed rather than as individuals with rights, it moves closer to the systems of exclusion he fought all his life.
Ambedkar’s framework reminds us that democracy is not defined by borders but by how a nation treats those who stand at its doorstep.
Critique of the BJP’s Weakening of Labour Rights Compared to Ambedkar’s Labour Centric Vision
by Kumar Gaurav
B. R. Ambedkar’s contribution to the labour movement is foundational to India’s democratic and economic framework. As the country’s first Labour Minister under the Viceroy’s Executive Council and later the chief architect of the Constitution, he laid down essential principles that protected workers from exploitation and gave them rights that had never existed in colonial India. His work produced laws on working hours, minimum wages, maternity benefits, dispute resolution, and social security. Ambedkar believed that labour rights were not optional policy choices but essential guarantees that upheld dignity, equality, and economic justice. When this vision is placed alongside the labour code reforms introduced by the BJP government, the contrast is stark. Many of the reforms reverse or weaken the principles Ambedkar considered central to social and economic democracy.
Ambedkar viewed labour not as a commodity but as human effort shaped by social conditions and inequities. He argued that the state had a duty to protect workers because the power imbalance between employers and employees was too great to leave unregulated. His philosophy emerged from a framework that connected social justice with economic justice. He believed that workers deserved not only fair wages and humane conditions but also a voice in the decisions that shaped their lives. Labour rights, in his view, were a form of moral and political protection.
The BJP government’s labour codes, passed in 2020, consolidate 29 existing labour laws into four large codes. Supporters argue that these reforms modernize labour governance, simplify compliance, and encourage investment. Yet a closer analysis reveals that they dilute key protections Ambedkar fought to institutionalize. The Industrial Relations Code raises the threshold for employer permission during layoffs, retrenchment, and closures from 100 workers to 300 workers. This means that a much larger number of enterprises can dismiss workers without government approval. Ambedkar would have viewed this as a serious erosion of worker security. He consistently argued that employment stability was central to economic dignity and that workers should not be left at the mercy of market fluctuations.
The weakening of union rights is another major concern. Ambedkar believed unions were essential for balancing economic power. He played an important role in shaping early trade union protections and formal dispute resolution systems. Under the new labour codes, the rules for union recognition become more restrictive, and the conditions for going on strike become significantly harder. Workers now require prior notice of 14 days before striking, and this rule applies even to sectors where notice was not mandated earlier. Ambedkar saw the right to collective action as fundamental. Diluting this right shifts power decisively toward employers.
The Code on Occupational Safety, Health and Working Conditions contains another worrying trend. It increases the threshold for mandatory safeguards. Smaller establishments, which already tend to have weaker oversight, are now exempt from several requirements. Ambedkar introduced the eight hour workday in India and fought to regulate factories precisely because smaller workplaces were often the most exploitative. He believed that safety and dignity should not depend on the size of an enterprise but on the rights of the worker. Removing smaller units from strict regulation contradicts this principle.
The Social Security Code also raises issues that Ambedkar would find troubling. While it claims to expand protections for gig and platform workers, many of the provisions are vague and do not guarantee clear benefits. Much of the responsibility is placed on state governments or on schemes yet to be established. Ambedkar believed that social security must be a firm legal commitment, not a policy possibility. The absence of guaranteed benefits goes against the certainty he demanded for worker protection.
A deeper issue lies in the economic philosophy driving the reforms. Ambedkar supported state intervention in the economy not to control industry, but to prevent exploitation and promote equal opportunity. He argued for state led development with clear labour safeguards. The BJP’s approach, however, privileges ease of doing business and investor confidence over worker protection. This represents a shift from a worker centric model to an employer centric model. Ambedkar would argue that economic growth without labour dignity creates inequality and weakens democracy.
Ambedkar’s critique would also extend to India’s expanding informal workforce. A majority of workers today lack formal contracts, social security, or stable income. The labour codes claim to address informal workers but in practice do not provide clear mechanisms for enforcement. Ambedkar introduced compulsory insurance schemes and minimum wage laws precisely because he believed that the state must protect those who fall outside the formal economy. The dilution of inspections through self certification and random checks reduces the state’s ability to safeguard these workers. Ambedkar would view this as a withdrawal of state responsibility at a time when workers need more protection, not less.
The weakening of accountability mechanisms is another problem. The labour codes replace mandatory inspections with a risk based system and allow for digital compliance instead of physical oversight. Ambedkar would argue that without strong inspection systems, labour laws become symbolic. He spent decades building the institutional framework for enforcement because he understood that rights on paper mean little without real monitoring. The shift toward employer driven compliance undermines this entire structure.
The BJP government often justifies these reforms by claiming that flexible labour laws will create more jobs. Ambedkar would question this assumption. He argued that real development comes from empowering workers, increasing productivity, and protecting their rights. Deregulation that favours only investors does not create a stable or skilled workforce. Development, in his view, must balance growth with justice. By weakening job security, social security, and collective bargaining, the labour codes may create short term flexibility but long term instability.
Ambedkar’s vision for labour was rooted in a clear moral position: every worker deserves dignity, stability, and protection. Labour rights are not obstacles to growth but foundations of a fair economy. The BJP’s labour reforms shift India away from this vision. They prioritize efficiency over equity, flexibility over security, and employer freedom over worker rights. Ambedkar would see this not as modernization but as a backward step in the struggle for economic democracy.
The contrast between Ambedkar’s labour centric policy framework and the BJP’s employer centric labour codes highlights a fundamental disagreement about the purpose of economic policy. Ambedkar believed that the state must act as a guardian of the vulnerable. The current reforms reduce that role significantly. In doing so, they weaken not only the rights of workers but the democratic principles that Ambedkar considered essential for India’s future.
The Rise of Corporate Communal Nationalism: What Ambedkar Warned the World About
by Kumar Gaurav
The political landscape of India today reveals a pattern that should concern democratic societies everywhere, not just those watching from within the country. A fusion of corporate power and majoritarian nationalism has taken root under the BJP government, creating a model of governance that blends economic concentration with cultural dominance. It is a model that resonates far beyond India’s borders. Similar patterns appear in countries where identity based politics rises simultaneously with the expanding reach of a small corporate elite.
More than seventy years ago, B. R. Ambedkar, one of India’s foremost political thinkers and the chief architect of its Constitution, warned about exactly this combination. He feared what he called “dual domination”: a political order where economic power concentrates in private hands while cultural or religious power concentrates in the majority community. In his view, this merger was not just dangerous. It was the fastest route to dismantling democratic equality.
The world is witnessing this dynamic take shape in India through two parallel developments: the growth of Hindu nationalist politics and the expanding influence of a handful of major conglomerates. When seen together, they create a model of corporate communal nationalism that Ambedkar would have identified instantly.
In recent years, the Indian economy has become heavily top loaded, with a small number of corporations receiving significant state support through policy direction, regulatory changes, and preferential access. This concentration of wealth does not occur in isolation. It moves in step with a political narrative that places Hindu identity at the center of national belonging. The state promotes cultural majoritarianism while simultaneously creating conditions favorable to specific corporate actors. It is precisely the merger Ambedkar cautioned against: the power of capital aligning with the power of majority sentiment.
From the perspective of Western readers, this trend might look familiar. It echoes how populist identity politics in the United States, parts of Europe, and South America has aligned with powerful economic interests. When identity becomes a political motivator and corporate influence shapes policy, democratic institutions weaken. What separates the Indian case is the scale. India is the world’s largest democracy, and the synthesis of corporate influence with religious nationalism offers a new model for how majoritarian politics can be maintained and expanded.
Ambedkar’s relevance to this moment becomes clear once one understands his intellectual project. He wanted to build a democratic society that protected individuals from every form of domination: political, social, and economic. He believed that democracy collapses not only when the state becomes authoritarian but also when private power becomes large enough to influence public life without accountability. He also believed that cultural majorities have a responsibility to restrain themselves, not to impose their identity through political force.
The present reality in India breaks from this logic. The political message of Hindu nationalism has created a climate where dissenting voices face pressure or prosecution, where minority communities live with uncertainty, and where national belonging is increasingly defined by cultural conformity rather than constitutional citizenship. At the same time, economic policy has prioritized deregulation and concentrated growth among the country’s largest business houses. When cultural nationalism aligns with a select group of corporate interests, it produces a system in which both wealth and identity become tools of political consolidation.
Ambedkar would call this a structural problem, not a temporary political trend. He wrote extensively about how hierarchical societies reproduce themselves when power rests in too few hands. In a country where religious identity has immense emotional force, he feared that unregulated capitalism could attach itself to majoritarian passions. This would create an order where the state serves the interests of the dominant group and its allied corporate actors, leaving minorities and workers without real protection.
For Western audiences observing this shift, the Indian case offers a window into a larger global question: what happens when economic oligarchy merges with cultural or religious nationalism? The answer matters because this combination can be more powerful than either element alone. Corporate power brings resources, media influence, and the ability to shape public perception. Cultural nationalism brings votes, emotional loyalty, and political legitimacy. Together, they can erode institutional checks, weaken civil liberties, and reshape the public sphere with remarkable speed.
Ambedkar’s writings remind us that democracy depends on both political equality and economic fairness. He believed that concentrated wealth could be as dangerous as concentrated political authority. A society where private capital grows unchecked, and where government policy amplifies the identity of the majority, edges toward a system that excludes those who fall outside its preferred categories. This is not just an Indian dilemma. It is a global warning.
Western democracies have their own versions of this problem. In the United States, political polarization often aligns with the economic interests of powerful industries. In Hungary and Poland, cultural nationalism merges with corporate aligned governance. In Brazil under Bolsonaro, identity driven politics paired with deregulation and privatization. India’s trajectory fits into this global pattern, but its scale and the centrality of religion make the stakes dramatically higher.
Ambedkar would argue that democracy cannot survive if economic and cultural power reinforce each other instead of balancing one another. He believed that the state must act as a counterweight, not an enabler. Today, however, the Indian state often acts as the bridge that connects the two: promoting Hindu majoritarianism on one side and encouraging corporate consolidation on the other.
The result is a form of governance that uses identity to mobilize the electorate and economic concentration to maintain influence. It is efficient, powerful, and difficult to challenge through ordinary democratic means. And it is precisely the model Ambedkar hoped India would never adopt.
The world should pay attention not because India is unique but because India is a preview. The merging of economic oligarchy with cultural nationalism is increasingly visible across democracies. Ambedkar’s warnings, though rooted in another century, speak urgently to this moment. He believed that democracy must be defended not only from authoritarian states but from alliances that make domination appear natural.
The rise of corporate communal nationalism in India is one of the clearest examples of that alliance today. It deserves global scrutiny, not only for what it reveals about India’s future but for what it signals about the challenges facing democracies everywhere.
The Rise of Corporate Communal Nationalism: A Structural Threat to India’s Democracy
by Kumar Gaurav
The growing fusion of corporate concentration and majoritarian cultural politics in India has created a model of governance that demands urgent public attention. This emerging formation best understood as corporate communal nationalism is reshaping institutions, public life, and the economic landscape in ways that carry deep consequences for India’s constitutional future.
At the heart of the concern is a clear pattern: as a handful of large conglomerates consolidate unprecedented control over core sectors of the economy, majoritarian nationalism simultaneously tightens its grip on public discourse, political messaging, and state institutions. These two forces do not rise independently. They reinforce each other, forming a system where political legitimacy is drawn from cultural majoritarianism and administrative influence is strengthened through corporate alignment.
The development has echoes of the warnings issued by Dr. B. R. Ambedkar, who repeatedly stressed that democracy collapses when the dominant social identity allies itself with unchecked economic power. The fear was simple: social hierarchy plus concentrated capital creates a political order resistant to accountability. Today’s political economy bears a strong resemblance to that warning.
Corporate Consolidation Meets Cultural Nationalism
India’s economic landscape has shifted dramatically over the last decade. Key sectors including telecom, airports, ports, infrastructure, digital services, resources, and media have tilted toward a narrow cluster of conglomerates with overlapping political proximity. Policy decisions in licensing, regulation, taxation, procurement, and privatisation increasingly favour the same players.
Alongside this, a majoritarian cultural project has taken center stage in national politics. Public debates, media narratives, educational content, and electoral campaigns reflect a consistently homogenised vision of national identity. Dissenting voices whether journalists, academics, activists, or citizens face surveillance, criminal cases, or media hostility.
These two shifts reinforce one another: • Corporate concentration shapes economic decision making and media influence. • Communal nationalism supplies political stability and public mobilisation.
The result is a governance model where economic and cultural power operate in sync.
Institutional Strain and Declining Autonomy
A central concern is the weakening of institutional independence. Several agencies including investigative bodies, regulatory commissions, public broadcasters, and oversight authorities show signs of political or corporate pressure. When institutions lose autonomy, they begin to reproduce the priorities of those who wield combined economic and cultural authority.
Media concentration deepens this problem. The acquisition of major networks by politically aligned business groups has significantly reduced the diversity of viewpoints reaching the public. Investigative journalism has declined sharply. Critical reporting on corporate alliances or communal politics is now rare. This creates an information environment where one narrative dominates and scrutiny becomes almost impossible.
Impact on Minorities Workers and Public Dissent
Corporate communal nationalism does not operate only at the top; it pushes consequences downward.
Minority communities experience discrimination not only as social hostility but also as reduced access to rights, opportunities, and institutional support. Public dissent becomes riskier when cultural majoritarianism casts disagreement as disloyalty. Labour rights are weakened by deregulation and pro employer reforms that mirror the interests of dominant corporate actors.
This dual structure makes certain groups economically vulnerable and politically voiceless the exact kind of domination Ambedkar warned against when he argued that democracy must protect the weakest, not empower the strongest.
Global Resonance and International Reflection
What is happening in India fits a wider global pattern. Democracies across the world including the United States, Brazil, Turkey, Russia, and parts of Europe have witnessed the convergence of cultural nationalism and economic oligarchy. India, however, presents a scale and intensity that make the trend particularly consequential.
The world’s largest democracy becoming a laboratory for corporate communal nationalism has implications far beyond its borders. It signals how democratic frameworks can erode without a formal breakdown quietly, structurally, and through alliances that appear stable on the surface but hollow out institutions underneath.
Why This Moment Matters
This development is not just another phase in political competition. It represents a deeper shift in how power operates and how legitimacy is manufactured. When electoral majorities, cultural dominance, and corporate resources fuse, it becomes difficult for democratic checks to function. Institutions become instruments rather than guardians. Public debate becomes performance rather than scrutiny.
India still carries democratic memory and constitutional strength, but the structural direction is clear. Reversing it will require public awareness, institutional courage, and a political culture that recognises equality not dominance as the foundation of national life.
The rise of corporate communal nationalism is one of the most significant political transformations of the present moment. It reshapes governance, restructures public life, and redraws the boundaries of citizenship. Understanding it is not optional; it is essential for anyone concerned with the future of India’s democracy and the broader global struggle against the merger of identity politics and economic power.