A toolkit for private monopoly? When democracy becomes a colonial weapon

By Vidya Bhushan Rawat* 

Russian President Vladimir Putin’s annual question-and-answer press conference remains an extraordinary political spectacle. Few world leaders today appear willing—or able—to subject themselves to such a prolonged and wide-ranging public interrogation. Held every year ahead of Christmas, the event brings together ordinary Russian citizens and international media in Moscow. It typically runs for over four hours. According to reports, nearly five million questions were submitted to the president’s office this year, of which around 80 were selected, alongside live questions from journalists. Notably, Putin answers these questions without visible reliance on advisers, dealing with them directly.

Putin has long appeared comfortable engaging with the media, articulating his narrative with confidence. In this sense, he evokes memories of leaders such as Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, and even Nelson Mandela—figures often labelled authoritarian or despotic by their critics but undeniably powerful communicators. Leaders like Muammar Gaddafi and Saddam Hussein were also formidable orators. What is striking is that leaders of so-called democratic nations today rarely address their citizens in such detail or for such duration. Hugo Chávez, for instance, spoke with conviction and clarity but was deeply reviled in the Western world.

There is no denying that individual liberty and institutional freedoms are, in many ways, better articulated and protected in Western societies. Europe’s secular and liberal traditions remain worthy of admiration. However, the current crisis lies in the policies of political leadership that increasingly push war agendas and align unquestioningly with American power. This subservience raises questions about Europe’s real independence, especially for nations that once dominated the world, including the United States itself. Today, many appear reduced to vassal states, afflicted by an entrenched Russophobia.

In India, much of the mainstream media narrative mirrors Western media framing, often recycling half-baked stories about Russia, China, or Latin America. Thinkers like Noam Chomsky, Edward Said, or Jeffrey Sachs are no longer given serious attention; instead, they are casually dismissed as ideological sympathisers. While it is understandable for Western corporate media to shape narratives aligned with their interests, it is more troubling to see India’s self-proclaimed secular and liberal media adopting the same line without scrutiny.

Recently, during an interview on The Wire, terms such as “despot” and “monster” were used to describe President Putin—despite Russia’s long-standing strategic support for India. Commentators such as Tavleen Singh or Shekhar Gupta, once influential, continue to occupy disproportionate space in mainstream discourse, presenting the Western world as the ultimate champion of freedom and liberty. Reality, however, is far more complex.

The governance models of Russia, China, Vietnam, Cuba, or Venezuela are undeniably different from India’s. That difference must be acknowledged without moral posturing. Democracy cannot be reduced to electoral rituals while society remains deeply hierarchical and exclusionary. What meaning does democracy have when individuals cannot freely choose whom to marry, what to eat, or even speak openly without fear? Lynching, religious fanaticism, corporate capture of institutions, erosion of welfare, digital censorship, and the silencing of dissent now coexist comfortably within so-called democratic systems.

Public debate increasingly excludes ordinary people and their material rights. Even public intellectuals hesitate to speak about constitutional entitlements, aware that such advocacy can invite incarceration without judicial relief. In this ecosystem, the executive, legislature, judiciary, and media often function in convergence, portraying communities demanding their share of resources as threats. By contrast, the Russian state continues to provide basic guarantees—healthcare, housing, education—suggesting a different conception of state responsibility.

Democracy is often celebrated for its cultural and intellectual vibrancy, but it is worth asking what India possesses that Russia or China does not. Russian literature, particularly from the Soviet era, produced some of the finest works in world history. Do people in Russia, China, or Venezuela lack dignity, culture, or aspiration? Are they defined by hunger, mob violence, or social chaos? Russia remains a technological powerhouse, particularly in space and nuclear science, while China’s economic growth is undeniable.

Yet Indian media frequently portrays Russia as desperate for India’s support, reinforcing a Western narrative aimed at diminishing Russian stature. Even small European nations openly call for Russia’s dismemberment—an approach unlikely to be tolerated if smaller neighbours challenged India or the United States in similar fashion. No major power would accept its neighbourhood being turned into a military or strategic outpost of a hostile alliance.

This is not an argument against democracy itself. Rather, it is a plea to stop judging societies solely through the prism of Western political models. Russia and China have evolved systems that reflect their histories and shield them from external domination. The West, after all, has never hesitated to support dictators—from General Zia-ul-Haq to numerous others—when it suited its interests.

Journalists nurtured through American fellowships or institutional patronage rarely depart from this consensus. They may speak eloquently about Dalits, tribals, minorities, or civil liberties, but Russia remains a red line. Even the most liberal voices turn intolerant when confronted with perspectives that challenge Western orthodoxy.

The world does not need war; it needs peace. But peace is impossible if the strategic goal of powerful interests remains the dismantling of rival states. Old colonial powers remain uncomfortable with strong, independent nations and continue to destabilise regions under the guise of human rights and democracy, including in South Asia’s neighbourhood.

When leaders of the world’s largest democracy cannot face unscripted questions from independent journalists, the contrast becomes even starker. Listening to Putin’s responses, one may disagree with him, but one cannot deny the seriousness with which governance, population decline, scientific rationality, and social cohesion are addressed. Promoting family values, discouraging superstition, and defending rational inquiry need not contradict human rights.

Across Latin America and elsewhere, there is a visible culture of intellectual engagement—whether in Venezuela’s public dissemination of Che Guevara’s writings or the presence of revolutionary thinkers in the streets of Bogotá. Figures like Fidel Castro and Che Guevara were dismissed as despots, yet they were deeply read and intellectually formidable.

The deeper problem with contemporary capitalist liberalism lies in its effort to hollow out the state in favour of private monopolies. Wars and interventions are justified not for freedom but for protecting corporate interests, as seen repeatedly in resource-rich countries.

Indian liberal spaces must introspect before embracing anyone who merely criticises the present government as a champion of civil liberties. Elevating habitual propagandists while avoiding serious challenges to dominant narratives weakens, rather than strengthens, democratic discourse. If liberalism in India is to mean anything, it must reclaim intellectual honesty, independence, and a commitment to people over power.

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*Human rights defender