A decade of silence: How the opposition lost India’s human rights fight

By Vikas Gupta 

Democracy thrives on equilibrium. Governments pursue their ideological agendas and campaign promises, while opposition parties scrutinize policy choices, amplify neglected issues and highlight failures. This competition revolves around material benefits and everyday civic concerns, with every party ultimately judged on credibility and delivery. Yet one responsibility falls uniquely to the opposition: exposing human rights violations and defending civil liberties. Governments rarely acknowledge such failures, and the harm is often borne by small or marginalised populations who can be ignored with little electoral consequence. For any opposition, however, a well-articulated defence of rights can produce significant political dividends.

In India, the opposition has largely failed at this essential task.

For over eleven years, the country has been ruled by a single party under an unusually dominant leader—a phenomenon last witnessed more than six decades ago, when modern human rights frameworks were still evolving. Time matters in judging governance. Assessing a single-term government on rights violations is complicated by inherited conditions and the lag before reforms take effect. Only rare catastrophes—such as the Emergency of 1975—justify immediate political repudiation. 

A decade, however, is long enough to draw reasonable conclusions. Since 2014, opposition parties have seldom raised civil liberties and human rights issues effectively. They have been unable to hold the government to account, let alone force course correction. Even when they do attempt it, their efforts seldom register beyond partisan circles.

Two major confrontations—the protests against the agricultural reform laws and the controversy over the National Register of Citizens—demonstrated these shortcomings. Despite mass mobilisation, civil society support and global attention, the opposition extracted little political advantage. The government had campaigned on these measures, and voters had endorsed them. 

Opposition parties were left objecting to execution and insensitivity rather than challenging the core policy mandate. Their advocacy was further weakened by a narrow framing of rights concerns. By foregrounding issues affecting Muslims—both major and minor—as their primary lens, they inadvertently ceded broader legitimacy. Even genuine violations were dismissed as sectional or sectarian. When everything that affects one group becomes a crisis, nothing appears universally urgent.

This approach has collided with electoral arithmetic. India’s largest minority has voted overwhelmingly against the ruling party, leaving it with little bargaining power. What should have been constitutional rights claims came to be seen as predictable partisan protest, further eroding impact.

Over this period, the opposition’s credibility has collapsed for two reasons. First, voters believe the opposition cannot prosecute everyday concerns—such as jobs, inflation and public services—to a conclusion. Issues are raised rhetorically, then abandoned. Second, there is a growing perception that when cornered, opposition parties rely on exaggeration or misinformation. Campaigns on corruption, threats to the Constitution or other sporadic controversies fade quickly, weakened by poor research and muddled communication.

This failure has produced a striking paradox. The ruling party and the prime minister remain widely popular deep into a third consecutive term, winning or retaining state after state. In a chaotic democracy, amplified by social media churn, even minor governance lapses would normally accumulate political cost. 

The wear and tear of eleven years would typically erode support. Yet the government retains public confidence—if anything, its stature has grown—despite limited accountability on rights-related concerns. For this, India’s opposition deserves a measure of unintended credit.

Consider the record: misuse of national security and anti-terror laws to stifle dissent, including in the Bhima Koregaon and G.N. Saibaba cases; punitive demolitions disproportionately affecting minorities; the widening use of UAPA; restrictions on civil society organisations; a shrinking space for independent intellectual and academic life; worsening press freedom indicators; and a sustained campaign of legal and administrative pressure against political rivals. On each, the opposition has either failed to mount sustained scrutiny or lost public attention amid louder but less credible messaging.

The consequences extend beyond the fortunes of any party. When institutional opposition falls silent or is ignored, the burden shifts to scattered activists, overburdened courts and an increasingly polarised or sensationalist media. None of these actors can substitute for political accountability. In the long run, democratic systems degrade when governments are not confronted with constitutional questions and rights-based critiques from across the political aisle.

The failure of India’s opposition is therefore not merely political—it is structural and civic. A democracy cannot rely solely on civil society to guard against executive overreach. If opposition parties abandon the defence of civil liberties, citizens lose their primary constitutional safeguard. Whatever the electoral outcomes, the absence of a credible rights-based opposition weakens democracy itself.

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*The author is a disabled entrepreneur who is representing himself in a landmark writ petition before the Delhi High Court. His case highlights serious abuse and neglect of disabled persons by multiple state agencies — including Delhi Police, Tihar Jail and key central ministries. The petition, one of India’s largest disability rights cases to date, seeks accountability, compensation and systemic reform to uphold human dignity in India’s law enforcement and justice systems. X: @guptavrv