Tharoor Reflects on Emergency’s Brutality, Urges Nation to Remember

As India marked the 50th anniversary of the 1975 Emergency—one of the darkest chapters in its democratic history—senior Congress leader and author Shashi Tharoor offered a reflective, sobering account of the period’s “unspeakable cruelty” and the “deep and lasting impact” it left on millions of lives. Tharoor’s words, resonating with moral gravity and intellectual clarity, have reignited conversation around the trauma of that era, not only in political corridors but across generations of Indians still grappling with the weight of that memory.

A Nation Interrupted

Declared on June 25, 1975, by then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, the Emergency suspended civil liberties, censored the press, and led to the jailing of thousands of political opponents. Tharoor, known for his literary flair and command over history, described the Emergency as a “national trauma” that undermined the soul of the Republic. In his writings and public commentary marking the anniversary, he refrained from party lines, instead focusing on the human and institutional cost of those 21 months.

He wrote of how the Emergency tore apart families, silenced voices, and turned democratic institutions into hollow shells. “The cruelty,” he said, “was not only in the actions taken but in the deliberate erasure of dissent and dignity.” His reflections pointed toward the emotional, psychological, and generational consequences of a democracy in chains.

Beyond Partisanship

While Tharoor belongs to the Congress—the very party that imposed the Emergency—his analysis remained self-critical and historically responsible. “No party, however venerable, is above the judgment of history,” he wrote. Acknowledging the Congress’s role in that period, Tharoor has long maintained that leaders must confront the past with honesty, especially when it involves democratic backsliding.

In doing so, he carved out a moral position few Indian politicians from any party have dared to embrace—owning the uncomfortable truths of one’s political heritage without deflection. “The Emergency,” he said, “must serve as a warning to all political leaders—present and future—of what happens when power is placed above principle.”

The Human Toll

Tharoor emphasized the widespread suffering faced by ordinary citizens during the Emergency, highlighting forced sterilizations, arbitrary arrests, and brutal evictions. He noted that it wasn’t just political opponents who bore the brunt, but also slum dwellers, journalists, activists, and students.

His account recalled the stories of those who had no platforms to tell their pain—young men dragged from homes, entire communities bulldozed overnight in the name of ‘beautification,’ and families shattered by indefinite detentions without trial. “We lost more than rights—we lost years of faith in the promise of India,” he wrote.

For Tharoor, the Emergency was not merely a constitutional aberration but a rupture in the emotional contract between the state and its people. This trauma, he argued, still reverberates through the institutions it weakened and the public trust it broke.

Media in Chains

One of the sharpest observations in Tharoor’s piece is on the role of the media—or the absence of it—during the Emergency. He described how editors, instead of resisting, “crawled when asked to bend,” a phrase famously used to criticize the press’s capitulation during that time.

Tharoor connected this to a broader theme—the fragility of media freedom. He warned that while the Emergency was overt, today’s attempts at suppressing journalism often come in subtler forms: corporate intimidation, algorithmic control, or narrative management. The lesson from 1975, he implied, is that freedom of the press cannot be taken for granted even in peacetime.

Institutions on Pause

Tharoor didn’t shy away from addressing how other pillars of democracy also failed the people during the Emergency. Parliament became a rubber stamp, the judiciary abdicated its responsibility in cases like ADM Jabalpur vs Shivkant Shukla, and bureaucracy was weaponized for political ends. “When institutions become extensions of executive will,” he wrote, “they cease to be democratic safeguards.”

He noted the irony that laws meant to protect citizens were twisted to justify surveillance and state excess. For Tharoor, this legal manipulation serves as a reminder that democracy is not merely about voting—it’s about ensuring that institutions remain resilient, independent, and people-centric.

A Memory Fading?

A striking concern raised in Tharoor’s reflections is that the Emergency is becoming a forgotten chapter for younger Indians. With textbooks often sanitizing the episode or skipping its most grotesque details, he feared that collective amnesia could lead to dangerous complacency.

He urged that the Emergency must be remembered not out of vengeance, but vigilance. “If we fail to teach the next generation the cost of freedom,” he warned, “we risk repeating the past in new forms.”

To that end, Tharoor called for deeper engagement with this history—not just through official statements or symbolic remembrances, but through education, literature, and cultural introspection. The Emergency, he insisted, should serve as a civic lesson in the fragility of liberty.

Warning for Today

Tharoor’s reflections, while rooted in history, also carried unmistakable warnings for the present. Without naming current political players, he noted the rise of authoritarian tendencies across the globe, including in India. The dangers of unchecked executive power, manipulated narratives, and populist intolerance, he suggested, are not just threats from the past but urgent realities today.

He described the Emergency as a time when “fear became governance,” and cautioned that a democracy can slide toward despotism not only through declaration but through incremental erosion. “When citizens begin to accept surveillance, censorship, or cruelty as normal, the soul of democracy begins to dim.”

Personal Reflections

Though he was not imprisoned during the Emergency, Tharoor’s writings display a deep empathy for those who were. His narrative voice carries the weight of both historian and humanist. Having grown up in that era, he bore witness to the fear that hung in the air, the silence on college campuses, the anxiety among families.

He credited those who resisted—leaders like Jayaprakash Narayan, Morarji Desai, George Fernandes, and countless unnamed citizens—for showing that truth can outlast tyranny. Their courage, he said, is what eventually restored the Republic.

A Republic Worth Fighting For

Shashi Tharoor’s remembrance of the Emergency is not an act of political point-scoring but a call to moral clarity. He framed it as a test of India’s democratic conscience: whether we have learned from our worst mistakes or merely buried them.

He concluded his reflection by reiterating the need for a strong, pluralistic, liberal democracy—one where dissent is cherished, institutions are respected, and citizens are vigilant. “The Emergency,” he wrote, “was a wound. Remembering it is the beginning of healing—and of safeguarding the future.”

As India reflects on the half-century mark since that dark chapter, Tharoor’s words serve as both a eulogy and a warning. In remembering the cruelty of the Emergency, he asks a deeper question: Will we be courageous enough to protect our freedoms before we are forced to remember them once again, too late?