The strength of any democracy lies not in how it rewards conformity but in how it treats dissent. A democracy worth its name must be able to absorb criticism, withstand scrutiny, and allow its representatives to challenge authority without fear of reprisal. When that space begins to shrink, the system itself starts gasping for breath.
The recent detention of Mehraj Malik, the Aam Aadmi Party’s lone elected representative from Doda district in Jammu and Kashmir, under the Public Safety Act (PSA), is a disturbing example. This is not just about one man’s fate—it is about the integrity of democratic representation, the rights of constituents, and the very meaning of political participation in Jammu and Kashmir today.
The PSA is a preventive detention law introduced in 1978, originally meant to combat timber smuggling and later used against activities threatening “security of the state.” Under it, a person can be jailed without trial for up to two years. Rights activists have long criticized it as draconian because it bypasses ordinary judicial safeguards. Successive governments have faced scrutiny for its misuse, particularly in Kashmir, where it has often been invoked against political opponents, activists, and even teenagers.
To apply this extraordinary law against an elected representative for alleged misconduct—verbal abuse in this case—raises serious concerns. Misbehavior by a public official should certainly invite accountability. There are established legal and institutional mechanisms for that: investigations, disciplinary hearings, censure, or removal from office. But preventive detention is not accountability—it is suppression, pure and simple.
Malik is not merely an individual; he is the chosen voice of hundreds who voted for him. By jailing him under a law meant for hardened threats, the administration effectively tells his constituents: your vote, your voice, your concerns—none of it matters. This sends a chilling message to all communities: representation itself can be criminalized if it does not align with authority.
This is dangerous. In a democracy, elected representatives—even the most unpopular ones—are essential because they channel grievances that might otherwise erupt outside the system. Silencing them doesn’t end dissent; it pushes it underground, where it becomes more volatile.
Unfortunately, Malik’s detention is not an isolated incident. Over the years, journalists, students, and activists in J&K have been detained under similar laws for questioning official narratives. Across India too, we see worrying signs of governments—state and central—preferring to discipline dissent rather than engage with it. From sedition charges to anti-terror laws, the trend is clear: laws meant for extraordinary threats are increasingly deployed against ordinary criticism.
When opposition is branded as subversion, when criticism is punished as disorder, institutions begin to hollow out. What remains is a shell of democracy without its spirit.
Jammu and Kashmir is still struggling with trust deficits after years of political upheaval. Citizens expect their representatives to raise uncomfortable questions—about flood relief, healthcare, education, or administrative lapses. When those voices are muzzled, people lose faith in the system itself. Alienation deepens, and with it, the risk of instability.
True governance is not built on fear. It is built on listening—even when the words sting. A confident democracy strengthens itself by engaging with its critics, not silencing them.
Supporting Malik does not mean endorsing every word or action of his. It means standing for a principle larger than any one person: that dissent, debate, and disagreement are not threats to democracy—they are its lifeblood.
If PSA is normalized as a tool against political representatives, then no opposition leader, no activist, no student is safe. Today it is Malik; tomorrow it could be anyone who dares to speak.
The irony is striking. By seeking to discipline one elected official, the administration risks alienating an entire community. By crushing one, it threatens all.
Malik’s detention must not be remembered as just another episode in the long history of Kashmir’s political struggles. It should be seen as a turning point—a test of whether India’s democracy can still uphold the rights of its citizens to representation, accountability, and fearless speech.
Democracy is not a certificate handed down by the state. It is a living struggle, renewed every day by our willingness to protect dissent. To crush one voice is to silence many. The choice before us is stark: will fear govern, or will freedom endure?
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