‘SIR inverts the constitutional promise of citizenship’: Yamini Aiyar

The Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls is an extremely insidious project that inverts the foundational constitutional promise of citizenship by shifting the burden of proof entirely onto ordinary voters, opines Yamini Aiyar, a visiting professor at Brown University. As widespread public protests erupt across the country against alleged voter deletions and institutional erosion, fundamental questions arise regarding executive dominance, democratic accountability, and the political reawakening of India's Gen Z.

The Federal spoke to Aiyar to analyse the nationwide mobilisation against the Special Intensive Revision (SIR), the crisis facing autonomous institutions, and the evolving dynamics of Indian democracy.

Edited excerpts:

In a recent social media post, you wrote that nationwide protests over the past weeks are a vivid display of how democracy unfolds in times of democratic erosion. Do you see this as a rejuvenated Indian citizenry taking to the streets with specific demands, unconcerned with which political or civil society banner leads them?

I describe this moment as both thrilling and sobering. Looking at the thrilling aspect first, there is an extraordinary outpouring of public energy in what has become a season of protest.

This outpouring was catalysed back in July by the Cockroach Janta Party's (CJP) mobilisation. Even then, the call for protest and the specific issues that brought people onto the streets were quite diffuse. The call originated from the CJP, but a wide range of actors joined in, including Sonam Wangchuk on his hunger fast, Neha Bora and her colleagues from AISA on their fast, and various civil society organisations. Soon, several opposition political parties also made their way to the protest site.

Also read: SIR voter deletions: Can INDIA Bloc turn discontent into a movement?

After Sonam Wangchuk was picked up in the early hours of the morning in a white shroud and effectively kidnapped by the government, an unprecedented outpouring of people unfolded at Jantar Mantar from July 19 to July 25. Citizens were least concerned about whose banner they were standing behind. While CJP leaders like Abhijeet Dipke, Saurabh Das, and Ashutosh Ranka were visible faces who catalysed this energy, the Gen Z participants were there not in response to a single leader, but in response to the moment itself. They embraced disparaging remarks as satire and deployed that satire to express themselves.

Since the closure of that protest, regular demonstrations have broken out across the country. It is as though a pressure valve broke. People have taken to the streets over diverse issues, from exam leaks in Pune to women's safety in Delhi and Satya Niketan. The grammar of movement brought into the public sphere by the CJP has now coalesced into nationwide protests against the SIR.

For the ordinary citizen, it matters little whether the organiser is AISA, the Cockroach Janta Party, civil society groups, or concerned citizens' forums. People are collectively outraged, driven by a deep sense of discontent. These different actors serve as catalysts to mobilise people onto the streets. In many ways, this multiplicity is advantageous. Movements naturally involve multiple leaders, ideologies, and egos, but what truly matters is that this broad ecosystem brings together a range of frustrations centred on protecting the fundamental, foundational right to vote.

For the past 12 years, India's youth and students seemed largely depoliticised, barring isolated campus demonstrations. Where has this sudden political re-awakening among Gen Z come from, shifting from issues like NEET exams to challenging the Election Commission?

The NEET protest created a space that young people carved out on their own accord, on their own terms, and within their own grammar of communication — without judgment. It created a clear connection in young minds that the crisis around NEET was not merely a narrow policy glitch, but was embedded in a much larger context of democratic failure.

Spending time at the protests in July, it struck me that students were not using restricted policy language to demand a minister's resignation. Their language was direct: "My examination was leaked, this is wrong, and I want you to be accountable." Students and youth leaders intuitively understood that demanding accountability from leadership is not restricted to one isolated issue, but is rooted in a fundamental understanding of democracy. Everyone was speaking a deeply democratic, practical language. The demand for accountability on NEET and exam leaks was secondary to the greater demand for an accountable government.

This aligned with a deep sense of frustration that had built up over a long time due to state inaction. That discontent reached a tipping point when the 2024 general election results coincided with the NEET results, followed days later by the exam's cancellation without any real accountability. That lived experience of total inaction and absence of accountability challenged the democratic legitimacy of the ruling government, creating a space for young people to ask foundational democratic questions. State repression and police brutality further clarified for them that defending democracy is the core foundation upon which everything else rests.

Furthermore, the ruling party has consistently sought its legitimacy through electoral results, justifying its coercion and political narrative based on popular consent. The moment a shadow of doubt or cloud falls over the fairness of the electoral process itself, that primary defense of democratic legitimacy crumbles, opening up space for citizens to actively question everything the government does.

With key state assembly elections approaching in Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Punjab, and Manipur, will economic distress, such as inflation, unemployment, and economic decline, take centre stage over political protests and state repression?

Reflecting on the 2024 general election in Uttar Pradesh provides a precursor to current dynamics. In the run-up to 2024, the narrative suggested a victory was foregone — the Ram Temple was constructed, opposition leaders were jailed, and a massive majority seemed guaranteed.

However, once campaigning began, ground realities told a different story. Travelling through Eastern Uttar Pradesh, it was clear that everyday economic distress was paramount in voters' minds. People noted that while the temple was built, their daily lives remained severely strained by unemployment (berozgari) and inflation (mahangai).

Crucially, economic distress merged with concerns over democratic rights and the Constitution. Rumours of potential constitutional changes raised genuine fears that affirmative action and reservation rights would be eroded. Reservations are directly tied to citizen dignity, social mobility, and material access to jobs.

Economic hardship, combined with government indifference, leads directly to frustration with authoritarian governance. When voters express weariness with communal narratives, it reflects a practical demand: stop polarisation and fix daily living conditions.

The ruling party's economic coalition rested on two pillars: welfare beneficiaries (labhartis) at the bottom through cash transfers and grain, and big capital at the top. Today, deep fissures at the bottom of this economic structure are spilling over, directly challenging the government's anti-democratic posture.

The government defends the Special Intensive Revision by framing it as a constitutional duty to remove non-citizens and alleged infiltrators. How do you respond to this justification?

The Special Intensive Revision (SIR) is one of the most insidious projects in terms of how it has been deployed as a political tool.

Nobody argues against having clean electoral rolls or removing deceased, duplicate, or shifted voters. Historically, India took an inclusive approach where the burden rested on the state to enrol citizens, with the presumption that anyone on the voter list was a citizen unless proven otherwise.

The SIR inverts this constitutional promise. It forces individual citizens to produce extensive documentation, which is then verified through opaque, secret algorithms to determine whether a voter remains verified, gets deleted, or is categorised as "doubtful."

Also read: From NEET to SIR: Modi faces his toughest street test yet

This burden falls disproportionately on marginalised groups — the poor, Dalits, women, rural residents, and above all, Muslims. For a Muslim voter, being removed from the roll or tagged as "doubtful" instantly slides into political rhetoric labelling them as an "infiltrator" or outsider. Beyond losing voting rights, they face targeted social disenfranchisement.

While cleansing voter lists is necessary, the current SIR process, marked by unreasonable document demands, extreme haste, and institutional opacity, raises fundamental doubts about its true intent, turning an administrative routine into a tool for political polarisation.