The ruling class of the digital space — Gen Z — has once again asserted its dominance. A stray and isolated remark from the Chief Justice of India did not merely invite criticism; it sparked satire, mobilisation, and the emergence of an e-political movement called the Cockroach Janta Party. With its own social media ecosystem, dedicated website, and the slogan ‘Voice of the Unemployed and Lazy’, the movement rapidly occupied digital attention and public discourse. What began as digital parody soon evolved into a disruptive political force, compelling the Union Government to unleash its executive machinery to restrain, censor, and contain its expanding influence by withholding the social media handle of the movement.
The question now arises: how will the judiciary respond to unconstitutional executive action unleashed against a movement that itself originated from a statement made by the Chief Justice of India? Will it rise above institutional prejudice and uphold constitutional values, or will it attempt to erase the traces of the movement alongside the executive to preserve its own institutional pride? Its response would carry historic significance. The larger constitutional question, therefore, is whether personal offence and institutional discomfort can ever be permitted to stand above fundamental rights and constitutional freedoms.
It is an undeniable fundamental right of every citizen to criticise all organs and branches of government in a democratic manner. Democracy does not merely permit praise; it survives through criticism, dissent, and public scrutiny. The democratic method of expression includes every legitimate form of speech and communication chosen by citizens. The right to criticise and the freedom to express oneself in a manner of one’s choice form an integral part of the fundamental rights guaranteed under the Constitution of India.
Political satire is older than democracy
Political satire and humorous criticism are not alien to Indian society; they are deeply embedded within its literary, cultural, and philosophical history. The right of citizens and subjects to criticise authority can be traced even to religious mythology and tradition through the Vidushaka (clown) or characters such as Narada, Tenali Rama, and Birbal, who used wit, provocation, and ridicule to speak truth to power.
A similar principle that existed during the British Crown era came to be described in English political thought as the ‘jester’s privilege’ — the tolerated right to mock authority in order to expose truth.
It may not be an exaggeration to state that a government that refuses to tolerate criticism slowly drifts towards authoritarianism. Democratic expression, therefore, necessarily includes art in all its forms — including satire, parody, mockery, caricature, and comedy.
Fundamental rights vs executive rules
The constitutional guarantee of free speech under Article 19 necessarily protects the democratic culture of political satire. In Tamil Nadu, the renowned Tamil political magazine Thuglak became historically significant because of its sharp political satire and relentless criticism of successive Dravidian governments. Democracies do not weaken because citizens ridicule power; they weaken when power loses the capacity to tolerate ridicule.
The Information Technology (Intermediary Guidelines and Digital Media Ethics Code) Rules, 2021, framed under Sections 69A, 79, and 87 of the Information Technology Act, 2000, confer extensive powers upon the executive wing of the Union government to direct intermediaries and social media platforms to remove, block, or disable access to online content. These powers permit executive authorities to interfere with digital speech and expression, often without prior judicial sanction and, in several circumstances, without an effective opportunity of hearing to the author of the impugned content.
The constitutional validity of the IT Rules, 2021 has already been challenged before the Supreme Court of India and various High Courts across the country on grounds including excessive delegation of power, chilling effect on free speech, procedural arbitrariness, and violation of Articles 14, 19, and 21 of the Constitution. The challenges have remained pending for adjudication for several years, raising continuing constitutional concerns regarding unchecked executive control over digital speech.
Critics of the Rules have consistently argued that they enable the executive to function simultaneously as complainant, adjudicator, and censor in matters involving online political speech and criticism. While issues genuinely concerning national security, sovereignty, or public order undoubtedly stand on a different constitutional footing, political criticism, parody, caricature, satire, and comedic expression cannot be reduced to casualties of executive discretion merely because they wound institutional pride or embarrass those in authority.
As always, much grateful, mi’lord
Indian State and non-State actors alike are increasingly becoming known for their fragile intolerance towards stand-up comedy, articles, cartoons, and other forms of political satire.
The misuse of State power to curtail constitutional freedoms has always been constitutionally challenged. Yet, the larger constitutional moment lies elsewhere. An entire digital generation now looks towards the Indian judiciary with expectation and constitutional hope — believing that it will uphold fundamental rights even when the digital parody, criticism, or ridicule originates from within the institutional sphere itself. As always, the final refuge of fundamental rights ultimately rests before the constitutional courts themselves.
The use of State power or non-State violence to suppress an artist’s right to criticise the government through any form of expression has repeatedly been confronted and constitutionally restrained by the courts. Time and again, constitutional courts have placed fundamental rights above public sentiment, collective prejudice, moral outrage, and the fragile pride of communities and institutions. Cases involving Perumal Murugan, Kunal Kamra, and MF Husain stand as powerful reminders of moments where constitutional morality prevailed over organised social, political, and religious outrage.
Several films that were censored, mutilated, or effectively buried through excessive intervention by the censoring machinery were ultimately rescued through judicial intervention. Films such as Manushi became examples of courts stepping in to preserve artistic freedom against institutional overreach.
The present constitutional moment, however, stands on a different footing. Here, a statement originating from the head of an institution itself has contributed to the emergence of digital parody and political ridicule. The issue therefore goes beyond the mere protection of free speech or political criticism. It now tests whether the Indian judiciary, as an institution, can rise above its own institutional pride and authority to uphold constitutional morality and the fundamental right to dissent.
To conclude, taking inspiration from world cinema, I ask all politicians, centres of power, and executive authorities — why so serious, after all? Are we not your sons and daughters? Are you not ultimately working for us? Governments may remove posts and silence voices, but like cockroaches, dissent and political humour always survive extermination.
Subash Mohan is an activist and an advocate practising in the Madras High Court.
Views expressed are the author’s own.