Chethan Prabhakar
chetanprabhakarassociates@gmail.com
On January 26, India does not merely commemorate a date. It renews a responsibility. The Constitution of India, which came into force on this day in 1950, was never meant to be a ceremonial document-quoted in speeches, framed on walls, and ignored in practice. It was designed as a living framework of power and restraint, a moral compass for a fractured society, and a daily instruction manual for citizenship.
India did not begin its constitutional journey as a unified people. It emerged from centuries of invasions, empires, princely states, colonial exploitation, and cultural fragmentation. There was no single language, no single ethnicity, no single faith to bind it. What united Indians was not sameness, but suffering-and the will to govern themselves.
The framers of Indian constitution understood this. That is why they rejected the idea of India as a loose confederation. They created a Union-indestructible, yet flexible. States could be reorganized, borders redrawn, names changed-but the republic itself would remain intact. Unity, however, was not to be enforced by fear. It was to be protected by rights.
Fundamental Rights were not ornamental clauses. They were shields against the State. In a land where authority had long gone unquestioned, this was revolutionary. The Constitution reversed history: power would no longer descend as charity; it would rise as entitlement. Citizens would not beg for dignity-they would demand it.
Justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity were not slogans. They were instructions. Justice was to be social and economic, not merely legal. Liberty was to include thought, expression, belief, and movement. Equality was to confront centuries of hierarchy. Fraternity was to transform diversity from a weakness into a strength.
But the framers issued a warning: democracy is not self-sustaining.
A Constitution can design institutions, but it cannot guarantee conscience. Courts, legislatures, and commissions may form the architecture of democracy, but citizens are its electricity. When people disengage, democracy does not collapse-it decays. Quietly. Legally. Gradually.
That is why civic activism is not optional in a republic-it is essential.
Voting once every five years is not participation. Democracy is not a spectator sport. It demands constant vigilance: questioning power, monitoring institutions, defending rights, and refusing to normalize injustice. Without this, even the best Constitution becomes hollow.
Judicial review was placed at the heart of India’s constitutional design for this very reason. In a true federation, it is not the legislature that has the final word on rights-it is the judiciary. Courts were not meant to be polite. They were meant to be uncomfortable. They were meant to restrain majorities, confront executives, and protect the powerless.
History has already shown why this matters.
During the Emergency of 1975, civil liberties were suspended, dissent was crushed, and censorship became law. It exposed an uncomfortable truth: elected governments can also become instruments of injustice. It was not elections that saved democracy-it was institutions, lawyers, journalists, and citizens who resisted.
That lesson remains urgent.
Across the world, democracies are being weakened not by coups, but by compliance. Not by tanks, but by technicalities. Laws are rewritten to concentrate power. Surveillance expands quietly. Protest is delegitimized. Critics are labelled enemies. And citizens are told this is normal.
It is not.
A constitutional democracy is not just about who rules-it is about how power is restrained. It is about what rulers cannot do. It is about what citizens can challenge. Without constant civic pressure, accountability collapses. Corruption flourishes. Arbitrariness becomes routine.
India’s federal structure reinforces this principle. The country is not a monolith-it is a mosaic. From deserts to deltas, from mountains to mangroves, from hundreds of languages to thousands of traditions, India is united not by uniformity, but by consent.
The integration of the princely states was not merely territorial-it was moral. It replaced dynastic loyalty with citizenship. It replaced inherited authority with legal equality. It replaced obedience with rights. That transformation is not permanent. It must be defended daily.
This is where civic activism becomes constitutional duty.
Activism does not mean chaos. It means participation. It means informed debate. It means filing RTIs. It means questioning budgets. It means tracking policies. It means peaceful protest. It means legal challenge. It means journalism that investigates, not flatters. It means citizens who refuse to be passive.
Accountability is not a gift from governments. It is extracted by citizens.
A republic does not survive on patriotism alone. Flags and anthems do not protect liberty. Only an alert, educated, and engaged public does. When people stop asking questions, power stops answering them.
Republic Day, therefore, should not be reduced to parades and platitudes. It should be a day of civic introspection.
Are our institutions independent-or merely influential? Are our laws protective-or merely punitive? Are our courts accessible-or merely symbolic? Are our citizens informed-or merely outraged?
A republic is sustained not by emotion, but by constitutional morality-the belief that power must answer to principle, not popularity. The Constitution does not promise perfection. It promises process. It promises that injustice can be challenged. That authority can be questioned. That dissent is not betrayal. That minorities are not expendable. That dignity is not conditional.
But none of this is automatic.
Every right survives only if exercised. Every freedom survives only if defended. Every institution survives only if scrutinized.
Silence is not neutrality. It is permission.
Every generation must re-earn its republic.
Not through slogans, but through scrutiny. Not through obedience, but through participation. Not through silence, but through courage.
On this Republic Day, the most patriotic act is not celebration-it is vigilance. It is remembering that the Constitution is not a relic of the past. It is a challenge to the present.
And its greatest test is not whether it exists-but whether we actively protect it.
(The author is an Advocate)
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