We have heard the story of how Mahatma Gandhi fought the
British using non-violence. I am glad to have witnessed an abbreviated and Instagrammable
version of it in my lifetime. By a bunch of youngsters who apparently had
nothing better to do (allegedly, because their exam papers were leaked) armed
with smartphones, memes, reels, sarcastic placards, satire, dark humour, and pop-culture
references.
Gandhi had the spinning wheel. Gen Z has Canva.
Gandhi had slogans. Gen Z has Instagram.
Gandhi gave speeches. Gen Z made memes.
Gandhi fasted. Gen Z fasted and took selfies about it.
And while Gandhi walked to Dandi, Gen Z gathered at Jantar Mantar. Less distance, less blisters. Very efficient.
A social media user summed it up: “Instagram open karte
hi Jantar Mantar pahunch jaata hun.”
Thank you, Abhijeet Dipke, Saurav Das and Ashutosh Ranka.
And thank you, CJI Surya Kant, who in my opinion, is the co-founder of the
Cockroach Janta Party. Nobody launches a movement faster than a judge with a
bad metaphor and a live mic. On May 15, the CJI's remark equating unemployed youngsters
to cockroaches went viral. While he later clarified that he was misquoted, that
was like sending “that's not what I meant” in a WhatsApp group after everyone
has already screenshotted your message.
Within days, the insult had been reclaimed. The cockroach
became a symbol of resilience: difficult to kill, impossible to ignore, and
somehow capable of surviving almost anything, including Delhi summer and Delhi air.
On May 16, Dipke posted on X: “What if all
cockroaches came together?” Well. They did. And the CJP was born. When CJP was
launched, its eligibility criteria sounded like the perfect Indian startup
pitch: unemployed, lazy, chronically online, professionally frustrated, skilled
at venting, and, most importantly, possessing a smartphone with sufficient
battery. No fundable product required (ahem, ahem – my pet peeve with founders).
The seed capital was pure spite.
The traditional political party needs an ideology to
rally around. CJP needed Wi-Fi. The traditional political party has a youth
wing. CJP has all the youth. And the memes. And CJP turned Jantar Mantar into
something between a political rally, a stand-up comedy and a content-creation
festival, with occasional lathi charges and tear gas attacks.
There were serious demands. There were serious grievances. And then there were the placards that were better than the speeches:
“Make in India, not leak in India.”
“Chowkidar to bolo, malik aa gaya.”
“Even my pads doesn’t leak this much”
“Bade bade deshon me chotte chotte bachon ko nahi marte”
Spiderman, Superman, Batman, Marvel, Melodi, Subway Surfers, movie references, viral Instagram trends, and practically anything that had survived
the internet for more than 24 hours, found its way onto protest posters.
And perhaps that is what makes humour such a lethal
weapon. Because once power becomes a meme, it becomes difficult to maintain the
aura of invincibility. Governments know how to handle anger, slogans, and fiery
speeches. But humour? That's awkward. Everyone loves a good joke. Even the
people the joke is about.
The rulers can arrest a protester. They can remove a
banner. They can block a road. They can switch off the internet. But how do you
counter a 17-year-old whose meme gets five million views and your own family
has also liked it? Good luck issuing a press release against that.
The sheer volume of memes generated by CJP could probably fill a large public library. Maybe somebody should open ‘The Cockroach Meme Library’. The librarian would be an Instagram algorithm. The membership criteria would be:
- Have Instagram
- Have a sense of humour
- Know to make memes and shorts
- And most importantly, have a spine (and that disqualifies all other generations)
This doesn’t mean Gen Z is
unserious. They simply refuse to behave seriously while talking about serious stuff.
Laughing at the fire doesn't mean you didn't notice the building.
CJP began as a meme. Then Sonam Wangchuk arrived. The man
who has spent years working on education, sustainability, and Ladakh’s
development, gave the movement moral authority and a human face. From freezing
water into ice stupas in Ladakh to freezing government responses through a hunger
strike.
The triple-engine government machinery deployed its usual
toolkit: dismiss, discredit, question motives, threaten, bully and, when
necessary, used force. Unfortunately, there was one problem. Cockroaches are
notoriously difficult to eliminate. If you try to squash one, there are another
fifty watching from behind the fridge, and in this case with mobile phones in
hand making reels.
There is something deliciously ironic about CJI calling youth
cockroaches, since cockroaches can survive extreme conditions, including living
for days without a head, going a month without food, holding their breath for forty
minutes, or surviving radiation. Basically, nature designed them for Indian
politics.
The movement eventually became large enough to force a
major political response, culminating in Education Minister Dharmendra
Pradhan's resignation on July 25. Turns out cockroaches don't just survive the apocalypse. Sometimes they cause a
minor cabinet reshuffle too. You couldn't write this stuff. Actually, you
could. But then nobody would believe you.
There is, however, one slightly depressing part of this
entire episode. Only a tiny lot of celebrities and influencers threw their
weight behind the movement. Democracy is not a spectator sport. You cannot sit
in the living room, watch young people get beaten up, forward three WhatsApp
messages about democracy and then congratulate yourself for having
participated. It is like liking a gym selfie and calling it exercise. At some
point, you have to show up.
A long while ago, I wrote a blog on why people should vote. My argument then was simple:
democracy doesn't work if citizens treat elections as an occasional
inconvenience. They need to participate. The same principle applies to protest.
Voting says “I want a say in who governs me.” Protesting says
“I don't agree with what you are doing.” Neither requires you to hate the
country. Neither requires you to belong to a political party. And neither
requires you to agree with everything others say. Democracy is not the art of
agreeing with everybody. It is the freedom to disagree without being crushed
for doing so.
Perhaps this is what democracy looks like today. It looks
like thousands of young people standing in Jantar Mantar holding cardboard
signs. It looks like a rubber duck facing a water cannon. It looks like a
British protester making a Rick Astley joke about Brexit. That doesn't
make democracy weaker. It actually makes it stronger.
I am not sure what CJP will become next. Perhaps it will
disappear now that its immediate objective has been achieved. Perhaps it will
evolve into something larger. Perhaps the cockroaches will go back to
Instagram, reels and their doomscrolling. Perhaps some will enter politics,
though that would be the worst possible outcome. Because then we may have to
deal with politicians who understand memes. God help us then. Maybe his
Instagram notification will alert him.
But after all this, if you still think the youth are
irrelevant, unemployed, lazy, chronically online and easily inconvenienced, I
have one small suggestion. Don't call them cockroaches. Because they might just
come together. And then you have a Cockroach Janta Party to deal with. And
apparently, they know how to win issues without being political or contesting an
election.
I wonder what will happen when Gen Alpha enters the
political scene with AI! Till then, vastaguna huiyee..
Long live demo-crazy. Long live the Insta-nt generation. Long live the cockroaches.
PS : That’s my daughter filming from the background when 'Spider-Man: No Way Home' entered the CJP protest at Freedom Park, Bangalore.
Posts
