From Sardesai to Chidambaram: Who Really Qualifies as a Dimagi Naxal?

There was a time when being called a Naxal was hardly a compliment. Now P. Chidambaram says he is proud to be a "Dimagi Naxal." That is an extraordinary change.

Rajdeep Sardesai objects to the expression. Chidambaram wears it almost as a medal. Rahul Gandhi has been pulled into the speculation, and Saurav Das has also entered the conversation.

Suddenly, everyone wants to know who belongs to this new political fraternity. Perhaps the better question is this: What exactly is a Dimagi Naxal?

The distinction being drawn is simple. The armed Naxal uses the gun.

The Dimagi Naxal, in this political argument, uses the idea. He does not necessarily blow up a road. He questions the road. He does not necessarily attack a project with a weapon. He mobilises against it. He invokes environmental concerns, tribal rights, courts, activists, journalists and political campaigns. And if the project is eventually stopped or delayed, the objective has been achieved without firing a bullet.

That is the charge. It is a serious charge. And precisely because it is serious, it should not be thrown around casually.

Criticism of Narendra Modi is not Naxalism. Rajdeep Sardesai has every right to criticise Modi. P. Chidambaram has every right to oppose the BJP. Rahul Gandhi has every right to attack the government. That is democracy.

But democracy also permits another question: When does legitimate opposition become systematic obstruction? That is where the argument gets uncomfortable.

Take Jairam Ramesh. His environmental politics have repeatedly put him on the opposite side of industrial development. His critics point to the Odisha steel project involving a Korean company and the Hindalco bauxite-mining issue as examples of projects that faced serious obstacles in the name of environmental and tribal concerns.

Now, let us not be foolish about this. India needs environmental protection. But India also needs steel. India needs tribal rights. But it also needs aluminium. India needs forests. But it also needs factories, electricity, roads, ports and jobs.

The real question is not whether environmental objections are legitimate. They often are. The question is whether environmentalism can become a permanent veto over development.

That is where “Dimagi Naxal” becomes more than a slogan.

Then there is Great Nicobar. This is not an ordinary infrastructure project. Geography gives the islands enormous strategic importance in the Indian Ocean.

Environmental damage must be examined. Tribal rights must be protected. But India’s strategic interests cannot simply be dismissed because a project involves forests, roads, ports or construction.

The same applies to Ladakh and Arunachal Pradesh. A road near the Chinese border is not just a road. It can be a supply line. A bridge is not merely concrete and steel. It can determine how quickly troops and equipment reach the frontier.

So when such projects are opposed, the government has every right to ask: Is this a genuine objection to the project—or is something larger at work? But the government has an obligation too.

It must answer genuine objections with facts. Otherwise, “national security” becomes another convenient phrase with which to silence criticism. That is the line between democracy and propaganda.

Then come the names that make the debate even more combustible: China, George Soros and OCCRP.

Foreign influence is a legitimate subject for investigation. Foreign funding deserves scrutiny. International organisations operating in India should be transparent. But there is a difference between investigating influence and seeing a foreign hand behind every inconvenient Indian.

Soros cannot become the answer to every question. And association with OCCRP does not, by itself, make a journalist anti-India.

If there is evidence, produce it. If there is no evidence, the accusation should remain an accusation, not become a fact merely because it is repeated often enough.

The same discipline is necessary when Umar Khalid and Yasin Malik enter the discussion. Their politics and cases can certainly be debated. But Umar Khalid is not Jairam Ramesh. Yasin Malik is not Rajdeep Sardesai. Rajdeep Sardesai is not P Chidambaram.

Indian politics has become very fond of putting people into large ideological sacks and tying the mouth shut. That is not analysis.

Then come the cases: Kudankulam. Thoothukudi. Palghar. The bullet train.

Again, the details matter. Kudankulam involved nuclear power, safety concerns and local protests. Thoothukudi involved the Sterlite copper plant, environmental concerns, protests and deaths during police firing.

The Palghar killings were a horrific criminal episode. Turning them into evidence of “Dimagi Naxalism” requires proof of an ideological connection.

Suspicion is not proof. The Mumbai-Ahmedabad bullet train controversy involved land acquisition, farmers and the politics of infrastructure.

These are different stories. But they raise the same larger question: At what point does protest become obstruction?

And there is an equally important question for the government: At what point does the government begin calling every protest anti-national?

Both questions deserve an answer. Because there are genuine activists. There are genuine environmentalists. There are genuine journalists. There are genuine political opponents.

And there can also be people who use respectable causes to obstruct projects that are important to India’s economic or strategic interests.

The mistake is to assume that everyone belongs to the same category. So let us stop arguing about the label for a moment.

Instead, examine the record. Put Jairam Ramesh under the microscope. Put Kejriwal there. Put Umar Khalid and Yasin Malik there. Examine Rajdeep Sardesai, P Chidambaram, Rahul Gandhi and Saurav Das on the basis of what they have actually said and done—not what their opponents claim they said and did.

Examine the claims surrounding Soros and OCCRP. Examine Kudankulam, Thoothukudi, Great Nicobar, Ladakh, Arunachal Pradesh and the bullet train.

Then ask four brutally simple questions: What did they oppose? Why did they oppose it? Who benefited from the opposition? Where is the evidence?

That would be a far more serious exercise across a television studio. Because the strongest accusation is not:

"You are a Dimagi Naxal."

It is: "Here is what you did. Here is the consequence. Here is the evidence. Now explain yourself."

That is an argument. And an argument backed by evidence is much harder to dismiss than an insult.

There is another side to this debate that the government must not forget. India does not need fewer critics. It needs better critics. And it needs a government confident enough to answer criticism without treating every critic as an enemy.

But critics have obligations too. If you oppose every factory, every road, every dam, every port, every mine, every strategic project and every reform simply because the government proposed it, people will eventually stop asking whether you oppose a particular policy.

They will ask a much bigger question: Do you oppose the idea of India becoming stronger?

That is the uncomfortable question hiding behind the phrase "Dimagi Naxal." And unlike a political slogan, that question cannot be shouted away.

Labels can be worn. Records have to be defended.