Few words have as much historical connotation in the history of independent India as ‘Emergency.’ This is especially true when the idea that surrounds the word is still capable of conjuring images of fear, censorship and the unsettling stillness of a silenced democracy.

For those who lived through 1975–77, the very mention of the Emergency could be a trigger — a ripple of memories etched with midnight knocks, vanishing voices and suspended rights. It was a time when the Constitution was bent to political will, the press gagged and civil liberties reduced to privileges granted at the mercy of the State — or, as some deflated chauvinistic egos would later sneer, ‘authoritarianism in a sari.’

For later generations, however, the Emergency is more often a chapter in textbooks than a wound on their memory. To them, it may appear as a cautionary tale — distant, debatable, even diluted by the tumult of current political dramas. Some may see it as a grim reminder of what unchecked power looks like; others, disturbingly, may romanticise its efficiency or use it as a benchmark for present-day politics.

This divergence in perception reflects not just a generational shift, but the evolving nature of how history is remembered, interpreted and often repurposed.

Yet, to dismiss the Emergency as a relic of the past is to ignore its lingering shadows. It was not just a political event, but a psychological rupture — a time when the world’s largest democracy paused, reconsidered itself and then lurched forward with bruises still visible beneath the surface. Its legacy remains embedded in institutional memory, legal reforms and public scepticism of absolute authority.

50 years later, that ‘dark period’ needs to be revisited — not only to recount its events, but to examine what the Emergency means today. What do we inherit when we hear that word: Fear? Fascination? Forgetfulness?

Between history and hindsight, through this reflection, The Polity seeks to explore the period not as a closed chapter, but as a mirror to the present — and a warning to the future.

Dark phase of India’s political history

The Emergency remains a dark chapter in India’s political history because it represented not just a legal imposition, but a complete moral and institutional breakdown. At its core was the suspension of civil liberties — rights that form the bedrock of any democracy.

The government stripped citizens of freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution, including the right to dissent, to assemble and to move freely. Most alarmingly, the suspension of habeas corpus meant that people could be imprisoned without charge or trial, and the courts offered no protection.

This effectively turned the law into an instrument of oppression rather than justice.

The silencing of the press deepened the darkness. Censorship was no longer subtle; it was official policy. Editors were forced to submit copy for government approval, dissenting voices were shut down, and critical publications either fell in line or ceased to exist.

The press, traditionally the watchdog of democracy, was reduced to a mouthpiece — and the public was left in an information vacuum, unaware of the scale of repression unfolding across the country. L.K. Advani, then Jan Sangh (and later Bharatiya Janata Party) then quipped about the press: “you were asked only to bend, but you crawled.”

The authoritarian grip extended far beyond institutional manipulation. Mass arrests became routine, targeting not only opposition leaders but also activists, students, trade unionists and ordinary citizens. With preventive detention laws used as a blanket tool, entire communities were traumatised.

The extra-constitutional influence of Sanjay Gandhi, the Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s son, led to reckless and coercive campaigns, most notoriously the forced sterilisation programme, which inflicted irreversible damage on thousands of families, particularly among the poor and marginalised.

Perhaps, the most insidious was the erosion of democratic institutions. Parliament ceased to function as a space of debate and scrutiny. Instead, it rubber-stamped decisions made by the executive. The judiciary, under pressure and selectively restructured, began to favour the ruling regime.

Constitutional amendments — especially the sweeping 42nd Amendment — were passed to concentrate unprecedented power in the hands of the union government. The Emergency exposed how fragile the institutional scaffolding of democracy can be when it is hollowed out from within.

Though declared within constitutional limits — Article 352 of the Constitution of India — the Emergency proved how legality can be twisted into legitimacy.

On 25 June 1975, President Fakhruddin Ali issued an order under Article 352 of the Constitution proclaiming an Emergency in the country. There are 9 paragraphs or sub-sections under Article 352 which provide the framework for the proclamation of an Emergency. 

Paragraph 1 states thus: 

“If the President is satisfied that a grave emergency exists whereby the security of India or of any part of the territory thereof is threatened, whether, by war or external aggression or armed rebellion, he may, by Proclamation, make a declaration to that effect in respect of the whole of India or of such part of the territory thereof as may be specified in the Proclamation Explanation A Proclamation of Emergency declaring that the security of India or any part of the territory thereof is threatened by war or by external aggression or by armed rebellion may be made before the actual occurrence of war or of any such aggression or rebellion, if the President is satisfied that there is imminent danger thereof.”

For two years, India operated under a facade of legality while democratic norms were systematically dismantled. It revealed that authoritarianism does not always arrive in military uniform — sometimes, it walks through the front door of the Parliament, armed with the Constitution itself. The darkness of that period lies not just in what was done, but in how easily it was done, and how many were willing — or afraid — to look away.

Was the emergency unconstitutional?

To label the Emergency as ‘unconstitutional’ is tempting, given the scale of repression and the assault on democratic values it entailed. However, strictly in legal terms, the declaration of Emergency in 1975 was not outside the framework of the Constitution.

Article 352 of the Indian Constitution empowered the President to proclaim a national Emergency if he was satisfied that a grave threat existed to the security of India, whether from war, external aggression, or internal disturbance.

On 25 June 1975, based on Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s advice and citing ‘internal disturbance,’ such a proclamation was issued and ratified as per constitutional procedure.

But legality is not the same as legitimacy. While the Emergency may have adhered to the letter of the law, it undoubtedly violated the spirit of the Constitution. What followed was a ruthless centralisation of power, enabled by constitutional mechanisms but driven by political motives — particularly the desire to maintain Indira Gandhi’s hold on power following the Allahabad High Court verdict invalidating her 1971 election.

Preventive detention laws, constitutional amendments (most notably the 42nd Amendment), and mass censorship were all pushed through using existing legal tools. This reflects not a breakdown of the constitutional order, but a cynical exploitation of its vulnerabilities.

In this sense, the Emergency was not a constitutional anomaly, but rather a demonstration of how a functioning democracy can be hollowed out from within while maintaining a legal facade. It served as a wake-up call, prompting later reforms such as the 44th Amendment, which tightened the conditions under which Emergency powers could be invoked and curtailed the executive’s dominance.

Thus, while not unconstitutional per se, the Emergency represents one of the most sobering instances in Indian history where the Constitution was used — and arguably abused — to dismantle the very principles it was meant to protect.

The justification: A nation on the brink?

While the Emergency is widely condemned today for its authoritarian excesses, it is important to understand the context in which it was declared — a context the ruling establishment cited as justification.

By mid-1975, India was facing a perfect storm of political, economic and social unrest. The country was reeling under inflation, shortages, labour strikes and student protests. The Opposition, sensing an opportunity to capitalise on growing discontent, launched mass mobilisation campaigns.

Jayaprakash Narayan’s call for a ‘Total Revolution’ — urging civil servants, police and even the armed forces to defy the elected government — was seen by Indira Gandhi and her men as a direct challenge to state authority and constitutional order.

In response, the government portrayed the situation as one of imminent breakdown, where civil disobedience was veering into civil disruption. The ruling party argued that extraordinary circumstances required extraordinary measures to ‘save democracy’ from descending into anarchy.

From their standpoint, invoking Emergency provisions was not a seizure of power, but a necessary act of statecraft to restore order and stability. Indira Gandhi framed it as a moment of national discipline — a temporary corrective to chaos and insubordination.

However, while the government may have found legal and political justification in the turbulence of the time, the proportionality of its response remains deeply contested. The Emergency did not merely target disruptive elements; it extended its grip to stifle all dissent, centralise control and insulate the leadership from judicial and electoral accountability.

What may have begun as a defence against disorder ultimately morphed into a regime of calculated suppression, calling into question not the legality of the proclamation, but the morality of its implementation.

The timing and the motive

The proximity of the Emergency to the Allahabad High Court’s verdict disqualifying Indira Gandhi from Parliament naturally raises questions about motive. The judgment, delivered on June 12, 1975, shook the foundations of her authority and triggered calls for her resignation from a resurgent Opposition.

Within a fortnight, Emergency was declared. While unrest and protest had been building for months, the swiftness of the response following a personal legal setback cannot be overlooked.

Many view the Emergency as less a reaction to national instability and more a means to protect a threatened Prime Ministership. The suspension of civil liberties, the jailing of political opponents and the tightening grip on institutions all served to immediately neutralise challenges to her power — not least the court’s verdict and the mass movements demanding her exit.

The timing thus suggests a convergence of national concerns with a deeply personal political crisis.

While the broader context of disorder provided the government with cover, it is clear that the Emergency’s imposition was, at least in part, a defensive act by a leadership under siege. It was not merely about restoring order — it was about retaining control. And in doing so, it blurred the line between constitutional governance and political self-preservation.

Emergency: A necessary tool or a dangerous precedent?

The use of Emergency provisions in a democracy like India represents a complex paradox. On the one hand, the Constitution must provide the executive with certain exceptional powers to respond swiftly to genuine threats — be they wars, internal rebellions, or natural disasters.

A democracy that cannot defend itself in moments of grave peril risks descending into disorder or collapse. In this sense, Emergency powers are not inherently undemocratic; they are intended as temporary instruments of preservation, not permanent tools of control.

However, the Indian Emergency of 1975–77 revealed the darker potential of these powers when used not for national security, but for political expediency. It exposed how such provisions, when unchecked, can override every democratic safeguard — rights, institutions and public accountability — while still appearing lawful.

The episode demonstrated that constitutional mechanisms alone are not enough; they require a strong democratic culture and vigilant institutions to prevent abuse. When political self-interest wears the mask of national interest, Emergency powers become not a shield, but a sword.

The danger, therefore, lies not in the existence of these provisions, but in their interpretation and implementation. Democracies must build safeguards to ensure that Emergency declarations are genuinely warranted, time-bound and subjected to robust parliamentary and judicial scrutiny.

The 44th Amendment, enacted after the Emergency, was a step in this direction — tightening the conditions for invoking Emergency and seeking to restore a balance between necessity and restraint. The stated objective of the 44th Amendment succinctly says it all:

Recent experience has shown that the fundamental rights, including those of life and liberty, granted to citizens by the Constitution are capable of being taken away by a transient majority. It is, therefore, necessary to provide adequate safeguards against the recurrence of such a contingency in the future and to ensure to the people themselves an effective voice in determining the form of government under which they are to live. This is one of the primary objects of this Bill.

Yet, the lingering fear remains: if those in power are determined enough, even the most carefully worded laws can be twisted to serve authoritarian ends.

Ultimately, Emergency powers test the moral foundations of democratic leadership. They offer a mirror to the ruling establishment — will it choose restraint or overreach, public good or political gain?

In a maturing democracy like India, the lesson of 1975 is clear: extraordinary powers must come with extraordinary accountability. The provisions may be necessary, but their legitimacy rests entirely on how and why they are used.

Power and responsibility in fragile democracies

The experience of the Emergency raises an uncomfortable but crucial question: are political actors in post-colonial societies truly prepared to wield such extraordinary powers responsibly?

In mature democracies, institutional checks and a strong civic culture often act as buffers against authoritarian drift. But in many parts of the Global South — where democratic institutions are still consolidating and political competition is often personalised — the temptation to exploit such provisions for partisan gain remains dangerously high.

India’s Emergency showed that even a democratic framework with a written Constitution and periodic elections is not immune to executive overreach. The centralisation of power in the hands of a few, the weak resistance from institutions, and the lack of public recourse revealed how easily democratic norms can collapse in societies where institutions lag behind charismatic authority.

This is not unique to India. Many newly independent nations in Asia, Africa, and Latin America have struggled with similar tensions — between order and liberty, between state-building and power-hoarding.

The challenge, therefore, is not merely legal but cultural and ethical. It lies in nurturing a political culture that values dissent as much as discipline, and restraint as much as authority. Without this democratic ethos, constitutional provisions meant for rare and exceptional circumstances can become tools of routine suppression.

In that sense, Emergency powers test not just the structure of a democracy, but the maturity of its leadership and the vigilance of its people.

The echoes of an undeclared emergency?

In recent years, comparisons between the Emergency of 1975–77 and the current political climate under Prime Minister Narendra Modi have grown sharper.

Human rights organisations, international media outlets and civil society groups have frequently raised alarm bells over the shrinking space for dissent, the centralisation of power in the Prime Minister’s Office and the use of state agencies against critics — from opposition leaders and journalists to activists and academics.

While India formally remains a democracy with regular elections, the accusation is that the democratic process is being hollowed out, echoing the machinery of Emergency-era authoritarianism — albeit without a formal proclamation.

Indeed, many of the symptoms that marked the declared Emergency are visible in subtler, systemic forms today. Investigative agencies are seen to disproportionately target opposition leaders; dissent is often labelled anti-national or seditious; protest movements face legal crackdowns; and majoritarian rhetoric dominates the national discourse.

The independence of institutions, especially the judiciary, media and election commission, is often questioned. Critics argue that India is witnessing a creeping authoritarianism, where democratic procedures are intact, but the spirit of democracy is in retreat.

The view of many — that PM Modi’s years in power resemble an undeclared Emergency — reflects a growing concern within and outside India. It suggests that we are witnessing not a dramatic suspension of democracy, but its slow and strategic weakening.

In this version, control is exercised not through overt martial law but through narrative dominance, legal tools and institutional capture. This model is more sophisticated than the blunt-force Emergency of 1975, but in some ways, potentially more enduring — because it functions under the cloak of electoral legitimacy and public support.

To draw a full parallel is complex, and to reduce contemporary India to a carbon copy of 1975 would be historically inaccurate. Yet, the comparison serves an important function — it reminds us that democratic decay does not always arrive with sirens and declarations.

Sometimes, it comes quietly, embedded in routine decisions, populist narratives and the slow erosion of dissent. In that sense, the so-called ‘undeclared Emergency’ of today may be less a declared rupture and more a drip-fed reality, which is precisely what makes it so insidious.