By Imlisanen Jamir
A friend said the other day that he has no interest in politics and would rather spend his day off resting. He said it in a matter-of-fact way, as if it were a settled conclusion. After a week of work, he wanted distance from noise, from argument, from the steady pull of things that demand attention.
It is a reasonable instinct. Fatigue does not encourage engagement. It asks for quiet, for some part of the week that is not claimed by anyone else. The trouble begins when this instinct is mistaken for a position, when the desire to rest hardens into the belief that one can remain outside politics altogether.
The idea sounds harmless because politics today often appears as little more than noise. It is constant, repetitive, and frequently detached from the terms on which people actually live. In that setting, turning away feels like a form of clarity. One chooses not to be dragged into something that seems to go in circles.
But politics does not depend on participation in that sense. It does not stop when people stop paying attention. It continues through decisions that are made, rules that are altered, powers that are extended or limited. The effect of withdrawal is not that politics disappears, but that it proceeds with fewer obstacles.
The recent elections in parts of the country offer a reminder of how this works, though they are often read only in terms of victory and loss. The story is not simply that one party has done well in states like West Bengal and Assam. It is that power, once secured, tends to consolidate. It gathers around those who hold office, it strengthens their ability to act, and it reshapes institutions in ways that may not be immediately visible. This is not unique to any one party or moment. It is a general tendency of power.
What matters in a democracy is not only who wins, but how closely the exercise of that power is watched afterwards. Elections settle one question. They do not settle all others. The period that follows, when decisions are made and authority is exercised, depends on a public that remains attentive enough to recognise when limits are being tested or crossed.
Centralisation rarely arrives as a single, dramatic act. It advances in increments. Responsibilities shift upward. Checks that once held their ground begin to weaken. Each change can be explained on its own terms, often as a matter of efficiency or necessity. Taken together, they alter the balance in ways that are difficult to reverse.
In such a situation, the habit of treating politics as something to be ignored carries a consequence. It leaves these changes to unfold with less scrutiny. A person may still feel untouched by them in the short term, but the conditions under which he lives are being shaped all the same.
None of this means that a day off must be spent following every development or engaging in constant debate. Rest remains necessary. The point is narrower than that. A democracy relies on a level of attention that cannot be switched off entirely without cost. When too many people withdraw at once, the space that is left tends to be filled by those who are already in a position to act without restraint.
The remark about wanting to rest will continue to sound reasonable, and it should. The question that follows it is less comfortable. If the systems that protect that very space for rest depend on public vigilance, what happens when that vigilance becomes rare. It is not an abstract concern. It sits close to the ordinary life people are trying, quite understandably, to keep undisturbed.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
