In Parramatta Square last Sunday, families with prams, young hijabi students and old Sikh uncles stood shoulder to shoulder, holding printouts of the Indian constitution and waving the Tiranga – India’s tricolour national flag – which has become an unlikely symbol of political dissent.
“I have come to protest for the people who have lost their votes, whose names have been struck off. I have come for their right to have their vote counted,” says Grudeep Singh, 73, a retired banker from Punjab who has lived in Australia for the past 10 years.
This gathering of roughly 200 peaceful expatriates, along with similar events in Melbourne, Adelaide, Brisbane and Sydney, was part of a global day of solidarity that contrasted starkly with the violence that has erupted in protests in India over the past few weeks.
The current mobilisation in India concerns issues at the core of democracy: who gets to vote, who doesn’t, and how that is decided. Since India’s Election Commission began its Special Intensive Revision of electoral rolls in June 2025, more than 130 million names have been dropped from the draft rolls.
Last month, The Indian Express reported two of the three election commissioners had raised objections concerning voter registration, deletions and the centralisation of electoral data. The following day, youth activists of the new Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) called for the resignation of the chief election commissioner.
Many of those I spoke to at the gathering in Western Sydney were anxious about the consequences of dissent, even from Australia.
“I’m here because I’m worried about my country. Because democracy is in danger. Because the game is totally under control by Modi,” says Arjun*, 31, an aged-care worker from Gujarat who has been living in Australia since 2019.
He raised concerns about his migration status: “They can cancel my visa. Or if I’m trying to enter India, they can stop me.” Those among Australia’s Indian diaspora who have not got citizenship here are still eligible to vote in Indian elections, but they must return to the country to cast their ballots in person.
The CJP’s almost accidental genesis in May, following a judge’s remarks likening young people who were protesting over exam irregularities to cockroaches, had many questioning whether this satirical internet movement could become a legitimate political force. Six months later, it’s clear the party is evolving into a significant challenge to the dominance of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. His 12 years at the helm of the ruling Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) have been characterised by proliferating violence and hate speech against Muslims, high youth unemployment and increasing centralisation of power.
On October 10, CJP founder Abhijeet Dipke and co-convenors Saurav Das and Ashutosh Ranka were detained at Delhi airport ahead of planned demonstrations, and were arrested again days later. Thousands of protesters have reportedly been detained across the capital. Attempts to suppress protests have included detaining journalists and subjecting them to excessive force and police brutality.
The reverberations of these protests are deeply felt in Parramatta. One recently arrived student was afraid of being identified by the government. “Even if you’re an international student, if you’re saying anything against the government or anyone, they’re just going to come for you,” says 21-year-old Simran*.
Anjali*, a 43-year-old social scientist who has lived in Sydney for four decades, cited the “specific precarity” of the Overseas Citizen of India (OCI) card, which allows foreign nationals of Indian origin to live and work in India but doesn’t entitle them to vote. “I know people who’ve been essentially under house arrest in India when they go and are not allowed to leave their hotels, researchers who’ve been surveilled.”
Pawan Luthra, chief executive of the media platform Indian Link that serves the diaspora, says there is “widespread knowledge of OCI cards being cancelled or visas denied during and after the farmers’ protests” of 2020-21.
Like many at the gathering, 18-year-old student Aaliya*, who arrived in Australia this year, sees the CJP movement as a source of hope. “As Muslims, we should be scared. And I’m able to do this because I’m in a different country where the Delhi police can’t come and pick me up and be able for me to be detained or anything. So if I am in a position where I can speak up, I should definitely do it.”
Aaliya says that in India “I didn’t want to put on the hijab because I was scared. There was literally a march of the RSS (the Hindu nationalist volunteer paramilitary group Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh) in front of my house. I was fucking terrified. My parents even said, ‘You don’t have a future here anymore.’
“ As Muslims, we should be scared. And I’m able to do this because I’m in a different country where the Delhi police can’t come and pick me up …”
“I want to be a lawyer. What is the point of being a lawyer in a country where the law doesn’t exist anymore?”
Aaliya admits to having “FOMO” over the protests in India. “As soon as I came here, the protest had started getting cool, and I was like, I want to be a part of it. For 12 years, we have had a far-right government. And the opposition has been lacklustre, to be fair.
“So to see the young people coming and finally start talking about their issues, it’s been really amazing to see. I came here because I had lost hope in the government.”
At the other end of the age spectrum, Grudeep Singh says the CJP protests have given people courage. “The fear they have in their hearts for Modi, what he is capable of and will end up doing, these students have helped remove some of that fear by protesting.
“People have started coming ahead for their rights.”
The solidarity gatherings are part of “a concerted effort to reclaim nationalism from the Hindu right, as visible in the plethora of tricolours being raised”, says Dr Chaitanya Sambrani, an art historian, curator and associate professor at the Australian National University.
For Anjali, attending the gathering is about reckoning with the reach of Hindu nationalism within the Indian diaspora itself. She points to organisations such as the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP), which is linked to the Hindu nationalist fountainhead of India’s ruling BJP. She recalls friends and relatives attending VHP’s camps and cultural activities: “For so many people in the diaspora, this is the only way to connect back to your homeland.”
Her presence at the protest reflects a desire to challenge that influence, and the complicity she sees within her own community. “What brings me here is this really deep desire to have a different kind of diaspora identity and experience, one where we’re not just blindly engaging with the Sangh Parivar,” she says, referring to the broader Hindu nationalist movement.
“Whether we like it or not, the things that we do here do make a difference politically. People have been supporting the BJP. The diaspora gives so much money.”
Some people at the gathering also accused the Australian government of double standards. Mehar Ahmad, a primary-school teacher who has lived here for 50 years, criticised what felt like a “staged performance” between Prime Minister Anthony Albanese and Modi during the Indian leader’s visit this year.
Shweta* questions the enthusiastic welcome that included a “Melbourne meets Modi” celebration at Marvel Stadium in
July. “When you are portraying the Indian prime minister as your best friend, you are kind of offending a lot of people who can’t go home and don’t feel safe in India anymore,” she says.
Dr Sambrani relates this diplomatic push to the need to strengthen security and trade partnerships between the two countries, exemplified by the joint declaration on defence that was struck in July.
“Australian academic and cultural institutions have lost some of the space and specialised knowledge for critical engagement with the political realities of contemporary India,” he says. “Some of this has had to do with changing priorities in economics, politics and foreign policy.
“Several Australian universities have exceptional scholars of South Asia, but there is insufficient critical mass among our cultural institutions and media spheres. Engagements with India are frequently reactive rather than proactive, and tend to hover around stereotypical themes. There appears to be little appetite for scrutiny, lest it be perceived as unwelcome meddling and jeopardise economic and strategic interests.”
Lisa Singh, chief executive of the Australia India Institute, did not respond to The Saturday Paper’s request for comment on the solidarity gatherings around Australia and the responsibilities of Australian institutions and government to address concerns about democratic rights and political dissent in India.
The solidarity protesters’ hope is for a change not so much in the substance of Australian policy towards India but in its tone.
Anjali has low expectations. “It’s so clear that they’re just maintaining good relationships because it’s important for trade. It’s important for politics.
“Forget about human rights.”
* Names have been changed.
Megha Kapoor is a writer and former editor of Vogue India.