
Student protests are common in democratic societies, and India is no exception. Young people often come together to raise their voice on public issues. However, a recent protest near India Gate in New Delhi took a disturbing turn. What began as a demonstration against rising air pollution suddenly shifted into a rally praising a Maoist commander who had spent decades carrying out brutal attacks on Indian security forces. This unexpected shift shocked the public because it took place just steps away from the Amar Jawan Jyoti, the eternal flame that honours India’s fallen soldiers.
The protestors belonged to small but vocal ultra-Left groups active on certain university campuses. Instead of focusing on pollution and the harmful air that affects millions, they began chanting slogans in support of Hidma, a Maoist insurgent who was killed recently in an encounter. Hidma had a reward of one crore rupees on his head and had been involved in more than 25 violent attacks over three decades. These attacks had killed hundreds of soldiers and civilians. Yet, these students stood in the heart of the national capital praising a man widely known as one of the most dangerous leaders of the Maoist movement.
The contradiction was striking. At one end stood the Amar Jawan Jyoti, symbolising sacrifice and duty. Just a short distance away, a group of students raised slogans supporting a man responsible for bloodshed and destruction. This contrast highlighted how deeply some parts of student politics have drifted into extreme ideological positions.
The behaviour of these students also revived a long-running debate: how far should free expression go, and at what point does it cross into openly supporting violence? Some activists and self-proclaimed liberals argued that arresting the students would discourage new ideas. But they ignored an important truth—support for violent movements cannot be covered under the excuse of youthful enthusiasm or intellectual exploration. Even former Prime Minister Dr Manmohan Singh, known for his mild nature, once described Maoist violence as India’s greatest internal security threat.
Hidma’s stronghold, the region around Gundurwahi, was once the functioning capital of a parallel Maoist rule called the “Jantana Sarkar.” For decades, this area was unsafe for security forces because of landmines, ambushes and constant threats. Only after sustained efforts did the government re-establish its authority. Many Maoists surrendered, the movement weakened, and large parts of the region slowly returned to normal life. Yet, as this protest shows, the ideas that fuelled extremism still attract some people who romanticise violence without understanding its consequences.
The students shouting slogans for Hidma represent a new global trend. This trend is different from peaceful civil-rights movements of the past. It rejects gradual progress and instead glorifies disruptive, even violent, means to bring change. Those following this ideology believe that society is permanently oppressive and that dismantling democratic systems is the only path to justice. This thinking resembles the Antifa-style movements in the West, which also promote confrontation over dialogue.
In India, such beliefs have found space on a few campuses, where small groups of students reject established political norms and embrace extreme ideas. Their support for Hidma was not an isolated gesture—it reflected a larger political influence that sees violence as justified resistance rather than criminal behaviour.
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Another worrying trend mirrors this Left-wing radicalism: the rise of Islamist radicalisation among certain youth circles. The recently uncovered Al Falah module, which almost succeeded in preparing a major terror attack, is an example of how extremist thinking can grow quietly before revealing its violent intentions. In this case, the individuals involved were deeply influenced by a rigid, radical interpretation of identity and religion.
Both these tendencies—Left extremism and Islamist radicalisation—may seem different on the surface, but they share a dangerous feature: a rejection of democratic institutions and lawful political processes. Experts warn of a growing overlap in their methods and messaging. This emerging connection, sometimes described as an “Islamo-fascist” alliance, mixes anger, identity politics and anti-state sentiment into a volatile combination.
Several names, such as Sharjeel Imam and Umar Khalid, have been associated with movements that critics say reflect this convergence of extreme ideas. While each case must be judged fairly, the broader trend cannot be ignored. If such thinking spreads unchecked, it can weaken the social fabric of campuses, turning places meant for debate and learning into testing grounds for radical ideologies.
The India Gate incident is therefore more than an isolated protest. It is a symptom of a deeper issue affecting some parts of Indian student life. Campuses are meant to encourage curiosity and exchange of ideas, but they also need clear boundaries. Support for violence—whether inspired by Maoist extremism or religious radicalism—cannot be accepted as normal dissent.
India’s youth have always played a vital role in shaping national conversations. They have the creativity, passion and courage to challenge outdated ideas. But such activism must remain within the framework of law and democratic values. Glorifying a man responsible for deadly attacks sends a damaging message: that violence is acceptable if it serves a cause. This mindset is dangerous, especially at a time when young people across the world are vulnerable to online propaganda and ideological manipulation.
The incident at India Gate should serve as a reminder that universities and society must work together to promote critical thinking, not reckless radicalism. Students should be encouraged to debate, question and protest—but also to understand the value of peace, the rule of law and respect for human life. Only then can campuses remain safe spaces for learning rather than breeding grounds for extremism.