How do you assess the naxal movement from its origins to the present moment, particularly in light of the recent wave of surrenders?

To understand the naxal movement, it must be placed within the broader trajectory of post-independence India. The freedom struggle—especially under Mahatma Gandhi—was not only confrontational but also rooted in negotiation and reconciliation. That ethos shaped the Constitution, which reflects a blend of socialist, capitalist, and democratic ideals.

Between 1947 and 1967, there was a widespread expectation that inequality would decline and opportunities would expand. This optimism was anchored in constitutional promises, including Directive Principles such as Article 39, which emphasise reducing inequality and preventing concentration of wealth. In many ways, this carried a strong socialist impulse.

However, beyond measures like zamindari abolition, structural transformation remained limited. By the late 1960s, disillusionment deepened. The period between 1967 and 1971 saw an upsurge of movements—regional, identity-based, socialist, and revolutionary. The naxalite movement emerged in this context, fundamentally challenging the system and characterising India as “semi-feudal” and “semi-colonial.”

For decades, it remained concentrated in feudal belts such as central Bihar and in tribal regions. It cannot be understood merely as a Maoist insurgency; it was equally a tribal resistance movement, supported by Maoists. Without sustained local support, such a long struggle would not have been possible.

You emphasise tribal resistance. How important is it to understanding the movement?

It is central. Tribal resistance predates the naxalite movement by more than a century. Figures like Birsa Munda symbolise that legacy.

Adivasi societies have historically functioned with minimal accumulation and strong community orientation, and are arguably closer to egalitarian ideals than mainstream society. Their resistance has consistently been about autonomy, land, and dignity.

The Constitution, through the Fifth Schedule, promised protection for tribal areas and limited state intrusion. But the dominant economic development model—especially one driven by resource extraction—has repeatedly violated this principle.

Legislation such as PESA (1996) [The Panchayats (Extension to the Scheduled Areas) Act, 1996] and the Forest Rights Act (2006), and protections under the SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) framework have often emerged as responses to resistance rather than proactive guarantees of justice. As [advocate for Adivasi rights] B.D. Sharma argued, the state has consistently failed to honour its commitments to Adivasis.

What we call the naxalite movement is, in large part, an expression of this unresolved tribal question.

Maoists holding copies of the Constitution after surrendering, in Bastar district on March 25, 2026. Haragopal says the targeting of activists, students, and intellectuals signals an expanding definition of ‘threat’ that imperils democratic norms. | Photo Credit: PTI

How did economic liberalisation reshape the movement?

The shift toward neoliberalism, particularly after 1991 under P.V. Narasimha Rao, altered the context fundamentally.

Liberalisation intensified mining and resource extraction, especially in tribal areas rich in minerals. This created a direct conflict between corporate interests and local communities. The paradox is that Adivasis, who have little interest in exploiting these resources, live on land that is economically valuable because of what lies beneath it.

Earlier, industrial capitalists operated within a different framework. Contemporary corporate expansion is far more closely tied to land, extraction, and speculative sectors, and is driven by an intensified accumulation logic.

What has emerged is a convergence between global capital, corporate interests, and a political ideology that legitimises aggressive expansion into resource-rich regions. In this framework, resistance is often treated not as a social or political claim but as an obstacle.

You have also written about institutional decline. How does that connect to this issue?

There is a growing contradiction between the constitutional vision and the current development model. Institutions, such as universities, media, and even segments of the judiciary, are under visible strain.

When I began teaching, universities were spaces of intellectual freedom. Today, many operate within a climate of caution, if not fear. The media, too, has come under significant corporate influence, which affects its ability to function as an independent public institution.

The middle class has also changed. Earlier, it carried a degree of idealism. Today, it is more deeply shaped by market-driven aspirations and consumerism. It is caught in a fantasy world. This shift has weakened broader solidarities, particularly with marginalised communities such as Adivasis.

The government has spoken of communist ideology as a threat. Do you see a blurring between insurgency and ideology?

This is not entirely new. The ideological roots of the ruling establishment go back to early formulations that viewed communists, along with other groups, as threats to the nation.

What is new is the context. If the state claims that armed insurgency has been eliminated, the question becomes: what next? Will this logic extend to all forms of Leftist ideology, including those functioning within democratic frameworks?

If that happens, it raises serious concerns for parliamentary democracy. The distinction between dissent and sedition begins to blur. The targeting of activists, students, and intellectuals suggests an expanding definition of “threat”. We may be moving towards a more authoritarian political order—whether fully or partially will depend on how society responds.

In fact, there is also a deeper contradiction. The state encourages those who surrender to return to the constitutional framework, often symbolically by handing them a copy of the Constitution. But the Constitution itself embodies an ideological position and provides space for democratic contestation.

If individuals renounce armed struggle but continue to hold Leftist political beliefs, the question is whether they will be allowed to participate within that constitutional space. If communist ideology itself is treated as inherently suspect, then the issue is no longer one of security, but of political exclusion.

Article 39 of the Constitution, if you look at it closely, uses language that clearly reflects a socialist, even broadly Marxian, concern with reducing inequality in income, status, opportunities, and access to resources. It explicitly states that the ownership and control of material resources should be distributed in a way that serves the common good, and that the economic system should not result in the concentration of wealth or means of production in a few hands.

In that sense, the Constitution embeds a strong egalitarian vision, one that seeks to prevent monopolies and ensure that wealth generation does not come at the cost of the wider public interest.

If the ideology itself is deemed inherently dangerous, parliamentary democracy may be entering a new and uncertain phase. Whether this results in a fully authoritarian or a more limited, semi-authoritarian order will depend on how society responds, especially considering whether the middle class is willing to defend its liberal values and the freedoms it still enjoys.

Several senior Maoist leaders who have surrendered say they will continue their struggle through constitutional means. How do you interpret this shift?

This development must be seen alongside a broader political question: the urgent need for unity among parliamentary Left forces. Such unity could create democratic space for former Maoist leaders who are now willing to engage within the constitutional framework. Without that convergence, however, isolated individuals or groups risk being politically marginalised.

At the same time, the transition is not without contradictions. The Constitution provides both an ideological framework and institutional space for democratic struggle. Yet, the current regime often treats communist ideology itself as suspect.

This raises a key issue. If individuals abandon armed struggle but remain excluded on ideological grounds, then the issue shifts from one of security to one of political intolerance.

The implications are significant. If Leftist ideology itself is framed as “inherently dangerous”, it could push democracy towards a more restrictive and exclusionary phase.

Do you see any countervailing forces or grounds for democratic resistance?

Yes. There are emerging possibilities. Social groups, such as Dalits, OBCs, women, and youth, are asserting themselves in new ways. Rising unemployment and inequality are also generating new political awareness.

The farmers’ movement demonstrated that even a powerful government can be compelled to retreat through sustained, peaceful mobilisation.

If these struggles converge around democratic demands, they could reshape the political landscape.

Are we seeing any signs of political shift in the country?

One clear indication is that the last general election did not return a clean majority for the ruling party. At the same time, the disruptive fallout of the Donald Trump phenomenon has unsettled global alignments, placing sections of India’s ruling class under considerable pressure. If this broader architecture of imperial support begins to weaken further, the Indian ruling class may be compelled to recalibrate its strategy. Should that become a historical necessity, it could well trigger a shift in the country’s political trajectory.

Even in the US, debates around socialism and wealth redistribution have entered mainstream discourse. If such currents can gain visibility at the centre of global capitalism, there is little reason to assume they cannot emerge in other parts of the world as well. That is all you hope.

Finally, how do you situate this moment in a broader philosophical sense?

The current development model is deeply dehumanising. It promotes extreme individualism and erodes social bonds. This is not accidental—it reflects a shift in the foundations of economic and social thinking.

As Karl Marx suggested, humanity ultimately faces a choice between socialism and barbarism. If current trends continue, we risk moving towards a more fragmented and unequal society.

At the same time, crisis generate reflection. Societies learn. The question is whether we can collectively imagine, and build, a more humane alternative.