Written by Debanjan Borthakur
It was raining at Yonge–Dundas Square in downtown Toronto. People occasionally stepped beneath nearby shelters, but many of the students remained in the open, their clothes growing wetter as they held placards, delivered speeches and raised slogans demanding justice for students in India.
Living abroad does not make Indians indifferent to events at home. For many in the diaspora, it was painful to watch unarmed students in India being beaten and dispersed while demanding accountability. Anger had already been growing over the government’s response to Sonam Wangchuk’s hunger strike. It intensified after police used batons and tear gas against thousands of students marching towards Parliament over examination irregularities. That outrage spread across the Indian diaspora, including in Toronto.
The protest site was about a twenty-minute walk from my apartment. A friend and I decided to go to Yonge–Dundas Square, near Toronto Metropolitan University and opposite the large H&M store. I went primarily to witness and understand the protest. I remained an observer, but I was not emotionally neutral. I sympathised deeply with the students’ cause and their decision to express themselves through peaceful, non-violent protest — a cornerstone of any functioning democracy.
What I witnessed did not resemble an event controlled by one political party, religious community, caste group or regional organisation. Students from different backgrounds had travelled from across the Greater Toronto Area, some for more than an hour, to stand together. They were united not by a single identity but by a shared sense of injustice.
Their immediate anger centred on the NEET examination crisis. A friend in Canada told me that his brother had taken the NEET examination. He had watched closely as his brother studied for long hours and carried the enormous psychological burden of the examination. He understood how devastating it was for students to discover that an examination into which they had poured years of effort might have been compromised.
It was raining in Toronto that day. Like most people, I occasionally moved beneath a shelter. We naturally prefer comfort to hardship. The students, however, remained in the rain. Their clothes became wet, but their voices did not weaken. They continued holding placards, speaking about the examination crisis and raising slogans.
I was not shouting alongside them. Yet solidarity does not exist only in the volume of one’s voice. A person may march, write, document, donate, organise, speak privately or simply bear witness. The wider movement in India grew out of the youth-led “Cockroach” protests, which channelled frustration not only over the NEET leak but also over unemployment, repeated examination failures and the perceived absence of political accountability.
Sonam Wangchuk began his hunger strike on June 28 in solidarity with the students. On July 23, after 26 days, he announced that he was ending the fast following what he described as prolonged negotiations over several conditions and concerns about possible violence. The decision brought some relief, but it should not erase the uncomfortable question: Why did it take a prolonged hunger strike, mass demonstrations and disturbing scenes of police action before serious political engagement became visible?
I believe some of these questions will also be repeatedly asked by the Indian diaspora.
The students gathered in Toronto are here to study, work and build careers. Many may eventually become doctors, engineers, researchers, entrepreneurs and public servants. But professional ambition has not erased their attachment to India.
During the protest, I repeatedly heard the slogan “Bharat Mata ki Jai” echo through the rain. They are not “anti-nationals”; instead, they seemed to me to be true patriots.
The slogan revealed something important. Criticising a government is not the same as rejecting one’s country. In fact, dissent may arise precisely because people care about their country and refuse to accept the corruption of its institutions.
As I watched those young people standing in the Toronto rain, I was reminded that geographical distance does not eliminate moral responsibility. The diaspora may live thousands of kilometres from India, but many of us still feel its disappointments, injustices and possibilities.
I am from Assam. Most of us are from different parts of India, united by a common cause: to seek justice and accountability.