Amit Shah’s Jibe at English Speakers Revives Old Fault Lines of Linguistic Politics in India
In a strikingly provocative remark made during a book launch in New Delhi recently, Union home minister Amit Shah stirred the waters of India’s linguistic politics by claiming that the day would soon come when people speaking English in India “feel ashamed”. Reaffirming his commitment to native languages, Shah stated, “The languages of our country are the ornament of our culture. Without them, we would not have been Bharatiya… Our history, our culture, our Dharma – these cannot be understood in foreign languages.”
The backlash was swift. Leader of the opposition in Lok Sabha, Rahul Gandhi, countered Shah’s remarks by championing English as an enabler: “English is not a dam, it is a bridge. English is not shameful, it is empowering. English is not a chain – it is a tool to break the chains.” Prominent Trinamool Congress figures such as Derek O’Brien and Sagarika Ghose also condemned Shah’s statement, accusing him of inflaming old divisions under the guise of cultural authenticity.
Shah’s controversial comment has revived a debate that has defined the linguistic and cultural tensions of India since independence.
The ghost of “Angrezi hatao” returns
Shah’s remarks bear an uncanny resemblance to those made 35 years ago by former Uttar Pradesh chief minister Mulayam Singh Yadav. In May 1990, Yadav launched a crusade against English, labelling it “the language of foreigners and the elite” and accusing it of deepening socio-economic inequalities. His “Angrezi hatao” (remove English) campaign was not just linguistic – it was ideological. In a strategic twist, Yadav had called upon opponents of Urdu to ally with Urdu speakers in opposing English, although Urdu itself had just been granted official status and remained a source of contention in Uttar Pradesh politics.
This linguistic paradox underscores a persistent theme in India’s political landscape: language becomes a battleground for identity, power and ideology. In this context, English – much like Urdu – has become a scapegoat for political anxieties.
From Gandhi to Lohia to today
The roots of anti-English sentiment go back to the nationalist leaders of the pre-Independence era. Mahatma Gandhi and the Indian National Congress viewed English as a colonial imposition that disrupted India’s native cultural matrix. Post-independence, the Indian constitution declared Hindi as the official language, while English was retained temporarily as a link language to accommodate India’s vast linguistic diversity.
The tension between ideology and pragmatism became evident when Ram Manohar Lohia, a prominent socialist, took up the “Angrezi hatao” cause in the 1960s. Lohia believed that English hindered original thought and prevented mass education. His solution was to replace English with regional languages in education, governance and the judiciary. Yet, even he recognised the practical challenges: he granted special status to southern Indian states, allowing them to retain English for inter-state and central communication for 50 years.
Unfortunately, Lohia’s nuanced position was later distorted by his political followers. In Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, anti-English policies reached absurd levels. Bihar’s then chief minister Karpoori Thakur reduced English to an optional subject in schools, giving rise to what was dubbed the “Karpoori class” – students who completed matriculation without any proficiency in English.
Mulayam Singh Yadav revived this campaign in the 1990s, leading to a new wave of politicised language policy and social unrest.
Linguistic chauvinism and religious stereotyping
The anti-English fervour also spilled over into religious targeting. Christian educational institutions – many of which served non-English-speaking students – were baselessly accused of using English to promote religious conversions and elitism.
This is as illogical as equating Urdu with Islam, a tendency also prevalent in northern India’s linguistic nationalism.
Such conflations ignore India’s intricate linguistic heritage and fail to grasp the multi-layered identities of its citizens. English, though introduced by colonial rulers, became a platform for political awakening and social reform. India’s foundational political and philosophical ideas – from nationalism and democracy to equality and justice – were often accessed and articulated through English.
The dual identity of English in India
Initially intended to produce a class of English-educated clerks, English education inadvertently fostered a Western-educated middle class that birthed India’s national movement. Thinkers and leaders like Raja Rammohun Roy, Dadabhai Naoroji, Gopal Krishna Gokhale, Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru all received their intellectual grounding through the English language.
Today, English is more than a foreign language – it is part of India’s linguistic and cultural ecosystem. It is the official language of states like Nagaland and the mother tongue of a recognised linguistic minority. In metropolitan centres like Mumbai, Delhi, Kolkata, Bengaluru, Chennai and Hyderabad, English is the preferred language of commerce, administration and even cultural expression. It is secular, cosmopolitan and unifying – qualities that align with the pluralistic ethos of the Indian Republic.
The hypocrisy of anti-English politics
Despite the fervent rhetoric against English, most political leaders – including those advocating for its removal – choose English-medium education for their own children. This contradiction reflects the undeniable truth: in globalised India, English is the passport to higher education, job opportunities, international diplomacy and technological innovation.
Statistical trends show English leading in sectors like education, industry and administration – even in the Hindi heartland. It is the language of science, law and governance. India’s tech boom, international trade relations and higher education landscape are all heavily reliant on English proficiency.
Ironically, while vilifying English for political mileage, many of its opponents privately benefit from its advantages. This duplicity not only weakens the credibility of their arguments but also threatens national cohesion by reanimating dormant linguistic fault lines.
A call for coexistence
India’s multilingualism is a strength, not a burden. Rather than demonising English as a colonial leftover, leaders should celebrate its evolution into a powerful Indian instrument for global interaction and internal inclusion. English, today, is no longer the language of the coloniser – it is the language of aspiration, innovation and communication.
Amit Shah’s comments, while politically charged, risk reigniting a divisive discourse that India cannot afford today. Instead of swimming against the tide of progress, the nation must embrace a model of linguistic coexistence where English and all other Indian languages are seen as complementary rather than adversarial.
Language, after all, is meant to be a bridge – not a battlefield.
Hasnain Naqvi is a former member of the history faculty at St. Xavier’s College, Mumbai.
This is the first part of a two-part series on the revival of the debate on linguistic politics in India.
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