Politics was never meant to be a soup kitchen. It was supposed to be a battlefield where ideas clashed, ideologies burned, and leaders emerged from the wreckage with scars to show.
Welfare politics wasn’t new to India, but the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP) took it to another level, treating governance like an extension of social work. What was once an electoral strategy became its entire identity. It wasn’t just about conviction anymore. It was about convenience. It wasn’t only about the fight. It was about the free ride – and many welcomed it with open arms. When AAP first burst onto the scene, it sold itself as the great disruptor. It claimed to be the antidote to corruption, the scourge of dynasties, and the voice of the common man. And it delivered – differently.
Somewhere along the way, it transformed from a political movement into a municipal administration on steroids. Free electricity. Free water. Free bus rides. Free education. Free healthcare. Free, free, free – until politics felt like a loyalty programme, one that resonated widely. Gone were the fiery debates, the ideological battlegrounds, the grand narratives that shaped history – or so it seemed. AAP didn’t just promise a better political order; it delivered a more efficient service model that people could feel. It didn’t always inspire through rhetoric; it managed through action. It didn’t solely mobilise people to demand their rightful place in democracy; it turned them into beneficiaries of a system that worked – and who could argue with that? But here’s the catch – AAP was never truly an alternative to traditional politics.
It simply repackaged it. It claimed ideological neutrality, but when faced with political realities, it bent just like any other party. The moment it needed to survive, it pivoted towards soft Hindutva, shedding its supposed detachment.
This wasn’t a strategy – it was always part of its DNA. The India Against Corruption (IAC) movement, from which AAP was born, had a strong nationalist undertone. Kejriwal’s silence during Shaheen Bagh, his reluctance to criticise lynchings, and his crackdown on Rohingya refugees weren’t sudden shifts. They were the logical conclusion of an unspoken ideological alignment. The Hanuman Chalisa moment wasn’t a desperate attempt to co-opt Hindutva – it was a long-suppressed tendency finally coming to the surface. After years of honing this welfare-first model, AAP is learning that politics isn’t only about running a government efficiently.
It is about power. About perception. About playing the game with all its mud and fire. In the recent Delhi elections, the same people who embraced AAP’s welfare policies turned to a party that doesn’t just distribute benefits but crafts a gripping political story.
Why?
Because people, even while cherishing free things, don’t vote just for efficiency. They vote for emotion. They vote for power. They vote for a leader who doesn’t stop at subsidies but offers them a cause – whether that cause is real or crafted. AAP’s offerings were loved, no doubt, but they didn’t always stir the soul the way a broader vision might. AAP, with all its efficiency, built a system that hummed along like a well-oiled NGO. Meanwhile, its rivals ran elections like a crusade.
Also read: Ayodhya and AAP: How Kejriwal Is Normalising Hindutva as a Way of Living
And when it came down to a choice, people opted for the crusade – not because AAP’s work wasn’t vital, but because politics often craves something bigger. Arvind Kejriwal and his party weren’t entirely blind to this. Somewhere along the way, they saw that welfare politics, however popular, had its limits. It could only take them so far before they needed more. So they adapted. They explored soft Hindutva – chanting Hanuman Chalisa, visiting temples, weaving a cultural thread that stretched beyond transactional governance. But it was too little, too late. Others had already mastered blending political power with cultural appeal. Whether one agrees with their approach or not, it undeniably brings life to politics. It creates a cause, a movement, a sense of belonging that goes beyond policy. AAP’s attempt to echo this was earnest but hesitant, reactive rather than bold.
And in politics, hesitation is fatal. Politics, at its core, is about conflict. It thrives on it. Welfare politics, on the other hand, seeks to smooth over conflict with subsidies and services—and AAP has done this masterfully. But a society without political conflict can feel like a society without agency. Welfare without a political vision risks becoming just charity, and charity, no matter how well-executed, doesn’t fully capture the raw energy of a political movement. AAP didn’t just govern – it neutered political conflict. Welfare politics can be empowering if it creates politically aware citizens. But AAP’s model did the opposite – it kept people in a state of dependency rather than mobilisation. Its rivals, in contrast, built a participatory model.
They created foot soldiers, rallies, and a sense of belonging. AAP handed out services but didn’t give people a movement to fight for. The state became a service provider, an efficient one, but it risked making people spectators rather than players. It gave them benefits, tangible and real, but didn’t always amplify their voice. And when the tide shifted, the party found itself standing on a foundation of sand – efficient, yes, but needing more to hold firm. While AAP blamed the Union government for its difficulties in Delhi governance, it also failed to build an organisation beyond Delhi and Punjab. The lack of a cadre-based structure meant that when the tide turned, there was no ideological army left to defend it. Others don’t just win elections – they occupy institutions, reshape narratives, and ensure that political conflicts break in their favour.
AAP was focused on being an administrative success and failed to conquer the machinery of power. For all its self-righteousness, AAP didn’t forget the people; it gave them what they asked for. But politics demands more than governance – it craves grand narratives. People don’t just want schools and hospitals (though they adore them); they want heroes and villains. They don’t just want comfort (though it’s cherished); they want conviction. AAP’s failure wasn’t in governance – it was in imagination. Welfare was never the problem; the problem was that AAP thought welfare alone was enough. But as history shows, when decisive moments arrive, people choose the fire of a crusade over the calm of a transaction. AAP’s journey proves that efficiency wins hearts, but politics, at its wildest, wins the war.
Saqib P. Yetoo, based in Srinagar, is currently pursuing his Masters in political science and international relations.
This piece was first published on The India Cable – a premium newsletter from The Wire & Galileo Ideas – and has been updated and republished here. To subscribe to The India Cable, click here.
