Some years ago, I painted a provocative sentence on a wall in my classroom: “Taxation is theft.”

I was not asking my students to accept it as economic gospel. I wanted them to challenge it. 22 MBA students could disagree in a class of 108, bring arguments from political philosophy, discuss the social contract, and examine why citizens pay taxes. The slogan was a starting point for a conversation, not the conclusion.

Today, after 14 years in education, I wonder whether I would paint that wall again.

The sentence has not become less debatable. What has changed is the possibility that someone might photograph it, remove it from its academic context, circulate it online and interpret it as evidence of something else.

This is the quiet transformation taking place across educational institutions and corporate workplaces. The most consequential restriction on free expression may not always be a formal prohibition. Sometimes, it is the moment a teacher deletes a post, a student abandons a question, or an employee decides that a perfectly legitimate opinion is not worth the professional risk.

The person learns to censor themselves before anyone else must.

In 2019, I taught international trade to a student named Ritu. We discussed tariffs, supply chains, trade wars and the distribution of economic costs. Inevitably, our conversations moved beyond textbooks. International trade raises questions about power, labour, inequality, national interest and who gets to make decisions that affect everyone else.

Ritu began engaging with these questions more deeply. Our classroom discussions became an opportunity to examine politics, rather than treating it as a subject that belonged exclusively to politicians.

Today, she participates in feminist solidarity walks across Mumbai and Thane.

Recently, she publicly expressed gratitude for having encountered a teacher who spoke openly about politics and issues that mattered. Her message stayed with me because it captured something that university brochures rarely measure: the moment a student discovers that questioning the world is not an academic inconvenience but a civic responsibility.

I do not claim credit for the person Ritu has become. Her choices are her own. But I recognise the importance of a classroom where questions are welcomed rather than discouraged.

When a student moves from discussing inequality in a lecture to demanding dignity in public spaces, education has travelled beyond the examination hall.

That is precisely why the shrinking of educational freedom matters. It threatens not merely the teacher’s ability to speak, but the student’s opportunity to learn how to think independently.

What the international rankings tell us?

The concern is not confined to individual experiences. Several international assessments have documented difficulties in India’s broader environment for free expression and academic freedom.

According to Reporters Without Borders’ 2026 World Press Freedom Index, India ranks 157th out of 180 countries, down from 151st in 2025. The organisation points to concerns involving journalist safety, media ownership concentration, political pressure and the legal environment.

These ranking measures press freedom, not the freedom of every teacher or corporate employee. It should not be misrepresented as a direct measure of classroom censorship. Nevertheless, the conditions surrounding journalism matter because they influence how freely citizens can access information, scrutinise authority and debate public policy.

The academic environment presents another warning. Scholars at Risk’s Free to Think 2025 report cites the Academic Freedom Index’s assessment of India in 2024 as “completely restricted,” with a score of 0.16. The report also documents concerns involving university autonomy, faculty employment and restrictions on student expression.

These are assessments produced by independent research organisations, using their own methodologies. They are not judicial findings about every Indian institution, and the rankings should be read in that context. But they raise an important question: what happens when a country aspiring to become a global knowledge economy struggles to protect the freedom to question?

India wants innovation, entrepreneurship, world-class universities and globally competitive talent. Yet innovation requires people who can challenge established assumptions without automatically fearing professional consequences.

A country cannot sustainably cultivate independent thinking while treating disagreement as a potential disciplinary problem.

The surveillance that does not need to announce itself

The modern workplace has made this dilemma more complicated.

A teacher once expressed an opinion primarily through a classroom discussion, an article or a public meeting. Today, that teacher may also have a professional profile, a public social media account, years of digital posts and opinions that can be detached from their original context.

The same is true of corporate employees.

An argument about public policy, a post supporting a protest, a comment on discrimination or criticism of an institutional decision can travel far beyond its intended audience. Screenshots preserve opinions after the original conversation has ended. Algorithms amplify controversy. A post intended for a limited audience can become a reputational issue overnight.

There is a legitimate place for institutional rules. Teachers should not harass students, disclose confidential information or abuse their authority. Employees should not leak customer data, expose trade secrets or engage in workplace discrimination. Organisations have a responsibility to protect people and information.

The problem begins when those legitimate responsibilities expand into a general expectation of political conformity.

In India, the Digital Personal Data Protection Act, 2023 recognises certain employment-related purposes as a category of legitimate use under Section 7(i). However, this should not be interpreted as unrestricted permission to monitor every aspect of an employee’s life. The law, its applicable provisions and rules, the nature of the data collected, and other relevant legal protections all matter. A useful legal discussion is available from ‘Chambers and Partners on workplace monitoring in India’. The practical concern is broader than whether monitoring is technically or legally possible.

It is whether people understand what is being monitored, why it is being monitored, who can access the information and how it might affect their careers.

A teacher does not need to receive a formal warning to become cautious. An employee does not need to be dismissed to understand that a colleague’s public criticism has attracted unwelcome attention. The possibility of being watched can itself alter behaviour.

That is the more subtle danger. Surveillance becomes effective not merely when information is collected, but when people begin adjusting their conduct because they cannot predict how that information might be used.

Orwell’s warning, Foucault’s panopticon

George Orwell imagined a society in which power extended beyond controlling behaviour to shaping what people felt safe enough to think and express. The disturbing part of that vision was not simply the existence of surveillance. It was the normalisation of surveillance.

Michel Foucault offered a related explanation in Discipline and Punish. Drawing on Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon, he examined how the possibility of observation can make individuals regulate themselves. A person need not know whether they are being watched at every moment. Uncertainty can be enough to encourage compliance.

Apply this to a university.

A professor considering a lecture on caste discrimination, electoral politics, religious nationalism or labour rights may begin anticipating the reaction of administrators, parents, students and social media users. Instead of asking whether the discussion is academically sound, the professor starts asking whether it is professionally safe.

The same calculation occurs in an office. An employee who wants to question a company’s environmental claims or discuss a public policy may decide that silence is the safer career choice. No explicit instruction to remain silent is necessary.

Psychologist Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann’s “spiral of silence” helps explain how this process spreads. People who believe their opinions are unpopular or socially risky may withhold them. Their silence then makes the dominant opinion appear even more widespread, encouraging others to remain quiet. The result is a misleading appearance of consensus.

A department may appear politically unanimous when its members are simply unwilling to disagree publicly. A corporate team may seem comfortable with a decision because nobody wants to be the first person to question it.

Solomon Asch’s conformity experiments also demonstrated how social pressure can influence individuals’ public judgements. In his classic experiments, many participants conformed to an incorrect majority answer at least once. The lesson is not that every individual inevitably submits to authority. It is that social settings can make disagreement psychologically costly, even when the facts appear clear.

These theories help explain why restrictions on expression are so difficult to measure. A disciplinary notice can be counted. A question never asked cannot.

When teachers themselves become the lesson?

Recent cases show how social media expression can become an employment issue for educators.

In October 2025, a circular issued by the chief education officer in Baramulla warned government school staff against social media posts concerning policy matters and referred to possible employment consequences. The Jammu and Kashmir administration subsequently ordered an inquiry and removed the officer from those responsibilities, according to The Indian Express.

The episode illustrates an important distinction: institutional restrictions can be challenged, and administrative action does not automatically establish that a policy was lawful or appropriate.

Yet the episode also raises a question that extends beyond one officer or one circular. What happens when educators begin to believe that commenting on public policy could jeopardise their employment?

A teacher’s public expression should not be immune from accountability. Professional misconduct, threats, harassment and breaches of confidentiality deserve appropriate scrutiny. But lawful criticism of government policy is not automatically professional misconduct merely because it is uncomfortable for an authority. The distinction is fundamental to constitutional democracy.

Article 19(1)(a) of the Indian Constitution guarantees citizens the right to freedom of speech and expression, subject to the reasonable restrictions permitted under Article 19(2). The scope of these protections and their application to employment relationships can involve complex legal questions.

The principle, however, remains clear: a democratic society must distinguish between legitimate restrictions on harmful conduct and attempts to suppress lawful disagreement.

If teachers are expected to explain democracy but discouraged from discussing its controversies, the contradiction becomes part of the curriculum. Students learn from the teacher’s words. They also learn from the subjects the teacher avoids.

When the streets become classrooms

India’s recent protests provide a live illustration of why the freedom to question matters.

In October 2026, student groups and other protesters gathered in Delhi over allegations concerning electoral-roll revisions and demands for the resignation of the Chief Election Commissioner. Police detained demonstrators on multiple occasions. Human Rights Watch, in its 13 October 2026 statement, raised concerns about the treatment and detention of protesters.

The authorities and protesters may offer different accounts of individual incidents, and allegations should be evaluated on the available evidence. Public order is a legitimate concern. But peaceful political expression and violence are not interchangeable categories. The question is whether the response to dissent is proportionate, lawful and consistent with constitutional protections.

A similar tension appears in women’s movements for safer public spaces.

On 4 October 2026, The Times of India reported that women gathered at locations across Mumbai for solidarity walks organised by the “Why Loiter” collective. Participants called for women’s right to occupy public spaces and challenged the restrictions that fear and sexual violence impose on their everyday lives. The report also described a solidarity walk in Thane.

These women were not asking for permission to have opinions. They were asserting their right to participate in public life. Their placards, conversations and collective presence make a political argument: safety cannot mean permanently restricting the movement of those at risk. It must also mean addressing the conditions that make public spaces unsafe.

This is where Ritu’s story returns to the centre of mine. A student who once discussed international trade in a classroom now participates in feminist walks, expressing concerns about dignity, equality and public space. The connection between these experiences is not that a teacher produces a particular political viewpoint. It is that education can give people the confidence to examine social problems and participate in public debate.

The street is not the enemy of education. Sometimes, it is where education becomes visible.

My own experience: the cost of speaking

Over 14 years of teaching, I have repeatedly used provocative questions, public commentary and unconventional teaching methods to encourage debate.

The phrase “Taxation is theft” was one example. Its purpose was to force students to consider competing arguments about taxation, liberty, public goods and the social contract. It was not an instruction to evade taxes or an endorsement of any single ideology.

In January 2022, I also became involved in bringing a hateful Clubhouse conversation to the attention of the authorities. 4 young men were arrested in connection with the case. An arrest is not a conviction, and the legal responsibility of each person must be determined through due process. It’s all on the internet, via google search.

I mention this experience because it taught me something about the responsibilities attached to public expression. Digital platforms can facilitate abuse and hateful speech, and reporting potentially unlawful conduct can be necessary. At the same time, digital evidence and public outrage must not become substitutes for fair investigation or legal standards.

There is a difference between challenging prejudice and demanding that everyone agree with us. There is also a difference between reporting harmful conduct and suppressing a legitimate political opinion.

A democratic culture must preserve both distinctions. The difficult part is that the same digital environment in which genuine wrongdoing can be documented also allows an academic argument to be stripped of context. A lecture slide, a photograph of graffiti or a sentence from an article can circulate without the discussion that originally gave it meaning.

The teacher becomes more than a teacher. He becomes a searchable public profile, a collection of archived opinions and a potential subject of scrutiny. I increasingly find myself asking not only whether a statement is intellectually defensible, but how it might be interpreted outside the classroom. That is an uncomfortable change after fourteen years in education.

Why should the silence worry businesses too?

This is not only a problem for universities or governments. Corporate India has something substantial to lose when employees become afraid to speak.

Research on organisational behaviour has long examined “psychological safety”, a concept associated with Harvard Business School scholar Amy Edmondson. It refers to a shared belief that a team is safe for interpersonal risk-taking, including asking questions, admitting mistakes and raising concerns.

Psychological safety does not mean the absence of accountability. It means that people can raise difficult issues without automatically fearing humiliation or retaliation.

A workplace that discourages dissent may look orderly while allowing serious problems to remain hidden. Employees may withhold warnings about unsafe practices, questionable decisions or unrealistic targets. Junior workers may stop asking questions precisely when they need guidance most. The consequences can be financial as well as ethical.

In education, the losses are equally serious. A student who never encounters disagreement may mistake confidence for evidence and conformity for understanding. A teacher who avoids difficult questions cannot adequately prepare students for a world shaped by political conflict, technological disruption and social inequality.

An institution that produces obedient workers may achieve short-term predictability. But an economy seeking innovation needs people willing to question assumptions, identify mistakes and propose alternatives.

Independent thought is not a threat to institutional excellence. It is one of its essential conditions.

None of this requires the assumption that every institution is deliberately suppressing speech or that every act of monitoring is illegitimate. The solutions are practical.

Universities should establish transparent academic-freedom policies and protect good-faith debate, including disagreement with public authorities. Corporate employers should distinguish legitimate confidentiality and conduct requirements from restrictions on lawful personal expression. Monitoring should have clearly stated purposes, proportionate methods, appropriate safeguards and meaningful accountability.

When disciplinary action follows public expression, institutions should provide reasons, follow fair procedures and allow independent review. Teachers and employees, in turn, must remain responsible for the accuracy of their claims and the consequences of their conduct.

Free speech is not a licence to harass, defame or spread falsehoods. Equally, professional responsibility should not become a convenient argument for demanding silence. And universities must remember that political neutrality does not mean avoiding politics altogether. It means making space for evidence, competing interpretations and rigorous disagreement without imposing a prescribed conclusion.

The wall is still there?

I keep returning to that classroom wall and the sentence painted on it.

The slogan was deliberately provocative. Its educational value came from the fact that students could challenge it, defend it or reject it. The classroom was not valuable because everyone agreed. It was valuable because disagreement was possible.

Ritu’s journey reminds me that the consequences of such conversations can extend far beyond a semester or an examination. Students carry questions into workplaces, communities and streets. They develop their own positions, often different from those of their teachers.

That is how it should be? The real danger is not that young people will disagree with their teachers, employers or governments. The danger is that they will learn to avoid disagreement altogether.

A society does not become intellectually free merely because its citizens can technically publish a post or attend a lecture. Freedom also requires the confidence that a lawful opinion will not automatically destroy a career, close an academic opportunity or invite disproportionate punishment. After fourteen years in teaching, I remain convinced that education must do more than prepare people for employment. It must prepare them to question power, examine evidence, recognise injustice and disagree without fear.

A campus without meaningful debate risks becoming a training centre for compliance. An office without psychological safety risks becoming a place where mistakes remain unchallenged. A democracy without room for dissent risks confusing public silence with public consent.

The future of free expression will not be decided only by constitutional provisions, court judgments or international rankings. It will also be decided in the small moments that rarely make the news: when a teacher chooses a difficult topic, when a student raises an uncomfortable question, when an employee challenges a decision and when a woman insists on occupying a public street. The test is whether these people can speak without first calculating the price of being heard.

I hope the next teacher who writes a provocative sentence on a classroom wall will be able to spend the following week debating its meaning with students, rather than worrying about who might photograph it. Because education is not a factory floor. And a campus that teaches people only when to remain silent cannot claim to have fully taught them “democracy”.

Views of the author are personal and do not necessarily represent the website’s views.

Dr. Jaimine Vaishnav is a faculty of geopolitics and world economy and other liberal arts subjects, a researcher with publications in SCI and ABDC journals, and an author of 6 books specializing in informal economies, mass media, and street entrepreneurship. With over a decade of experience as an academic and options trader, he is keen on bridging the grassroots business practices with global economic thought. His work emphasizes resilience, innovation, and human action in everyday human life. He can be contacted on jaiminism@hotmail.co.in for further communication.

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