Patralekha Chatterjee | India’s Gen Z Brings Focus Back on Education Glitches

Last week, a 65-year-old grandmother from West Delhi clutched my hand as we crossed the road to reach Jantar Mantar, India’s most iconic protest site. All around us, there were police personnel and barricades. It was my second visit; for her, it was the first time. She had sneaked out of her home because her family did not want her to navigate such huge crowds on a blisteringly humid July afternoon. “But I had to show up. I have a granddaughter,” she said. A row of young volunteers stood at the entrance, waving large bamboo hand fans.

It is not hard to figure out why the Gen Z protests led by the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP), founded by Abhijeet Dipke -- a political communications strategist -- created such a massive buzz in Jantar Mantar and across India.

The youth-driven (complete with memes, books, flowers, and Instagram energy) CJP managed to also pull in parents, working professionals, and many older people. Unsurprising given that Indian families across classes prioritise their children’s future above everything else. For those without ancestral wealth or social connections, education is the primary vehicle for mobility and security. Parents pour life savings into children’s coaching, relocation to study hubs, and because competitive exams like Neet are seen as absolute make-or-break milestones. Paper leaks, sudden cancellations, delayed results, and structural irregularities directly threaten that investment and the children’s prospects.

The crowds poured on to the streets across India because the essence of the protest hit a near-universal nerve: a widespread sense that the education system was failing the next generation. The paper leak in the high-stakes Neet-UG medical entrance exam compromised the futures of over two million students. Nor was this the first exam paper leak. A Neet exam paper leaked also in 2024.

A key demand of the youth protesters was the resignation of education minister Dharmendra Pradhan. Public pressure mounted by the protesters for days worked. Mr Pradhan put in his papers and the Narendra Modi government, sensing incandescent youth anger, announced a flurry of measures and agreed to heed some of the CJP’s other demands.

What began as a satirical online movement by the CJP quickly escalated into a weeks-long protest at Jantar Mantar, including a historic march to Parliament that faced harsh police crackdowns. Though the Modi government is reluctant to admit it, huge public pressure was key to Mr Pradhan finally deciding to resign. The government has also agreed on compensation for the families of students who died by suicide after the leak and assurances that there will be no punitive action against peaceful protesters.

Further, the Narendra Modi government has promised fast-track courts, a complete overhaul of the National Testing Agency and a high-powered exam reform task force led by Infosys co-founder and Aadhaar founder Nandan Nilekani.

The protests have been called off. It is hard to predict how this will pan out in a country with the world’s largest Gen Z population: 370-400 million. But one thing leaps out --protesters have succeeded in bringing education, typically pushed to the margins, to the centre-stage of India’s public discourse. Broken education cannot build “Viksit Bharat”, or developed India.

Walking around that afternoon, I met a young woman from Chhattisgarh who told me that accountability over paper leaks and a broken examination system was highly personal for her; if there were further delays, her family would pressure her to get married. There were many like her who had overcome a deep fear of the unfamiliar, boarding trains or buses from small towns near and far just to be part of a conversation critical to their future. Young women told me they felt “safe” at the protest site, even if Delhi is not known for being a safe place for young women. Many spoke of friends who had lost years of rigorous exam preparation, of families stretched thin by exorbitant coaching fees, and of the quiet despair that follows when a leaked paper or a cancelled exam abruptly turns ambition into exhaustion.

Why show up despite reports of lathicharges and teargas? Because for a betrayed, burnt-out generation, the alternative was far worse. Chronic paper leaks, cancelled exams, and bleak job prospects left them feeling their future was already dead ended. Students I spoke to said they felt betrayed because they had been pushed to dream big and then their dreams were shattered.

When people have little left to protect, the personal cost of being beaten or a few days in lock-up shrinks next to the cost of staying silent. Calling themselves “cockroaches” brilliantly weaponised a slur into a badge of survival.

What the protesters had in common was digital savvy. Every lathi swing, every injury, every moment of joy and solidarity was recorded and circulated, within minutes. Gen Z is often sneered at as mere “content creators”, but they proved they can showcase food, fashion, and fearlessness with equal deftness. Those video clips of young, unarmed protesters being beaten drew even greater numbers to the streets.

Education and environment activist Sonam Wangchuk’s long fast at Jantar Mantar drew large crowds and gave the protesters moral weight. His forcible removal to hospital provoked genuine outrage. Yet once he was gone, the focus did not blur. It remained on accountability in education.

The youth protesters made clear that fusing the moral, digital and comical makes for an exceptionally potent strategy. In Bihar, young protesters leveraged water cannons to stage a rain dance and asked the police if they had made arrangements for teargas. In Mizoram and in Mumbai, protesters sang. As Srdja Popovic, one of the Serbian protesters who overthrew Slobodan Milosevic and later went on to train protest movements around the world, writes in his book Blueprint for Revolution: “There is a reason humour is such a popular tool in the modern activist’s arsenal: it works. For one thing, it breaks fear and builds confidence. It also adds the necessary cool factor, which helps movements attract new members.”

What began as a satirical online response to a disparaging “cockroach” remark by the Chief Justice of India scaled into street presence through memes, reels, rapid information sharing, and decentralised coordination. In a smartphone-saturated youth population, narrative control and mobilisation no longer require hierarchical structures.

One resignation will not change things overnight. But millions among India’s Gen Z have lost their fear of power, and proved that a movement fuelled by shared loss can collapse the distance between online memes and the asphalt of Jantar Mantar -- bringing together the fence-sitters, the small-town dreamers, and grandmothers to remind those in power exactly who the future belongs to.