Itbegan as a joke but got taken seriously—so seriously that the government acted against it. That is the story of the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP), which is merely a week old. On May16, an activist, who reportedly was earlier associated with the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP), Abhijeet Dipke, launched CJP, a satirical take on Chief Justice of India (CJI) Surya Kant’s comment on the unemployable youth with fake degrees who eventually become “parasites” and “cockroaches,” attacking the system. The CJI’s remarks were not very elegant; these were especially hurtful as the young have been the victims rather than tormentors of the system. Among other things, they suffer because of a dearth of quality jobs and a conducive environment in which they can become wealth creators. And now, they are also hit by the incompetence and corruption in the bodies that carry out exams for coveted seats in higher education and jobs. The remarks were deeply resented by not just youth but also others. This was the reason that the CJI later issued a clarification, stating he was misquoted and his remarks were directed specifically at individuals entering the legal profession through “fake and bogus degrees.”

This, however, didn’t stop the usage of the term ‘cockroaches’ online and the party espousing their cause; in fact, the party received wide support from various politicians, activists, artists, and millions of other users across social media platforms. It is said that the CJP was able to get more followers than the ruling BJP and Congress, though the figures have not been verified. The government overreacted by reportedly directing X to withhold the account following inputs from the Intelligence Bureau (IB), which flagged “national security concerns.” Apparently, the Ministry of Electronics & Information Technology (MeitY) invoked Section 69A of the Information Technology Act, 2000, to demand action against the CJP account. Senior Congress leader Shashi Tharoor pointed out that the episode “confirms to us the extent to which there is frustration and dissatisfaction that the public can express through being able to tap into an initiative like this.” In the meanwhile, Trinamool Congress MP Mahua Moitra accused the government of stifling dissent. The government should have avoided action against the CJP, because it was quite clearly a joke.

Which serious political party would claim to be the “voice of the lazy”? Or claim that the “eligibility criteria” to join the CJP was to be “unemployed, lazy, and chronically online” with the “ability to rant professionally”? More than anyone else, the government took the joke seriously. By moving to block the account, the government ended up validating the very criticism the satire sought to make. A parody page that may otherwise have remained a passing internet joke suddenly acquired political significance because of official intervention. In trying to suppress ridicule, the authorities amplified it. The episode also raises troubling questions about the increasing tendency to invoke sweeping powers such as Section 69A against online expression that is inconvenient or embarrassing rather than genuinely dangerous. Democracies are expected to tolerate mockery, even harsh mockery, because satire is often a barometer of public sentiment. What makes the CJP episode particularly revealing is that the government appeared more offended by the language of protest than by the underlying anger that produced it. A confident government would have laughed away the joke.