The biggest achievement of the Cockroach Janata Party (CJP)—an online outfit that has deservedly transformed into a pressure group after successfully leading Gen Z protests at Delhi's Jantar Mantar—is that it has created a new template for dismantling hackneyed, election-driven political narratives. More importantly, it has shifted the nation's attention from poll-centric discourse to real issues, foremost among them education and employment.
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How did they accomplish this without any organizational structure, financial backing, or even a leader to act as a pivot or crowd-puller? Despite these apparent handicaps, the CJP captured the imagination of a populace that had remained largely spellbound over the past decade, losing its zest to question authority. These shortcomings, far from being impediments, proved to be a boon—not only for the CJP but for the nation. The immediate cause was the NEET paper leak and other examination irregularities, but beneath the surface, the agitation stemmed from a deeper disillusionment—particularly among Generation Z—with the ruling dispensation. This disillusionment flowed from a glaring mismatch between promises made and ground reality, compounded by the government's tendency to cover up failures through communal polarization and hyper-nationalism.
Undoubtedly, this agenda paid rich electoral dividends for nearly a decade, with a parallel mechanism constantly at work to discourage criticism, debate, and dissent. Then the CJP was suddenly born—thanks in part to a remark by the country's top judicial functionary—and within weeks, it had arrived at Jantar Mantar, changing the political wind direction. Educationist-environmentalist Sonam Wangchuk lent high-profile visibility to the movement through an indefinite hunger strike, joined by Gen Z student activists. What ultimately carried the day and secured the ouster of Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan was the grit, determination, and innovative Gandhian resistance of the protesters.
The protesting students had every reason to celebrate Pradhan's exit from the Union Cabinet—an act unseen since 2014. The only comparable precedent was M.J. Akbar's resignation in 2018 under the 'Me Too' movement, following allegations of sexual harassment by women journalists. However, that resignation did not directly challenge Prime Minister Narendra Modi's authority; in fact, his strategists used it to place him on a high moral pedestal. By contrast, Gen Z created circumstances through a nationwide cry that reverberated internationally, forcing the Prime Minister to remove his minister—something unprecedented since 2014, especially given Defence Minister Rajnath Singh's famous assertion that 'resignations do not happen in this government.' No one can deny the CJP or Gen Z the right to celebrate, but such scenarios must be viewed within the broader context of a democratic polity.
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Peaceful public protests cannot and should not be reduced to simplistic binaries of victory or loss, nor should they be seen as a loss of face for the ruling party. Accepting a public demand does not diminish a leader's prestige. On the contrary, responding to legitimate grievances—even if only to defuse tension—should be viewed as creditworthy statesmanship. A narrative has been cast that Pradhan's resignation is a setback and a dent in Modi's strongman image. This may be partially true, but much depends on how the Prime Minister chooses to interpret it. Since 2014, a new political ethos has taken root, equating strong leadership with 'victory at any cost without budging an inch.' That approach is fundamentally flawed in an electoral democracy where the people are supreme. Their demands may be right or wrong, but those in power must engage with an open mind rather than entering every confrontation with a rigid determination to uphold supremacy at all costs. This flexibility was missing in the government's initial response to the CJP protests; it was only belatedly that it chose to engage on realistic terms.
In simple terms, Prime Minister Modi eventually heeded the protesters' call and accepted Pradhan's resignation, albeit after considerable delay. Had the political authorities acted in time rather than prolonging the standoff and attempting to suppress it by force, the impression of a challenge to his authority could have been entirely dispelled. The delay only amplified the perception of reluctance.
From here, the CJP has a long way to go. Its victory remains largely symbolic in policy terms, but it has significantly raised public awareness about the challenges confronting India's aspiring youth. It will be incumbent upon CJP activists and Gen Z in general to maintain this tempo. At the same time, other sections of society—shaken out of their slumber—must recognize the urgency of backing the movement to its logical end, where tangible results are achieved on vital national issues.
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The fundamental question still hangs fire: Should the CJP convert itself into a political party? Its leaders are well within their rights to do so, but forming a political party at such an early stage would come with numerous encumbrances—organizational, financial, and strategic. For now, acting as a pressure group to hold the government accountable on public issues appears to be the prudent approach, until an appropriate time for taking the electoral route arrives. For the CJP to successfully transition into a political party, Gen Z consolidation must first be placed on firm footing. That would require an all-encompassing effort, involving not only young activists but also key opposition parties and people from all generations, to take on the formidable electoral machinery of the Narendra Modi-led Bharatiya Janata Party.
The CJP's demonstrations should be evaluated on broader parameters, beyond the national impact they have made in a short span. Significantly, these protests occurred against the backdrop of a wave of youth-led agitations across South Asia—in Sri Lanka (2022), Bangladesh (2024), and Nepal (2025)—each leading to shifts in political power structures. Although circumstances and ethos vary from country to country, the common thread is unmistakable: anger over youth unemployment, inequality, corruption, and the systematic exclusion of young people from policymaking. Another commonality is the catalytic role played by social media, with many new dimensions of digital activism on display during the Jantar Mantar protests.
However, the Indian context is entirely different from that of other South Asian nations. The primary reason is the firm footing of India's democratic structure, despite persistent efforts to weaken it. The ballot—and in the modern context, the EVM—has always played a decisive role, serving as a powerful and peaceful means for the people to vent their anger and effect change. Despite aberrations and challenges, that democratic context remains strongly intact.
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