Anna Hazare and the diminishing returns of moral protest

Raju Korti
At his ripe age, Anna Hazare must be wondering what more he needs to do to see his life’s mission reach fruition. For all his benign intent and unimpeachable personal integrity, his most potent weapon, the fast unto death, has begun to lose its sting. What once shook governments now elicits assurances, committees and carefully worded promises. The moral pressure remains, but the political response has grown anaemic.

The Lokayukta Act, which is at the centre of his latest agitation, captures this malaise perfectly. On paper, it promises an independent anti-corruption ombudsman empowered to inquire into complaints against public servants, ministers and even the chief minister. In practice, it remains a law without teeth. Enforcement mechanisms are vague, appointments are delayed and operational clarity is missing. Between presidential assent, legislative amendments and executive intent lies an inordinate gap that has reduced the Act to a well-meaning document waiting for life.

Hazare’s frustration is understandable. Announcements are made with ceremony; timelines are offered with confidence and yet implementation slips quietly into the future. One hopes, not without irony, that he gets to see the law function meaningfully in his lifetime.

His isolation today contrasts sharply with the mass movement he once led. The 2011 anti-corruption stir was anything but a solo act. Students, professionals, celebrities and ordinary citizens rallied behind him, united by a shared anger against systemic corruption. Politicians were kept at arm’s length during the fasts, preserving the movement’s moral high ground. Yet that unity proved fragile.

The fallout with key associates was inevitable once politics entered the frame. Arvind Kejriwal chose the electoral route, arguing that power was essential to cleanse the system from within. Hazare strongly disagreed, insisting that his movement remain apolitical. Others like Prashant Bhushan and Yogendra Yadav too drifted away as ideological and strategic differences sharpened. What began as a collective moral uprising gradually splintered into competing interpretations of change.

In hindsight, some supporters felt disillusioned, even used, as the movement was politically co-opted and redirected. Hazare stayed put, steadfast but increasingly alone, holding on to an idea of activism rooted in personal sacrifice rather than political negotiation.

This raises an uncomfortable question. Has Anna Hazare been isolated on the very issue he brought to national consciousness? Corruption remains pervasive, but public outrage now competes with fatigue, cynicism and more immediate anxieties. The fast, once a rallying cry, now risks being seen as ritual rather than rupture.

Hazare’s hold over the anti-corruption discourse has weakened, not because the issue has lost relevance, but because the methods have. Moral authority still commands respect, but it no longer guarantees outcomes. In today’s India, intent must be matched by institutional pressure and sustained public engagement. Without that, even the most austere protest risks becoming a footnote to its own history.