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Memes are the new poetry of resistance. Stop judging them by old rules

The outrage over GenZ memes says less about young protesters than authority's perennial discomfort with unfamiliar forms of political expression

Gen Z, memes, political protest, political expression, dissent, social media, Instagram, Jantar Mantar, Dharmendra Pradhan, political communication, protest culture, Habib Jalib, Javed Akhtar, Arjun film, youth politics, digital activism, India opini

For Gen Z, the smartphone is not just a screen but a political tool, where memes, satire and viral videos have become a new language of protest | Photo: PTI

Ankur Bhardwaj New Delhi

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In the 1985 cult Hindi film, Arjun, Sunny Deol played the eponymous protagonist. The film, written by Javed Akhtar, is the story of an educated young man growing increasingly disillusioned with widespread corruption and injustice. Arjun breaks societal norms and does not shy away from violence while taking on the thugs around him. His angst is channelled by a corrupt politician seeking to use him before Arjun turns on him as well. This tight, gripping film became a superhit, perhaps tapping into a broader frustration with the state of the country at the time.
 
We probably witnessed a similar eruption of generational anger in the national capital in the past month or more. Delhi’s famous protest corner, Jantar Mantar, became the centre of agitation against a crumbling examination system. Young students frustrated by repeated leaks of important national-level entrance examinations called for the resignation of the country’s education minister, Dharmendra Pradhan.
 
 
GenZ, often judged for its attachment to smartphones, turned the device itself into an instrument of mobilisation and dissent to confront an examination system threatening to overshadow a potentially brighter future. Its reaction was not something the older generations, especially those born before the 1980s, had bargained for. The protests demanding Pradhan’s resignation didn’t just produce new slogans; they changed the grammar, vocabulary and expression of dissent. When the angst spilt over, it did so in the form of memes, jokes, sarcasm, remix videos, and most tellingly, profanities.
 
It did not take long for attention to shift from the reasons for the anger to the language in which it was expressed. It hurt some that GenZ protestors were not polite enough while demanding to know their future was being compromised. Their language was deemed offensive and derogatory, especially towards the Prime Minister himself.
 
This complaint about language is perhaps to be expected. One might argue that it is part of societal evolution: Every generation finds faults with the language, choices, music, culture, and morals of those that follow it. GenZ decided to do away with the niceties and pleasantries of yore. It filled the public square, also known as Instagram these days, with biting memes and slogans challenging the authority of the powers that be. And it was forthright in speaking what it really thought of those running the country.
 
Society and authorities have often mistaken unfamiliar forms of expression for evidence of moral decay. The Doors’ Jim Morrison provoking the police with his performances and The Rolling Stones frequently running into censorship are some examples. Even Lata Mangeshkar would recall later in her life the criticism she received from older composers for singing a “cheap” song like “Gore Gore O Banke Chhore” in 1950’s Samadhi.
 
The sit-in at Jantar Mantar was an Instagram-supplemented on-ground protest. Instead of demanding “politeness” in their opposition, it might be more appropriate to ask why this generation has moved away from traditional spaces to express their dissent. Why are young protesters no longer feeling obliged to route their anger through the sanitised and highly conformist language of traditional media? The initial surprise was quickly followed by shock or admiration, depending on where one stood, at the language of dissent itself.
 
It may come as a surprise to some, but memes are not the opposite of politics. They are just a different form of expression. They use satire, ridicule, symbolism, and inside jokes to send across a sharp message. They are as political as political cartoons in newspapers in the past. Only the speed at which they work is exponentially higher. Instead of the highly curated spaces in newspapers, memes only need WhatsApp, Instagram and a half-decent internet connection.
 
In the face of uncomfortable truths, the State and society critique the form, carefully avoiding the substance. Instead of providing answers, they try to shift the attention from accountability to etiquette. Demands for decorum, therefore, serve those in power by giving them easy escape routes.
 
Memes are a language GenZ understands and chooses in 2026. This language terrifies authorities and society because it is decentralised, anonymous, shareable, and resistant to censorship. That is not to say the State doesn’t try to control it. To pressure platforms, censor users or content, or shut out messaging, it deploys the same old administrative machinery it once used to control traditional media.
 
Political poetry has always relied on compression: The ability to distil anger, defiance, and collective feeling to form words that can be remembered and repeated.
 
When Urdu poet Habib Jalib wrote…
 
Tum se pehle jo ek shaqs yahaan takht-e-nasheen tha,
 
Usko bhi apne khuda hone pe itna hi yaqeen tha
 
(The one who occupied this throne before you
 
was equally convinced that he was god)
 
…he distilled his feelings about Yahya Khan’s dictatorship in Pakistan into two enduring lines.
 
Memes are the poetry of resistance for GenZ. They distil political emotions into text, images, and remixed videos. Like any new, fast-evolving artistic form, they are messy. A mix of irreverence and defiance, they are sometimes vulgar and often brilliant. Policemen can pooh-pooh it, bureaucrats can try to censor it, old uncles in WhatsApp groups can disapprove of it, and politicians can try to play catch-up. But they must realise that this now is someone else’s world, in which they are mere tenants.
 
GenZ had no say in the world the older generations bequeathed it. And older generations should have no say in the language this generation deploys to criticise its forbears.
 
To those still complaining, fruitlessly, Javed Akhtar’s words — sung on screen by Sunny Deol in 1985’s Arjun — might offer a peek into what the younger lot think:
 
Duniya maane bura toh goli maaro,
 
Dar ke jeena hai koi jeena yaaro.

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First Published: Jul 28 2026 | 4:34 PM IST

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