Sanatan, Silence, and the Struggle for Uttarakhand’s Future

At the Hindustan Conclave in Dehradun, Chief Minister Pushkar Singh Dhami declared that his government “cannot compromise on the issue of Sanatan,” presenting Sanatan Dharma as inseparable from the identity of Devbhoomi and India itself. His words were framed as cultural pride and civilisational continuity — a refusal to dilute his position even when global reports criticised his earlier speeches as “hate speech.” Dhami’s rhetorical strategy was clear: to merge cultural sovereignty with political legitimacy, to bind economic progress with spiritual heritage. Yet beneath the grandeur of this declaration lies a troubling silence — on vanished children from the hills of Uttarakhand, Himachal, and Jammu; on the unemployment crisis that scars the youth; on biodiversity that is rapidly eroding; and on the grassroots movements of paharis who raise questions about forests, rivers, and dams but remain unheard.

The invocation of Sanatan as a non-negotiable foundation of governance raises a fundamental question: does cultural identity become a shield against accountability? When Dhami asserts that speaking for Sanatan is not hate but pride, he positions himself as a defender of tradition. But what of the parents who search for their missing children, with no answers from the administration? What of the thousands of unemployed graduates who march in protest, demanding jobs, only to be met with indifference? According to government data, Uttarakhand’s unemployment rate has hovered around 4–5% in recent years, but among youth the figure is far higher, with surveys suggesting nearly one in five educated young people remains jobless. Can Sanatan alone feed them, employ them, or secure their future?

Equally pressing is the ecological crisis. Uttarakhand, a fragile Himalayan state, has witnessed devastating floods, landslides, and deforestation. Reports show that between 2001 and 2020, Uttarakhand lost nearly 1,200 square kilometres of forest cover, much of it to development projects and hydroelectric dams. The Chipko movement of the 1970s, led by pahari villagers, was a global symbol of ecological resistance. Today, similar voices rise against indiscriminate dam-building and mining, warning of biodiversity collapse. Yet the government’s rhetoric of “Viksit Uttarakhand” often sidelines these concerns, presenting development as highways and hydropower while ignoring the lived realities of paharis whose rivers dry, whose forests shrink, and whose livelihoods vanish. If Sanatan is about protecting dharma, does it not also mean protecting the sacred ecology of Devbhoomi?

The disappearance of children from hill regions is perhaps the most haunting silence. Families in Uttarakhand, Himachal, and Jammu have reported cases of abduction and unexplained deaths, yet investigations remain inconclusive. Civil society groups allege administrative apathy, pointing to gaps in policing and intelligence. In a state that prides itself on spiritual capital, how can the government remain mute on the most basic duty of protecting its citizens? Is Sanatan not also about safeguarding life, compassion, and justice?

Dhami’s speech at the conclave was deliberately diplomatic, promising transparent governance and accelerated development. But transparency demands confronting uncomfortable truths. The unemployment movement is not a fringe agitation; it reflects systemic failure to create sustainable opportunities. Biodiversity loss is not an abstract concern; it threatens the very survival of Himalayan communities. The vanishing of children is not a minor issue; it is a moral emergency. To speak of Sanatan while ignoring these realities risks reducing dharma to a slogan — a convenient word to assemble and fool localites, as critics argue. Scientific temperament, once nurtured by India’s constitutional vision, is eroded when governance relies on mythic invocation rather than empirical accountability.

The larger tension here is between cultural identity, governance, and India’s diplomatic image. On one hand, Dhami’s insistence on Sanatan resonates with a global narrative of civilisational pride, asserting India’s spiritual uniqueness. On the other, international reports that label such speeches as hate speech highlight the diplomatic risks of conflating cultural assertion with exclusionary rhetoric. For a state like Uttarakhand, whose economy depends on tourism, biodiversity, and global goodwill, the image of intolerance can be costly. Can Devbhoomi attract pilgrims and tourists if its rivers are dammed, its forests destroyed, its children unsafe, and its youth unemployed?

The argumentative story of Uttarakhand today is not merely about Sanatan versus secularism. It is about whether cultural pride can coexist with ecological responsibility; whether civilisational continuity can align with scientific temperament; whether governance can merge tradition with transparency. Dhami’s refusal to compromise on Sanatan may win applause at conclaves, but the unanswered questions remain: Why has the administration failed to explain the disappearance of children? Why has unemployment not been addressed with urgency? Why is biodiversity sacrificed at the altar of development? Why are pahari voices sidelined in the vision of “Viksit Uttarakhand”? And, most crucially, can Sanatan truly be safeguarded if the living fabric of society — its people, forests, rivers, and future generations — is neglected?

In the end, the strength of a government lies not in its ability to repeat cultural slogans but in its capacity to protect lives, create opportunities, and preserve the environment. Sanatan, if understood as eternal dharma, demands compassion, justice, and balance. To invoke it while ignoring the cries of the unemployed, the grief of parents, and the warnings of ecologists is to betray its essence. Uttarakhand stands at a crossroads: it can either embrace a holistic vision where cultural identity and ecological responsibility reinforce each other, or it can continue down a path where Sanatan becomes a convenient distraction from governance failures. The people of Devbhoomi deserve more than rhetoric; they deserve answers, accountability, and action. And until those answers are given, the question will echo: is Sanatan being protected, or is it being used to protect power?