The Silent Suffering of Hunger Strikes: A Call to Action

New Delhi, India Jul 16, 2026 ALN: Not everyone knows what hunger is.

Not really. Not while sitting behind a phone, scrolling through opinions. Not while working comfortably behind a desk. Not when the next meal is only a few steps away.

That is perhaps why so many people struggle to understand a hunger strike. They dismiss it as drama, symbolism or political theatre.

But the human body does not understand symbolism.

When we stop eating, the body first survives on stored glucose. Within a day, those reserves begin to disappear. It starts breaking down muscle just to keep the brain functioning. A few days later, it switches to burning fat and producing ketones to stay alive. Hunger slowly gives way to exhaustion. The metabolism slows. Blood pressure falls. Muscles weaken. The immune system begins to fail. Every passing day is a negotiation between survival and collapse. By around 18 days, the body is no longer simply hungry. It is sacrificing itself to stay alive.

Now ask yourself a simple question. Why would anyone willingly choose that?

For 19 days now, Sonam Wangchuk has been on a hunger strike at Jantar Mantar seeking the resignation of the Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan.

Not for money. Not for power. Not for a government post.

He is doing it because he believes the young people of this country deserve a better system than the one they have inherited.

Many people have asked what difference one minister's resignation will make. The truth is, maybe it won't solve the problem overnight. Nobody is claiming it will. But accountability has to begin somewhere. More importantly, it has to force a conversation. Right now, what is missing is not just action. It is the willingness to even acknowledge that something is deeply broken.

Look at the numbers.

An analysis by India Today found 65 exam paper leak incidents between 2019 and 2024. Around 60 of them were state-level examinations. Another investigation by The Indian Express documented dozens of major paper leak cases over the years involving recruitment exams and public service examinations. Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan, Maharashtra, Bihar and several other states have all witnessed repeated incidents.

At what point do repeated failures stop becoming isolated incidents and start becoming a pattern?

Every paper leak is more than a headline. It is months, sometimes years, of someone's life. It is a student who studied while everyone else slept. It is a family that borrowed money for coaching classes. It is parents who skipped their own comforts believing their child's education would change the family's future.

And then one morning, everything they worked for is declared compromised.

We often talk about paper leaks as administrative failures. They are not. They are human tragedies.

During the NEET controversy and the uncertainty that followed, reports documented at least 11-12 aspirants who died by suicide in the weeks between the cancellation and the re-examination. Every death has its own complex reasons, and it would be unfair to reduce them to a single cause. But it would be equally dishonest to pretend that uncertainty, repeated failures and the crushing pressure placed on students played no role.

How many more students have to lose hope before we decide this is unacceptable?

John F. Kennedy once said, "Ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country."

Those words are often quoted because they remind us that citizenship is not just about demanding rights. It is also about taking responsibility.

Sonam Wangchuk could have chosen comfort. He could have quietly continued his work as an innovator, an educator and a scientist. Nobody forced him to sit without food. Nobody asked him to risk his health.

He chose to. Because he believes this country is worth fighting for.

Sitting behind my laptop, I cannot pretend I understand what 19 days without food feels like. I cannot imagine the weakness, the dizziness or the pain. But I do understand what it means to be afraid.

I am afraid that we have become so accustomed to outrage that we no longer pause when someone is slowly destroying their own body just to make the system listen.

I am afraid that one more protest will quietly become another forgotten headline.

I am afraid that we will lose someone whose only weapon has been his conscience.

On July 16, students and supporters plan to join a one-day mass hunger strike in solidarity. You watch the interviews from Jantar Mantar. Young people sit under makeshift tents in the unforgiving Delhi heat. Some have joined the fast themselves. They do not sound angry as much as they sound exhausted. They speak about dreams delayed, trust broken and futures put on hold.

Listening to them is difficult not because they are shouting, but because they are not. Their voices are calm, their disappointment is quieter than outrage. And perhaps that is what hurts the most.

Empathy should not require us to agree with every demand. It only requires us to recognise another human being's suffering.

Today, that seems to be the hardest thing of all.

I read a line on Instagram by the account lifeofpujaa that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

"We are in a loop where we let the revolutionary voices die in plain sight. Then we talk about them, make films about them, those in power then ban those films, and we talk about them again, feeling sad about them again and again and again."

It is uncomfortable because it feels true.

The question today is not whether you agree with Sonam Wangchuk's method of protest. The question is much simpler.

Will we listen while he is still speaking, or only after history has the final word?

The act of a hunger strike is steeped in historical significance, often associated with nonviolent resistance and civil disobedience. Figures like Mahatma Gandhi have used this method to draw attention to social injustices and political grievances. Hunger strikes serve as a powerful reminder of the lengths to which individuals will go to advocate for change, highlighting the profound connection between personal sacrifice and social activism.

Wangchuk's hunger strike is not merely a personal protest but part of a broader narrative that questions the integrity and efficacy of educational systems. In India, the education sector has been plagued by systemic issues, including corruption, bureaucratic inefficiencies, and inadequate infrastructure. These problems have far-reaching consequences, affecting millions of students and their families.

The examination system, particularly, has come under scrutiny. The repeated incidents of paper leaks have not only undermined the credibility of examinations but have also perpetuated a culture of mistrust among students. For many, the examination is a pivotal moment that could determine their future career paths. When these processes are compromised, it can lead to a sense of hopelessness and despair.

Moreover, the psychological toll of such failures cannot be overstated. Students face immense pressure to perform well, often sacrificing their mental and physical health in pursuit of academic success. The fear of failure, compounded by the uncertainty of the examination process, can lead to severe anxiety and, in tragic cases, suicidal ideation. The loss of life during the NEET controversy is a stark reminder of the stakes involved.

In this context, Wangchuk's hunger strike serves as a wake-up call, urging society to confront these uncomfortable truths. It is a challenge to the status quo, demanding accountability from those in power. While the immediate impact of his protest may be limited, the broader implications could be significant. It could catalyze a much-needed dialogue about educational reforms and the urgent need for systemic change.

As citizens, it is essential to engage with these issues, not just as passive observers but as active participants in the discourse surrounding education and governance. Wangchuk's choice to undertake a hunger strike is a call to action for all of us. It compels us to reflect on our values, our responsibilities, and our roles in shaping the future of our society.

In conclusion, the silent suffering of hunger strikes should not be overlooked. It is a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made in the pursuit of justice and accountability. As we witness Wangchuk's protest, let us not become desensitized to the pain of others. Instead, let us listen, empathize, and strive for a collective commitment to change the systems that perpetuate suffering and inequality.

Ultimately, the question remains: Are we willing to engage with these pressing issues while there is still time to make a difference? Will we heed the call for change, or will we allow another revolutionary voice to fade into silence?