India at the Crossroads: Ambedkar’s Vision of State Socialism and the BJP’s Capitalist Turn

by Kumar Gaurav

India today stands at a defining economic and moral crossroads. The ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), since coming to power in 2014, has aggressively pursued policies of privatization, deregulation, and corporate expansion, an ideological shift that starkly contrasts with Dr. B.R. Ambedkar’s vision of state socialism and economic democracy. While the BJP often invokes Ambedkar’s name for political legitimacy, its policies betray his fundamental economic ideals—equality through state-led redistribution, social ownership of key industries, and protection of the working class from capitalist exploitation. This contradiction reveals a deeper philosophical divide between Ambedkar’s dream of a welfare-oriented state and the BJP’s model of market-centric governance that increasingly benefits the wealthy few at the expense of the working majority.

To understand the gravity of this contrast, it is essential to revisit what Ambedkar meant by “state socialism.” For Ambedkar, political democracy—universal adult franchise and equal civil rights—could not stand on its own without economic democracy. He believed that liberty, equality, and fraternity, the trinity of his philosophy, would collapse in a society marked by extreme economic disparity. His idea of socialism was not borrowed wholesale from Marx or Western models. It was a uniquely Indian adaptation, where the state would own and manage vital industries, ensure equitable distribution of wealth, and guarantee land reforms to eliminate the feudal and caste-based hierarchies embedded in India’s economy. Ambedkar’s socialism was built on moral reasoning rather than dogma; he understood that a democratic state that leaves its people hungry and unemployed cannot sustain itself on slogans of nationalism or religion.

Ambedkar’s economic proposals, presented in his 1947 memorandum “States and Minorities,” envisioned a model where the state would retain control over agriculture, key industries, and insurance, ensuring that resources served the collective interest, not private greed. He warned that capitalism, left unchecked, would reproduce the inequalities of caste in a new economic form, where wealth, not birth, would determine privilege—but the result would remain the same: a society divided between exploiters and the exploited. His call for land reforms and collective farming was not just about agricultural productivity but about breaking centuries-old patterns of oppression that tied Dalits and other marginalized groups to bonded labor and economic dependency. In Ambedkar’s view, the ownership of resources was inseparable from the ownership of dignity.

The BJP’s policies since 2014 have followed the opposite path. The government’s economic agenda, marketed under slogans like “Make in India,” “Ease of Doing Business,” and “Atmanirbhar Bharat,” has been less about self-reliance and more about self-enrichment for the corporate elite. Large-scale privatization of public enterprises, from Air India to coal mining and railways, represents not efficiency but a retreat of the state from its responsibility to protect public welfare. Deregulation in labor and environmental laws has weakened workers’ rights and made it easier for corporations to exploit natural resources with little accountability. Ambedkar warned of this danger decades ago when he wrote that the concentration of wealth in a few hands would destroy the foundations of democracy. His concern was not merely economic—it was moral and philosophical. A democracy, he said, cannot survive if its citizens are divided between “a handful of rich and the masses of poor.” Yet under the BJP, India’s billionaires have multiplied while wages stagnate and unemployment rises. According to Oxfam’s 2023 report, the top 1% of Indians now own over 40% of the country’s wealth. This concentration mirrors Ambedkar’s worst fears—an India where liberty exists in law but not in life.

Privatization, in the BJP’s narrative, is a symbol of modernization, an escape from the inefficiencies of the socialist past. But this argument ignores how public institutions once served as vehicles of social mobility. Public sector jobs provided stability to lower and middle-class families, particularly Dalits, Adivasis, and backward castes, who were systematically excluded from private industry. The shrinking of the public sector, combined with the government’s failure to enforce affirmative action in private enterprises, has eroded one of the few ladders available for marginalized communities to climb out of poverty. Ambedkar’s idea of state control was not bureaucratic paternalism; it was a means to ensure that the economy served the many, not the few. The BJP’s deregulation drive also exposes a deep ideological contradiction. While the party celebrates India’s cultural nationalism and traditional values, its economic policies are rooted in neoliberalism—a Western capitalist doctrine that prioritizes markets over people. This mix of cultural conservatism and economic liberalization has created a peculiar form of crony capitalism, where political loyalty often determines corporate success. The growing nexus between politics and big business, epitomized by the rise of conglomerates close to the ruling party, has tilted India’s economy toward oligarchy.

Ambedkar foresaw that political democracy without economic equality would become hollow. “On the economic side,” he said, “we must have a society based on the principle of ‘from each according to his ability, to each according to his need.’” His advocacy for collective agriculture and land reform stemmed from a recognition that India’s rural structure, dominated by upper-caste landlords, was both economically inefficient and socially oppressive. Yet land reform remains incomplete even after seven decades of independence, and under the BJP, the trend has reversed. Corporate farming and the weakening of agricultural subsidies have exposed small farmers to market volatility and indebtedness. The 2020 farm laws, which the government was forced to repeal after massive protests, symbolized this tension between profit-driven policy and the agrarian realities Ambedkar warned about. The farmers’ movement, led largely by small and middle farmers, echoed Ambedkar’s core message: that economic decisions must protect the vulnerable rather than empower the powerful.

The deeper tragedy lies in how Ambedkar’s image has been commodified by those who reject his economic vision. The BJP celebrates him as a champion of individual merit and social justice but strips his thought of its radical critique of capitalism. This selective remembrance sanitizes Ambedkar into a symbol of social upliftment while ignoring his revolutionary call for structural change. His belief that the state must actively shape the economy to ensure equality is now dismissed as outdated socialism, even as inequality reaches historic highs. Globally, India’s trajectory mirrors that of many developing nations trapped between democratic ideals and capitalist pressures. The privatization of essential services like education, health, and transport has eroded the very social fabric Ambedkar hoped to strengthen through public ownership. When access to quality healthcare or education depends on wealth, democracy ceases to be meaningful.

In this sense, Ambedkar’s socialism was not just about economic planning; it was about moral responsibility. It sought to humanize the economy, to remind society that production and profit are not ends in themselves but means to secure human dignity. What India faces today is not merely an economic debate but a civilizational question: can a democracy built on Ambedkar’s ideals survive under a regime that celebrates wealth over welfare? The BJP’s model of governance, centralized, corporate-friendly, and indifferent to redistribution, undermines the foundations of social justice. It replaces the state as protector of citizens with the state as broker for the rich.

Ambedkar’s warnings echo with renewed urgency. He believed that “political democracy cannot last unless there lies at the base of it social democracy.” As India privatizes its public institutions, deregulates its safeguards, and redistributes wealth upward, it risks hollowing out its democratic core. The economy may grow, but the republic will shrink. In reclaiming Ambedkar’s vision, India must move beyond token tributes and confront the uncomfortable truth that neoliberalism and democracy are uneasy allies. A truly Ambedkarite economy would restore public ownership of critical sectors, empower cooperatives, and ensure that every citizen—not just the wealthy—shares in the nation’s progress. Economic equality is not a relic of the past; it is the precondition for a just and enduring future.

In the end, Ambedkar’s challenge remains as relevant as ever. Will India choose the path of collective upliftment or continue down the road of concentrated privilege? The answer will determine not just the shape of its economy but the soul of its democracy.