Sidelining English in India’s Governance Isn’t a Good Idea

New ‘Indian Languages Section’ Launched to Fight Foreign Influences

June 7, 2025

The central government has launched the Bharatiya Bhasha Anubhag (Indian Languages Section) to free the administration from the influence of foreign languages and promote decision-making in Indian mother tongues. At first glance, it may look like a step toward inclusivity. But it raises several fundamental concerns—both practical and political—that cannot be brushed aside under the guise of cultural revival.

According to a statement, released by the government on June 6, the new section within the Department of Official Language “will prove to be a milestone in the direction of freeing the administration from the influence of foreign languages.”

Let’s begin with the central premise that administration must be “freed from the influence of foreign languages” and that our full potential can only be realised when decision-making happens in our mother tongues.

The argument oversimplifies the relationship between language and power as well as overlooks the core function of governance—to communicate across regions, communities and contexts clearly and efficiently. India, with its extraordinary linguistic diversity, cannot afford a system where governance becomes fragmented by language barriers.

For example, in the northeastern states, where dozens of ethnic communities live in close proximity—often with competing territorial claims, languages and political aspirations—the use of a single regional language for governance can be deeply problematic. States like Manipur, Assam and Tripura have witnessed sharp divisions not only between indigenous and migrant populations but also among tribal groups themselves, each with distinct languages and identities. In such contexts, privileging one local language in official communication risks alienating other groups and fuelling further distrust.

English, while not rooted in any local ethnic history, has functioned as a neutral administrative language that avoids favouring one community over another. Replacing it with a state-dominant language could aggravate tensions in already fragile regions.

Further, if every state’s administration were to function only in its dominant regional language, how would officials from another state understand a policy document, respond to an inter-state alert, or even file a report that is legible across jurisdictions?

In this context, too, English has worked—however uneasily—as a functional bridge. It is not rooted in any single Indian region, and thus does not carry the baggage of dominance that Hindi does for many non-Hindi speaking states.

The assumption that “freeing” administration from English will make it more democratic is flawed. In fact, the likely result is the opposite. Those already marginalised by geography or education will find themselves even more excluded when different state languages become insular administrative tools.

And what’s left unsaid—but must be noted—is the creeping possibility that Hindi could slowly be positioned as the default common language in the absence of English. That would strike at the federal character of the country.

The fact that the name of the new section is in Hindi, Bharatiya Bhasha Anubhag, only sharpens the discomfort.

Hindi is not the national language of India, a fact repeatedly affirmed by the Constitution and the Supreme Court, which recognises multiple official languages without granting primacy to any one. While Hindi is spoken by a large number of people, it is geographically concentrated and not native to vast parts of the country, including Tamil Nadu, Kerala, most of the northeast and parts of Odisha and Andhra Pradesh.

Attempts to make Hindi the common language for governance or inter-state communication have historically met with strong resistance, particularly in states with distinct linguistic identities and a history of opposing linguistic centralisation. For these states, any move that appears to elevate Hindi as the default administrative language is not only unwelcome but seen as a challenge to their cultural autonomy and political agency.

The tension between centralisation and linguistic diversity is not unique to India.

In the European Union, for instance, English, French and German serve as working languages precisely because there is no single national language that can serve all equally. Even countries like Switzerland, with just four national languages, depend on precise systems of multilingual communication to function. Imagine a scenario where Swiss federal offices functioned only in German or only in French—the system would collapse. Similarly, South Africa recognises eleven official languages, but uses English for official business precisely to maintain coherence.

India is not Switzerland or South Africa, but the challenge is far more complex here. The number of languages spoken is in the hundreds, and administrative communication must be intelligible—not just in terms of feeling included, but in terms of actually being able to function. Translation systems are not robust enough to allow for every document to move seamlessly from Telugu to Punjabi to Odia to Assamese.

Machine translation tools are still imperfect. A multi-language administration without a working link language can lead to a bureaucratic breakdown where accountability vanishes in translation gaps.

There’s also the question of digital literacy and access. If each state begins developing its own digital administrative stack in its own language without a unifying language or technical standard, inter-state collaboration will suffer. Courts, disaster management systems and health advisories cannot afford a scenario where information is delayed or misunderstood due to language mismatches.

The idea that mother tongues deepen thought and enrich cultural identity is not being contested. But governance is not poetry. Governance is administration—forms, documents, audits, coordination, accountability. It requires clarity and speed across states, institutions and generations.

English may be a colonial legacy, but it is a functional one that—ironically—has preserved India’s linguistic plurality by not belonging to any single group. Removing it without a clear, tested alternative that is equally neutral and functional risks creating a tower of Babel inside our public institutions.

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