Twenty years ago, the dictatorship that rules China crushed a peaceful gathering of students and young people in Tiananmen Square, leading to large numbers of deaths. That day, I think I came of age, politically. It taught me, that the realities I held in the highest esteem could suddenly, over night reveal themselves to be monsters. There was no quicker way to grow up, suddenly.

I was an undergraduate student in Delhi University at that time, and a member (not overly active) of the Students Federation of India, a front organization of the Communist Party of India (Marxist). I had been following, with close interest, the events unfolding in Beijing, where what seemed to be an entire generation of students and young people had been assembling, peacefully, for more than two months, in support of political reform, openness and democracy. For me, as for many others who identified with the left in India, and elsewhere, the students movement was of enormous significance, as it pointed towards the possibility of a dynamic socialist democracy. We were buoyed by the cheerfulness of our Chinese student comrades, followed every communique, every slogan with care and affection, and said to ourselves, “see, they sing the Internationale”.

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