The bureaucrat as frontman

In the tense aftermath of the recent Pahalgam terror attack, as India and Pakistan inched dangerously close to conflict, it was not a cabinet minister or even the Prime Minister who addressed the media – it was Foreign Secretary Vikram Misri. With calm resolve, Misri handled a range of questions: India’s justification for Operation Sindoor, Pakistan’s accusations of missile strikes on religious sites, and the terms of the sudden ceasefire. His face, not an elected representative’s, became the defining image of India’s diplomatic stance during a national security flashpoint.

This is no isolated event. Over the last decade, there has been a systematic shift in how the government communicates: where ministers once explained policies and responded to crises, senior bureaucrats now increasingly take the lead. From the rollout of Agnipath to Covid-19, a new model has emerged – one where technocrats speak, and elected representatives remain conspicuously out of the spotlight.

At first glance, this may seem like a harmless administrative choice. Bureaucrats, after all, bring technical knowledge, institutional memory, and a non-partisan image. But scratch beneath the surface and the implications for India’s democratic health are troubling.

In India’s parliamentary democracy, ministers are not mere figureheads – they are the constitutionally mandated, politically accountable faces of policy. Under Article 75(3), the Council of Ministers ‘shall be collectively responsible to the House of the People,’ meaning every major decision must be justified by those elected to Parliament. Bureaucrats, by contrast, are unelected and bound by service rules that restrict their political expression. When they become the sole voice explaining government policy, it creates an accountability gap. Who takes responsibility if something goes wrong? Who answers questions about the underlying political choices? Who responds to public outrage or backlash?

This delegation of visibility from ministers to bureaucrats effectively blurs the line of political responsibility. Civil servants end up defending decisions they didn’t make, while the political class escapes scrutiny. The trolling faced by Vikram Misri online after his press briefing is a case in point. Yet, what is telling is that, even as opposition figures and former diplomats rushed to his aid, not a single serving minister or official from the government’s media wing publicly stood up for him. That silence speaks volumes: it shows that political leaders are content to let career bureaucrats take the heat, while they remain comfortably offstage.

To be fair, using bureaucrats during moments of crisis is not unprecedented. The Vajpayee government deployed Brajesh Mishra, then principal secretary to the PM and NSA, to explain the rationale behind the Pokhran-II nuclear tests. During the UPA years, Foreign Secretary Shivshankar Menon and Finance Secretary D Subbarao were regular fixtures at press briefings on the Indo-US nuclear deal or the global financial crisis.

Responsibility without power

But these were episodic and issue-specific. What is different now is the routinisation of this practice which has produced a new class of civil-service frontliners: secretaries who command the microphone yet lack the levers of power. Bound by the Civil Services Conduct Rules, they cannot defend policy in political terms, nor can they claim the immunity ministers wield on the floor of the House.

The larger danger lies in how this dynamic distorts the public’s understanding of governance. When policy is presented as a technocratic exercise, and controversies are explained away in bureaucratic jargon, democratic discourse suffers. Citizens no longer see policies as products of contested political vision; instead, they are told that “experts” have decided what’s best. Debate is depoliticised. Dissent is reduced to misinformed resistance. And the idea that governance is about choices – often difficult, value-laden ones – is obscured. Over time, this weakens trust not only in politicians but in the bureaucracy as well, which becomes wrongly perceived as the author of controversial decisions.

None of this is to suggest that bureaucrats should never brief the media. In emergencies, their expertise is vital. In highly technical domains – finance, defence procurement, disaster response – their presence enhances credibility. But a democracy cannot afford to hide its elected faces behind its appointed ones. Ministers must reclaim the podium. They must explain, defend, and engage with the public; not just when policies succeed, but especially when they don’t.

The government’s communication strategy may deliver short-term gains in message control, but it risks long-term damage to institutional accountability. If political leaders wish to retain public trust, they must be willing to stand before the people – not just during election rallies, but also when hard questions need answering.

(The writer is a lawyer and research consultant)