The Supreme Court of India, in August 2025, ordered that all stray dogs in Delhi and surrounding areas be removed and sent to shelters, to be implemented within two weeks.
This decision sparked the Save the Stray Dogs movement among citizens.
At first, the issue seemed trivial, even laughable to many. But soon, protests spread from city streets to university campuses, forcing the Court to revisit its decision.
In the process, questions emerged: was urban India discovering a new political language of citizenship?
Where the protests happened
The movement unfolded in iconic spaces such as Delhi's Ramlila Maidan, Connaught Place, and Jantar Mantar; Mumbai's Azad Maidan and Andheri; and in cities like Chennai, Kolkata, and Bhubaneswar. Human chains, rallies, posters, candlelight vigils, and online campaigns marked the protests.
The demands were simple: don't remove stray dogs indiscriminately; instead, control their population through sterilisation and vaccination.
Who took part
The core of the movement came from the urban middle class: young people, university students, animal rights activists, and liberal professionals.
The women's presence was striking. Many animal welfare groups that work with dogs and cats are led by women, and young women in particular were visible on the frontlines.
Residents of Delhi also participated, seeing community dogs as part of their safety and neighborhood life.
Together, these were people who did not identify with the BJP's Hindutva politics. Their sympathies lay instead with ideas of civil rights and personal freedoms. Everyone remembers the violence carried out in the name of cow protection.
Yet, none of those voices were present here.
Political divisions between BJP and RSS
The stray dog issue exposed rifts within the BJP and the RSS. BJP leader and animal rights activist Maneka Gandhi, along with RSS chief Mohan Bhagwat, opposed the Supreme Court's order.
In contrast, former Union Minister Vijay Goel and Delhi minister Parvesh Verma spoke strongly in favor of removing street dogs.
On August 14, in Cuttack, Bhagwat declared: "All animals have the right to life. Delhi's stray dog problem can only be addressed through population control, not by caging them in shelters."
Maneka Gandhi wrote in defense of human–dog coexistence: "For nearly 25,000 years, humans have lived with dogs. They give us security, emotional support, and companionship."
But Vijay Goel argued: "The real issue is the one million stray dogs biting children, women, and the elderly. Dog lovers and NGOs protest the Court's order, but why are they silent on cows?" He even announced plans for a massive rally at Talkatora Stadium to celebrate the Court's decision.
The politics of protest
The protests were, on the surface, seemingly about animal rights. But beneath that lay a deeper political message.
When the state suppresses human dissent, even violence against animals can become symbolic.
Protesters mocked the contradiction: "What kind of country is this, where rapists walk free while innocent street dogs are locked up?"
The cry to save stray dogs blended strangely but powerfully with slogans for human rights. One popular chant was: "Awaara nahi, hamaara hai" (Not stray, they are ours).
Perhaps most significant was the return of the slogan "Azadi"—freedom—at rallies for dogs.
For the BJP, this was alarming. Azadi has long symbolised the citizens' voice against state repression. Once heard in Kashmir and during the citizenship protests, it now rang out in the save-dog movement.
Sometimes, even animal life becomes a political symbol. And when civic protest joins with compassion for animals, the language of resistance grows broader and harder to ignore.
Photo: Collected
Shift in Indian politics
The Save the Stray Dogs movement has drawn attention in unexpected ways. It revealed, once again, the distance between legal orders and lived reality.
This movement showed that middle-class urban concerns, even seemingly small ones, can quickly turn into justice marches, especially when citizens unite across networks and organisations.
Most of all, it proved that issues rooted in empathy can sometimes transform into sharp political symbols.
Dogs are not mere dogs
At its core, the movement suggests this: even small, everyday feelings of compassion can be turned into political language. When the state's heavy hand falls on animals, citizens may still respond by crafting, step by step, a new vocabulary of resistance.
If the cry of Azadi can be heard for the dogs, then echoes of past struggles for freedom also resurface. And it becomes harder to ignore deeper, class-based political questions.
One day, perhaps, Dalits might turn to Delhi's citizens and ask: "If a dog's life is precious, then why don't your slogans include us?" What answer will be given then?
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