For us Goans, the NEET-UG episode did more than disrupt academic calendars. Students had to retake the exam. A chain of events that began with a broken exam has ended with shattered confidence in the system. Some students elsewhere have died by suicide in anguish over the paper leakage. Their best efforts were nullified by forces beyond their control.
Since June 28, Sonam Wangchuk, a Ladakhi engineer and education reformer, has gone on a hunger strike, refusing food until the state listens. This action comes in the context of the demand for the resignation of the education minister in the light of massive examination failures.
A hunger strike, especially one framed as a ‘fast unto death', is not a casual protest. It is a deliberate, sustained act of self‑harm with some motive in mind. Not everyone is psychologically equipped to take this step. Several traits and conditions tend to cluster in people who do take this step.
People who undertake extreme non-violent sacrifice often have what psychologists call 'moral conviction', beliefs so central to their identity that violating them feels like self-betrayal. Research on moral conviction shows that such beliefs predict willingness to engage in costly action, including protests that risk arrest, injury or even death.
Fasting requires extraordinary physical and mental endurance. People who choose this path often have a high tolerance for discomfort and a capacity to delay immediate gratification for a distant goal.
Hunger strikers rarely act only for themselves. They frame their suffering as standing in for a larger group, be it students, farmers and so on. They know that a fast unto death is a high-risk, high-visibility move, and they often resort to it when quieter methods have failed.
A hunger strike is, in psychological terms, a form of coercive non-violence. When a respected figure begins to starve themselves in public, it creates what one can call a ‘moral shock’, a jolt to the conscience of observers.
This triggers strong emotions like pity, admiration, guilt and anger and forces the issue into the centre of public discourse. Research on non-violent resistance shows that such campaigns are often more effective than violent ones because they mobilise broader support.
A fast unto death introduces a clear, dramatic deadline, the striker’s possible death. This compresses time and forces decision‑makers to act now rather than delay. That clarity can break bureaucratic logjams where endless committees and files have achieved nothing.
Psychologically, Sonam Wangchuk’s fast is designed to do two things: first, to shock the conscience of the nation and the government; and second, to offer a clear exit and meet the demand and the fast ends. It transforms the hunger strike from a tragic spectacle into a negotiable lever.
Yet hunger strikes do not always work. Low public mobilisation, alternate narratives, issue and responsibility complexity, protest fatigue and fading media attention set in.
For Goa, the lesson is not just about whether Sonam wins or loses. It is about what his fast reveals about our own relationship with authority and education. When exams fail, when papers leak, when retests are ordered, who pays?
A hunger strike is a desperate weapon of the powerless. The integrity of our systems is a crucial issue. It is the ground on which our children and the future stand. When that ground cracks, some will look away. Others will choose to put their own body between the crack and the child and their future.
Whether Sonam Wangchuk’s hunger strike succeeds in bringing the powerful to the table or ends in tragedy, it forces a question we cannot dodge: What kind of system do we want to live in, and what are we willing to do when it fails?
(The writer is Associate Professor, Department of Psychology, St Xavier’s College, Mapusa)
