Lathis, Tears and Barricades: How the CJP’s ‘Chalo Sansad’ March Was Stopped by Police

On the morning of July 20, 2026, a crowd of students, activists and young voters gathered at Jantar Mantar, clutching bouquets of flowers and chanting slogans. Their aim was simple: march to Parliament, raise the alarm over alleged examination rigging and press Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan to step down.

The Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) had repeatedly asked for a peaceful demonstration, emphasizing that the flowers were meant for the police. Yet, the Delhi Police had, the night before, announced that no permission was granted for any march that day. Still, a sea of hopeful faces showed up, undeterred.

By ten o’clock the procession began to inch forward, the route winding past the iron barricades that already framed the protest zone. Some participants tried to climb over the barriers, a sign that the crowd’s patience was wearing thin. Within minutes, the police—many of them without visible name‑plates—responded with a lathi‑charge. Wooden batons flew, and the first shouts of “stop” turned into cries of pain.

Videos that later circulated on X captured the brutal rhythm: batons striking heads, a few protesters collapsing, only to be struck again while on the ground. Several demonstrators claimed the batons had nails attached, a detail that added a chilling layer to the assault. One young woman, tearful, said, “We were treated like terrorists.”

The clash escalated when the police unleashed tear‑gas shells. Thick white clouds rolled down Parliament Street, forcing marchers to shield their eyes, cough, and scramble for water. The shells, as shown in a close‑up Instagram video, bore markings indicating they had expired in 2025—a small but striking detail that did not escape observers.

Amid the chaos, the main protest stage at Jantar Mantar was completely dismantled. What remained were scattered photographs, a toppled idol, and a handful of torn placards. Among the injured was content creator Ramit Verma, known online as “PeeingHuman.” Bloodied and wincing, he posted, “They cracked my head open.”

The CJP also alleged that women and children were not spared. Saurav Das, a CJP spokesperson, listed more than fifty people whose heads were allegedly broken, and spoke of a 12‑year‑old girl who suffered a hair‑pull and head injury. Sonam Wangchuk’s wife, Gitanjali Angmo, was said to have been grabbed by the police, an accusation the force quickly denied, calling the claims “false” on its official X account.

Police, for their part, claimed that some protesters had pelted stones at officers. However, no video evidence supporting that version surfaced; instead, the few clips available showed stones being tossed from the police side of the barricades. Adding to the pressure, mobile internet services were switched off around the protest area, cutting off live streams and real‑time updates.

By late afternoon the scene resembled a battlefield—broken shoes, shredded banners, dented umbrellas, and the occasional spent tear‑gas canister littered the pavement. The monsoon session inside the Parliament proceeded untouched, while outside, the CJP’s hopeful march had been reduced to a stark reminder of how quickly a peaceful protest can be shattered.

In the aftermath, the CJP vowed to return, insisting that the assault only hardened their resolve. Meanwhile, the Delhi Police maintained that their actions were justified, leaving the nation to debate the fine line between law‑enforcement and heavy‑handedness.