Democracy and documentation have never been strangers. From census surveys to voter rolls, recording and categorizing citizens has long been central to modern states. Political scientist Dr. James C. Scott, in his seminal Seeing Like a State (1998), argues that states seek to make populations “legible”—reducing the complexity of human lives into standardized, measurable units for efficient governance. Legibility enables administration: land can be taxed, people can be counted, and services delivered—but at a cost. It flattens or erases local nuances, informal practices, and social diversities. Yet, despite its dangers, this impulse to document persists as a mode of state power. This article traces how such logic has been transformed in the digital age, where biometric data and algorithmic governance have redefined visibility to the state. Focusing on India’s Aadhaar system under the Unique Identification Authority of India (UIDAI), it examines how digital identity infrastructures have reshaped citizenship, welfare, and public trust, and how participation is increasingly routed through systems of documentation and visibility.
When first introduced, Aadhaar was pitched as a voluntary tool—an efficient, tech-driven solution to reduce corruption and improve welfare delivery. What began as optional is now indispensable. As Abhijeet’s paper explores, Aadhaar is now linked to ration cards, SIMs, bank accounts, income tax, and MGNREGA. Inclusion has morphed into coercion—basic rights now hinge on biometric compliance. Citizens find themselves in a forced negotiation, where they must trade off their right to privacy to access other rights, such as employment, food, and loans. By taking away privacy in exchange for a promised security, citizens thus enter into a patron-client relationship with the state. They are forced to choose one right over another.
Aadhaar was posed as a means to help the poor and reduce corruption in public distribution schemes by minimizing the use of fake identities. In doing so, it framed inefficiencies in welfare as technical issues of identity verification, solvable through biometrics. This narrative, however, ignores deeper structural inequalities. As Ferguson’s concept of the anti-politics machine suggests, the problem with depoliticized technical solutions—intentional or not—is that they often fail to solve the issues they claim to address. Instead all that happens is thickening of power and expansion of bureaucratic control, as seen in the case of aadhar where the state now had data for the intimate aspects of one’s life. The same applies to Aadhaar. In practice, those without it are routinely denied rations and subsidies.
Aadhaar models Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon prison and echoes Foucault’s theory of modern power. In Bentham’s prison, constant surveillance isn’t required—only the possibility of being watched is enough to keep inmates alert at all times. As Foucault explains, power no longer needs to rely on force or coercion; it is internalized by subjects who come to regulate their behavior. However, while Foucault describes this process as producing perpetually anxious subjects, that anxiety doesn’t quite manifest in the same way in the modern digital Panopticon of Aadhaar, at least not overtly. Instead, it translates into a sentiment we hear all too often: “If I have nothing to hide, why should I be afraid?”
Today, almost every aspect of an Indian citizen’s life is intertwined with Aadhaar and the UIDAI ecosystem, including legal documents like mark cards, driving licenses, PAN cards, and even vaccine certificates. Transactions are monitored via UPI, enabling cashless efficiency, movement through Fast Tag, travel via Digi Yatra, health records through e-Sanjeevani, and documents through DigiLocker. These platforms promise efficiency, and they deliver. However, they also open the door to scams, such as the one in Uttar Pradesh, where bureaucrats manipulated Aadhaar data to divert ration supplies to light. They also create opportunities for exclusion, as in the case of the Rohingya,who are denied Aadhaar altogether. These instances underscore the undeniable dangers of such centralized visibility. Even on the international stage, cases like that of Edward Snowden demonstrate how states can misuse data against dissent. Yet, despite these red flags, there is little public outcry. The lack of public protest is not due to ignorance, but perhaps because the morality of transparency compels citizens to comply.
This essay does not aim to critique the content of the statement in question, nor to elaborate on the widely acknowledged risks associated with the erosion of privacy rights. Rather, it examines the statement as a speech act—a performative utterance that enacts social and political meanings beyond its surface content. Such statements are not merely expressions of personal opinion or psychological states marked by anxiety; they actively participate in the reproduction of surveillance legitimacy. By framing privacy as suspicious—suggesting that only individuals with something to hide would value it—this discourse aligns itself with dominant norms of "good citizenship" and transparency. Simultaneously, it pathologizes resistance to surveillance, casting those who advocate for privacy as morally suspect or potentially deviant.
In Foucault’s terms, this is a textbook example of how norms are internalised and reproduced. The Panopticon was not just about external control but about cultivating a citizen who disciplines themselves. Today, people don’t resist these systems—they accept and even participate in them, often in the name of convenience. Aadhaar’s intent may not have been sinister—it was, after all, introduced for better governance. But even limited success in administrative efficiency has come with a thickening of power. Surveillance is now ambient, mundane, and embedded in daily life. The possibility of being seen is no longer exceptional—it’s a condition of existence. The citizen behaves “properly” not from fear of punishment, but because the gaze is internalised. Today’s prison isn’t made of walls; it is built into digital infrastructures. Privacy is no longer a right but a negotiable—and often expendable—commodity. As the state gathers more data, it gains not just power over individuals but the authority to define what counts as knowledge. The moral weight now placed on “transparency” reflects this shift: many genuinely believe surrendering privacy is a civic virtue, serving both public good and personal convenience. In doing so, they unknowingly legitimise the state’s expanding control over the most intimate aspects of their lives.
Ayushi Bhandari
