Pavan K. Varma | If Passports Not Proof Of Citizenship, What Is?

As a diplomat, I have been posted abroad and travelled the world. In doing so, the passport I have held, declaring me to a citizen of the Republic of India, an emerging major power and a great civilisation, is a matter of abiding pride for me. I was, therefore, perplexed why the ministry of external affairs (MEA) recently announced that a passport is not proof of citizenship.

The government must have its reasons, but for decades Indians have understood that a passport was a solemn affirmation that the holder was a citizen of India. The process of obtaining it requires extensive pre-checks. Applicants must furnish documents, establish identity, provide proof of residence and undergo police verification. The passport was issued not merely because a person wished to travel abroad, but because the state was satisfied that he or she belonged to India. In fact, Section 6 (2) (a) of the Passport Act specifically says that a passport can only be issued to a citizen of India.

Indeed, the emotional significance of the document went beyond its administrative utility. It represented a bond between the individual and the nation. For millions of Indians travelling overseas, it was not merely a booklet but a declaration of identity and belonging. It is true, of course, that passports can be fraudulently obtained by concealing facts, forging documents, or misrepresenting identities. In such situations, the State has every right to cancel the passport, and prosecute the offender. But the existence of fraudulent passports should not normally be used to negate the basic presumption that a valid passport issued through due process is evidence of citizenship.

Many citizens have asked me which document is now proof of citizenship. Election cards can be obtained fraudulently. Ration cards can be manipulated. Aadhaar cards can be misused. Property documents can be forged. The issue becomes more troubling when viewed against the larger backdrop of documentation in India today. Aadhaar is not proof of citizenship. Election cards are not proof of citizenship. Ration cards are not proof of citizenship. Birth certificates are often challenged on procedural grounds. Now, if passports too are not proof of citizenship, the inevitable question arises: what exactly is proof of citizenship?

A modern State cannot function on the basis of ambiguity. Citizenship is not a philosophical abstraction. It is the foundational status upon which all constitutional rights ultimately rest. Before one can exercise the right to vote, claim legal protections, seek government benefits, or enjoy the privileges guaranteed by the Constitution, one must first be recognised as a citizen.

If no commonly accepted document conclusively establishes this status, the burden shifts decisively from the State to the individual. Instead of the State certifying citizenship through its institutions and documents, the citizen is compelled repeatedly to demonstrate that he belongs.

This inversion is, to my mind, very problematic. When the State reserves for itself the right to question citizenship despite having issued documents that traditionally established it, the citizen enters a zone of unacceptable uncertainty. He possesses papers, yet the papers may not suffice. He complies with procedures, yet compliance offers no finality. If citizenship remains perpetually contestable, discretionary powers inevitably expand. Officials acquire greater authority to demand additional proof. Citizens become vulnerable to arbitrary interpretation and bureaucratic satisfaction.

In many countries, including the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and most European nations, a passport is generally accepted as strong evidence of citizenship, precisely because citizenship is ordinarily verified before issuance. This does not mean that passports are infallible. Governments retain the authority to revoke passports obtained through fraud or mistake. But the ordinary citizen carrying a valid passport is not expected to live under a permanent cloud of doubt regarding his nationality.

The principle is straightforward. Verification occurs before issuance. Once the document is issued, the presumption operates in favour of the citizen unless compelling evidence establishes otherwise.

History teaches us that whenever discretion expands at the expense of clearly defined rights, the balance tilts away from the citizen. Democracies are strengthened not by enlarging uncertainty but by reducing it. The State must certainly guard against fraud, illegal migration and identity manipulation. These are legitimate concerns. But the remedy lies in strengthening scrutiny at the point of document issuance, improving verification mechanisms, integrating databases, and enforcing penalties against deception.

A passport occupies a unique place in the hierarchy of official credentials. It is granted after multiple layers of verification. It is recognised internationally. It is accepted by foreign governments as an authentic representation of the issuing State’s judgment regarding the holder’s identity and nationality. To diminish its status is to weaken one of the few documents that still commands broad public and international trust.

At the heart of this debate lies a larger philosophical question. In a democracy, should the citizen live under a presumption of legitimacy or a presumption of suspicion? A republic rests on a covenant of trust between the governed and those who govern. When even a passport ceases to carry the assurance of citizenship, that covenant begins to fray.

In Advaita or Vedanta philosophy, any attempt to define the all-pervading cosmic and nirguna (attribute-less) consciousness of Brahman, is rightfully responded to by: “Neti, Neti: Not This, Not This”, because what is without definition cannot be circumscribed by this or that. In philosophy, this is a profound concept. But in the empirical world, an endorsement of something as fundamental as citizenship, cannot be rebutted by: ‘Neti, Neti’. Citizens have a right to know that. Otherwise, their dilemma would be similar to the tongue-in-cheek couplet of Ghalib: “Poochte hain wo ki Ghalib kaun hai; koi batlaye hamein ki hum batlayen kya?: They ask, who is Ghalib? Please somebody tell me, what should be my reply?”

I would, therefore, urge the government and the MEA to reconsider its position, or at the least provide some further clarifications, regarding a document that has always been for me and millions of other Indians a proud proof of both identity and citizenship.