Yoga is not Political. But it exists within Political realities - On dharma, discomfort and the cost of consistency
- madhura bhagwat
- Apr 25
- 7 min read
I have been sitting with this for a couple of weeks now. Turning it over in my mind, questioning whether it is even worth putting into words or whether it is easier to leave it as an internal discomfort and move on. The hesitation has not come from a lack of clarity, but rather from the awareness of what such clarity would bring with it.
The turning point, if I am being honest, came after I came across a post by a fellow colleague, someone who teaches yoga philosophy and engages deeply with the very texts many of us study and reference. On the surface, there was nothing unusual about it. And yet, something about it did not sit right with me. It was not a single statement, but a pattern I had been noticing for some time, one that this particular instance seemed to bring into sharper focus.
That discomfort stayed.
And the more I sat with it, the more it became difficult to ignore. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was consistent.
It is necessary for me to begin with clarity, not as a rhetorical convenience but as a philosophical position I hold firmly. Yoga is not political. It does not originate from ideological frameworks, nor is it intended to serve them. Its purpose lies in the inward refinement of the individual, in the discipline of the mind and in the pursuit of liberation. This understanding is, in fact, quite consistent across classical sources, from the Bhagavad Gita to the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali.
However, what I find increasingly difficult to defend is the assumption that because yoga is not political, it therefore exists outside the political and geopolitical realities of the contemporary world. It does not. If we are honest about it, yoga is often subjected to deliberate attempts to reshape and reinterpret it so that it fits comfortably within pre-existing belief systems. What we choose to teach, what we emphasise, what we simplify and what we present is frequently guided by what sells, what is in demand and what is most easily accepted. The idea that yoga exists in some untouched, pure vacuum is, at best, aspirational.
From my own lived experience, having been born and raised in India and now living and working in the West, and as someone who has formally studied politics, these patterns are not difficult to recognise. Yoga today is embedded within a global discourse that is neither neutral nor apolitical. Across both Western and Eastern contexts, and across both right leaning and left leaning spaces, yoga is repeatedly invoked in conversations that extend far beyond its philosophical intent. It is used to construct narratives about identity, history and power.
And in doing so, something very specific happens.
Yoga becomes a convenient entry point through which broader claims are made about Sanātana Dharma and Hindu traditions. These claims are often selective, partial and at times deeply misrepresentative. Over time, this does not remain theoretical. It shapes perception. It influences how Hindu traditions are spoken about, how they are understood, and, in many cases, whether they are included or quietly excluded from communities and conversations.
Yoga is welcomed. Its people are often not.
And increasingly, it becomes difficult to ignore that yoga itself is being used, at times quite strategically, within political narratives that aim to reshape, dilute or misrepresent the very culture it emerges from. This is not about yoga becoming political. It is about yoga being used within politics.
To acknowledge this is not to make yoga political. It is simply to recognise the reality in which yoga now exists.
And yet, this is precisely where I find myself questioning a recurring pattern among Indian and Hindu yoga educators. I say this with care, because this is not a universal critique, but it is certainly a recurring one. These are individuals who study the texts, interpret philosophy, and teach dharma, karma, satya and ahimsa with depth and precision. They build authority through this knowledge. They build platforms through it. In many cases, they build livelihoods through it.
And yet, when yoga is used in ways that contribute to the misrepresentation of that very tradition and its people, there is often a noticeable silence.
The reasoning is familiar. A reluctance to engage in politics. A concern about creating polarisation. And sometimes, a more refined version is that these conversations are better reserved for trainings rather than social media.
This is where I find myself pausing.
Because the same platforms that are considered unsuitable for “complex conversations” (eg. Instagram, Facebook etc) are entirely suitable for teaching philosophy, quoting Sanskrit, building audiences and promoting those very trainings. The depth of the tradition is shareable, just not when it requires context, not when it demands clarity and not when it risks discomfort.
The argument of polarisation, from my perspective, does not hold as strongly as it is often presented. Polarisation assumes binary opposition, two sides, two fixed positions. Sanātana Dharma, as I have studied and experienced it, does not operate within such a framework. It is not an ideology competing with another ideology, but a civilisational system that has held multiplicity, contradiction and internal diversity without needing to reduce itself into opposing camps.
So when I hear that speaking about misrepresentation creates polarisation, I cannot help but question whether we are describing reality or whether we are relying on a framework that allows us to step away from it. Because what is actually being avoided is not division. It is responsibility.
There is also a part of this that is rarely said out loud, but almost always understood. Speaking on such matters comes at a cost. It may lead to disagreement, it may disrupt audience comfort, and it may result in a loss of followers.
I say this from experience.
There is a very real consequence to not aligning neatly with dominant narratives in Western spaces. One is often seen as too much for one side and not enough for the other. You become, quite literally, the uncomfortable voice.
And yet, it is precisely here that I find myself returning to the teachings I claim to value.
I find myself returning, instead, to a different layer of the Bhagavad Gita, one that is perhaps less comfortably quoted. In Chapter 2, Verse 31, Krishna reminds Arjuna, “स्वधर्ममपि चावेक्ष्य न विकम्पितुमर्हसि”, that one ought not to waver from one’s duty. And more pointedly, in Chapter 4, Verse 7, “यदा यदा हि धर्मस्य ग्लानिर्भवति…”, that whenever there is a decline in dharma, action follows.
These are not verses about passive alignment, nor are they instructions for comfortable neutrality. They are reminders that when dharma is weakened, distorted or misunderstood, inaction is not automatically virtue.
Which brings me to a question I find increasingly difficult to ignore.
If one does not follow one’s dharma, or the very teachings of yoga that one so confidently explains to others, can one really call oneself a yoga educator at all? Are we truly practising what we are preaching, or have we become comfortable explaining philosophy in a way that never requires us to be challenged by it?
This also brings me to another contradiction that I find difficult to overlook. There is often a concern about engaging with such topics on social media because of algorithms, engagement models and the monetisation of conflict. These concerns are valid. But we are already here. We are already using these platforms to teach, to share, to build authority, to sell courses and to grow.
So the platform is acceptable when it serves us, but becomes problematic only when it asks something uncomfortable from us. At that point, it becomes difficult to argue that the issue is the platform itself. It seems more accurate to say that the issue lies in what we are willing, or unwilling, to risk within it.
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali defines yoga as “योगश्चित्तवृत्ति निरोधः”, the removal of distortions. Most of us are deeply committed to this when it comes to our own minds. But I find myself asking whether this commitment extends outward. When distortion appears in how yoga itself is understood, particularly in ways that affect how its originating culture is perceived, can this principle remain confined to the individual?
Or does it ask something more of us?
Let me also be clear. This is not about choosing sides between right and left. Quite frankly, Sanātana Dharma does not depend on those categories. The concern here is not ideological. It is human. It is about the repeated misrepresentation of a culture and its people.
And when awareness is brought to that, it is often labelled as “political.”
But I find myself questioning whether that label is accurate, or whether it is simply a convenient way to dismiss something that requires attention. Because if anything, this feels less like politics and more like something far more fundamental.
So yes, yoga is not political. But it exists in a world that is.
And in that world, it is being used, interpreted and at times misused in ways that shape how an entire civilisation is understood.
I do not believe one needs to speak on everything. I do not believe one needs to become an activist. But if I am willing to teach dharma, to interpret it and to build a body of work around it, then I find it necessary to ask:
Where does that dharma begin?
And where does it quietly end?
Because at that point, the question is no longer about yoga.
It is about whether philosophy is being lived.
Or whether it is being explained just well enough…….
that we are never asked to.
Namaste,
Madhura xx
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