Is India Imposing Forced Phone Surveillance on All ?

When a government insists that every new mobile device in the country must come pre-loaded with its own surveillance-linked application, alarm bells should ring in any democracy. India’s directive to phone manufacturers to compulsorily ship handsets with the Sanchar Saathi app is not merely a cybersecurity initiative. It raises profound questions about intent, transparency, and the creeping expansion of state surveillance over ordinary citizens.

The official justification is familiar: cyber fraud, stolen phones, and the need to “secure” citizens. Yet this narrative collapses the moment one interrogates it with basic facts. If cyber fraud is the real problem, why is the government not holding telecom service providers accountable? How do scamsters acquire hundreds of SIM cards without proper verification, and why do telecom companies escape scrutiny when police routinely seize massive quantities of unregistered or fraudulently obtained SIMs? In how many such cases have area managers or telecom officials ever been arrested? Citizens have not heard of even one.

Instead of fixing structural loopholes, the State now proposes to insert itself directly into every Indian’s mobile device. The government claims Sanchar Saathi is “optional” because it can be deleted—but the order to manufacturers explicitly demands that the app must be pre-loaded, and its core functionalities cannot be disabled. An app that must be present, must run, and cannot be restricted, is an instrument of surveillance—whatever the official vocabulary may be.

This is not paranoia. A 2025 National Counterintelligence and Security Center report confirms that nearly 100 countries now purchase or deploy spyware to monitor their citizens. Surveillance is no longer the exclusive tool of dictatorships; it is the new currency of insecure governments fearful of their own people. France passed a law in 2023 allowing police to remotely activate cameras, microphones, and GPS on suspects’ phones. Fifty-country studies now reveal that police forces globally access mobile phone data in some form, and many governments actively use remote hacking tools.

History reminds us that mass surveillance is rarely about safety. It is about power, control, and the inability of ruling parties to trust their own citizens. Governments spy when they fear dissent, when opposition parties become inconvenient, and when ordinary people questioning authority become a perceived threat.

India’s ruling establishment argues that Sanchar Saathi has helped retrieve 2.6 million lost or stolen phones, and that 14 million downloads prove public support. Yet these claims do not justify mandatory installation. A useful app can be voluntarily offered; only a suspicious government demands compulsory embedding in every device.

The Ministry of Home Affairs reported cyber fraud losses of ₹22,845 crore in 2024, a sharp 206% rise from the previous year. Global cybercrime is projected to cost $10.5 trillion by 2025. These numbers are grave—but they are not an excuse to intrude into private phones. India already has powerful agencies capable of lawful interception. If the government lacks manpower to analyse tapped communications, the solution is to hire analysts, not convert every citizen’s device into a state-monitored terminal.

The deeper discomfort lies in what this mandate symbolises: the quiet normalisation of surveillance in a democracy. When governments fear losing power, they begin to monitor not just political opponents but citizens themselves. India must ask: Is Sanchar Saathi a cybersecurity tool—or the beginning of a digital panopticon where the State watches all, suspects all, and trusts none?

In a world where surveillance has become the operating manual of insecure regimes, India must choose whether it wishes to follow the same path—or defend the constitutional promise of privacy, liberty and democratic freedoms.