In Oslo, as Prime Minister Narendra Modi exited a joint appearance with Norwegian Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Støre, journalist Helle Lyng of Dagsavisen called out from the press pen: “Prime Minister Modi, why don’t you take some questions from the freest press in the world?”.
Modi walked away. The elevator doors closed. Norway is ranked first on the 2026 World Press Freedom Index. India is ranked 157th out of 180 countries, competing, as Lyng pointedly noted on social media, with Palestine, the UAE, and Cuba.
This was not an isolated moment of awkwardness in a foreign capital. It was a window into something that has been quietly and deliberately constructed over more than a decade at home.
Since taking office in May 2014, Narendra Modi has not held a single press conference in India. This is not a matter of interpretation or contested record. It is an unambiguous, documented fact. For a democracy of 1.4 billion people, with a constitution that guarantees freedom of expression, and for a Prime Minister who has comfortably given interviews to selected journalists, friendly anchors, and YouTube creators, the omission is glaring.
The contrast with his predecessor is instructive. Dr. Manmohan Singh was routinely mocked for his reticence and referred to as “Maun Mohan Singh”. But Singh, in his ten years in office, held 117 press conferences. He faced the press, answered what he could, demurred on what he could not, and sometimes gave answers that displeased his own party. That is the opposite of silence, and the minimum function of democratic accountability.
Those who defend the current arrangement often reach for a distinction: press briefings by ministry spokespeople, they say, are not so different from press conferences. This is a strawman dressed in bureaucratic clothing. A spokesperson reading prepared answers to pre-submitted questions from the podium of the Ministry of External Affairs is not the same as a head of government standing before an open press corps and taking unscripted questions in real time. Calling one the functional equivalent of the other is like calling a pre-recorded statement the same as a live interview. The form is not incidental; it is accountability.
Even Donald Trump, a figure whose relationship with the press has been defined by open antagonism, name-calling, and an institutional disdain for mainstream media, stands before reporters and takes their questions, without a teleprompter. Sometimes rudely, sometimes incoherently, sometimes in ways that send his communications team into quiet despair. But he stands there, and faces the room. Whatever one thinks of the man, the act of physical presence before an adversarial press corps is, in democratic terms, meaningful.
The Norway episode is not the first time this has surfaced internationally. During the same five-nation tour, Dutch Prime Minister Rob Jetten had earlier acknowledged to his country’s press that his government had concerns about press freedom and minority rights in India. When an MEA spokesperson was asked about Jetten’s remarks, the response was to suggest that the journalist asking the question lacked “understanding,” and to later claim, implausibly, that the spokesperson had not actually seen the Dutch Prime Minister’s statement.
Lyng was then invited to a press briefing at a Radisson hotel that evening, rather than granting the interview she had sought. When she attended, Indian officials declined to engage with her questions on human rights, speaking instead about India’s Covid-19 response, yoga, and bilateral trade.
Modi should have anticipated this atmosphere in Oslo. Norway has been at or near the top of the global press freedom rankings for years. Norwegian Prime Minister Støre, by several accounts, appeared visibly uncomfortable during the joint appearance, and returned to give interviews to journalists after Modi had left the room. A diplomatic visit to a country whose foundational identity is built on liberal democratic values, human rights, and press freedom is not the environment in which a leader who has never taken a domestic press conference can expect a smooth ride. This was foreseeable. Preparation, in this case, would have meant either anticipating the question or answering it.
The numbers tell a story that no spokesperson can credibly reframe. When Modi came to power in 2014, India was ranked 140th on the World Press Freedom Index. By 2025, it had slid to 151st. In 2026, it is at 157th. Reporters Without Borders, in its India country file, describes the situation as an “unofficial state of emergency,” noting concentrated media ownership, the rise of government-aligned outlets, and a Prime Minister who “does not hold press conferences, grants interviews only to journalists and YouTubers who cover him in a favourable light.” These are not the conclusions of a fringe organisation. They are the findings of a respected international press freedom monitor, updated annually.
One reason often left unsaid for why this matters: when the press conference is not held, journalists cannot ask the questions their readers need answered. When the questions are not asked, the record goes unchallenged. When the record goes unchallenged, the government writes the first draft of its own history. And the public pays for that, not immediately, not in a single news cycle, but over time, in the slow erosion of the information they need to make democratic choices.
The job of journalism is not to be comfortable. It is not to be managed. It is not to be invited to Radisson hotel briefings in exchange for the access that was, by right, always supposed to exist. The job of journalism is to speak truth to power and to seek accountability from those who hold it, from the highest corridors of power outwards. A journalist calling out to a Prime Minister as he walks to an elevator is not heckling. It is the profession doing exactly what it exists to do.
Modi stood minutes earlier before the Norwegian cameras and described India as the world’s largest democracy. Helle Lyng was simply testing that claim. The elevator doors, unfortunately, had no comment.
