The BJPian Amnesia in the Abode of Clouds
Editor,
Political memory in New Delhi often fades fast, but in Meghalaya, the Bharatiya Janata Party’s approach feels less like forgetfulness and more like deliberate habit. Time and again, the party makes sweeping promises to win local support, only to put those promises aside once it secures a share of power. The recent decision of eight United Democratic Party (UDP) MLAs to switch over to the BJP marks a major shift. By jumping from two to ten seats in the 60-member Assembly, the BJP has gained through certain approaches what it could not win through votes. Yet behind the celebrations, a serious truth remains. Our political leaders have given away their regional strength in exchange for old, unkept promises.
This pattern of broken pledges is clearest in the state’s long-pending legislative demands. After massive public outrage over the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), the Meghalaya Assembly voted unanimously in December 2019 to demand the Inner Line Permit (ILP) to protect indigenous lands and culture. State leaders made repeated trips to New Delhi, but the Union Home Ministry has simply left the file untouched for years. The same thing happened with local languages. In 2018, the state assembly unanimously asked the Centre to include Khasi and Garo in the Eighth Schedule of the Constitution. Despite repeated central claims of respecting regional identity, the Centre has taken no action, leaving the state government to pass local, symbolic orders while real recognition remains uncertain !
The party’s campaign promises show the same convenient amnesia. Right before the 2023 state elections, top BJP leaders publicly attacked the ruling Meghalaya Democratic Alliance, calling it the most corrupt government in India and pointing fingers at illegal rat-hole coal mining. Yet within two days of the results, the BJP joined that exact same government to share ministerial posts. The fierce fight against corruption disappeared overnight, which proved that the rhetoric was only meant to win votes in order to gain power.
The reasons given by the defecting UDP MLAs reveal just how transactional this relationship really is. Senior leaders claimed they joined the BJP because the Union Home Minister gave them fresh promises regarding language recognition and the resumption of legal coal mining. The irony is hard to miss. The BJP has run the central government for a decade and already had the full power to resolve these issues long ago. Using these same delayed demands as bait to win over local politicians shows that the Centre views Meghalaya’s survival concerns not as serious duties, but as bargaining chips for political expansion in the Northeast.
This political shift carries serious risks for the people of Meghalaya. Historically, regional parties like the UDP acted as a vital shield, forcing the central government to respect tribal rights and local customs. By reducing the UDP from twelve seats to four, that protective shield has been severely weakened. Local leaders will now have to answer to party bosses in New Delhi, who frequently sideline state interests to suit their national plans. Furthermore, because these political deals focused heavily on coal mining, the powerful mining bosses will simply continue operating under a new political banner, while environmental damage and local hazards go unchecked.
With ten MLAs, the BJP is now the second-largest group in the ruling state alliance. This shift makes it far harder for the state government to resist central policies that harm indigenous interests, from the impact of the CAA in urban areas to future central laws. However, this top-down politics clashes directly with the mood on the ground. In the 2024 parliamentary elections, voters delivered a clear message by decisively electing the Voice of the People Party (VPP), a newly formed indigenous party that ran against elite corruption and central overreach. The BJP may have expanded its numbers in the state secretariat, but building power on broken promises will only further strain the relationship that was never built in the first place between New Delhi and the people of Meghalaya.
Yours etc.,
Sunrise Pohtam,
Via email
Constitutional Accountability Cannot Be Selective
Editor,
The reported criticism by former Chief Justice of India B.R. Gavai of Justice Ujjal Bhuyan’s public remarks is unfortunate. With respect, it rests on a questionable premise: that a judge’s engagement with court ceases once he steps outside the courtroom. A judge does not surrender his constitutional conscience upon demitting judicial office, nor does constitutionalism become the exclusive preserve of those occupying the Bench.
Justice Bhuyan’s observations concerning the potential mass disenfranchisement of citizens raise questions of profound constitutional significance. His invocation of Articles 14 and 326 was not an assault on institutional authority; it was a reminder that no institution, including the Election Commission, can claim immunity from constitutional scrutiny. To disenfranchise citizens on a wholesale scale without adequate safeguards risks reducing universal adult suffrage to a hollow promise.
He also referred to Article 326 of the Constitution and Section 22 of the Representation of the People Act, and said that, except in the case of a dead voter, the name of a voter once entered on the electoral roll cannot be deleted without notice and an opportunity of being heard. This is a basic elementary procedure.
The constitutional history of India makes this concern even more compelling. Universal adult franchise was an act of faith in the ordinary citizen, consciously embraced by the Constituent Assembly despite widespread poverty and illiteracy. Dr B.R. Ambedkar and his colleagues understood that political democracy could not endure if the citizen’s equal status before the law remained merely ornamental. To treat mass exclusion from electoral participation as an administrative inconvenience would be to lose sight of that foundational commitment.
Justices P.N. Bhagwati and V.R. Krishna Iyer, among others, contributed extensively to debates on law, liberty and social justice. In the United States, too, judicial engagement in academic and public discussions has a long history. The decisive question is not whether a judge speaks, but whether the speech compromises judicial independence, prejudices proceedings or obstructs the administration of justice.
That standard must, however, operate without fear or favour. If Justice Bhuyan’s remarks warrant scrutiny, then comparable public interventions by other judges must be examined by precisely the same yardstick. Questions have also been raised about Justice Gavai’s reported comments concerning the death of Justice B.H. Loya, a matter that had attracted judicial and public scrutiny.
In Wikimedia Foundation Inc. v. ANI Media Pvt. Ltd. (2025), the Supreme Court emphasised that important issues must remain open to vigorous public debate, even when they are sub judice. It also affirmed that courts, as open public institutions, must remain receptive to public observations, debate and constructive criticism. Earlier, in Sahara India Real Estate Corporation Ltd. v. SEBI (2012), a Constitution Bench recognised that restrictions on commentary concerning pending proceedings must be assessed against the real and substantial risk of prejudice to the administration of justice.
The distinction is fundamental: sub judice is not synonymous with sub silentio. A pending case does not place the underlying public issue beyond the reach of democratic discussion.
The judiciary commands public confidence not by demanding unquestioning deference, but by demonstrating that its principles withstand scrutiny. To conflate legitimate constitutional commentary with institutional impropriety would be to confuse criticism with contempt. It is an appeal to Bar and Bench from North East India to condemn such scathing attacks on Justice Bhuyan who represents North East India in the Supreme Court.
Yours etc.,
Shahin Yusuf,
Guwahati