The Congress in Goa appears to be walking into the same political trap that cost it dearly in 2022. The induction of Warren Alemao, a leader whose political loyalties are already under scrutiny, has raised serious questions about the party's judgment, leadership, and commitment to its own survival.
If history is any indication, the Congress seems determined to repeat its mistakes rather than learn from them.
With the induction of Warren Alemao, the party appears to have reopened the very wounds that have repeatedly weakened it in Goa. And if reports of more individuals with similar political tendencies joining the party prove true, the question becomes unavoidable: Is the Congress genuinely trying to rebuild itself, or is it opening its doors to people who could eventually dismantle it from within?
The concern is not merely about one individual's entry into the party. It is about a pattern of political opportunism, shifting loyalties, and questionable decisions that could once again leave the Congress counting its losses after an election.
There are allegations and suspicions within political circles that some entrants could serve interests opposed to the Congress, potentially benefiting the BJP by fragmenting the opposition vote. Claims of financial backing and political manoeuvring is a subject of public discourse.
Yet, instead of addressing these concerns transparently, the Congress leadership appears content to press ahead.
And at the centre of this unfolding political controversy is Goa Pradesh Congress Committee president Girish Chodankar.
2022: A Disaster the Congress Cannot Afford to Forget
Let us revisit 2022.
The Congress entered the Goa Assembly elections with expectations of a strong performance. Yet, after the elections, eight of its 11 MLAs abandoned the party and joined the BJP.
It was a devastating betrayal of the voters who had placed their faith in the Congress.
And who was heading the Goa Pradesh Congress Committee at the time?
Girish Chodankar.
Following the debacle, he resigned from the post.
Now, on the eve of the 2027 Assembly elections, Chodankar has returned to the same position. One would have expected the experience of 2022 to have taught the Congress leadership a hard lesson about candidate selection, political loyalty, and the dangers of placing electoral ambitions above organisational integrity.
Instead, the induction of Warren Alemao has reignited precisely those concerns.
How can a party expect voters to trust it when it appears unwilling to confront the mistakes that cost it their trust in the first place?
If the party is serious about returning to power, it must demonstrate that loyalty, credibility, and commitment matter more than money, influence, and political
convenience.
Wednesday, 16 September 2026
Goa First? Please. We’ve heard this story before. -- By Nisser Dias
By now, Goans should know better than to judge a political alliance by its name.
In Goa, add the word Goa to anything and suddenly it acquires a patriotic fragrance.
So now we have “Goa First.”
How reassuring.
The name suggests that Goa will finally come before party, personality, ambition and political convenience.
But before the fireworks begin, there is one small problem:
Goans have heard this story before.
The AAP–Goa Forward alliance, formally announced for the 2027 Assembly election, is being presented as a new political alternative.
Perhaps it is.
But sitting at the centre of this experiment is Vijai Sardesai — and his political history offers Goa a useful reminder of the difference between political rhetoric and political arithmetic.
The art of political reinvention
Remember 2017?
Goa Forward went into that election hammering the BJP. Then the results arrived.
Congress emerged as the single largest party with 17 seats; the BJP had 13.
Goa Forward's three MLAs suddenly became crucial to government formation.
And political arithmetic performed its familiar magic.
Sardesai backed the BJP-led government and eventually became a minister.
He defended the decision on grounds of stability and advancing his party's agenda. He also acknowledged that it had damaged his reputation.
Politicians are entitled to change their minds.
Voters are entitled to remember.
And that is precisely why “Goa First” deserves scrutiny.
Goa has already seen what happens when political principles collide with the arithmetic of power.
The slogan changes. The mathematics doesn't.
Yesterday, Delhi can be the problem.
Tomorrow, Delhi can become the solution.
Yesterday, a national party can be declared unacceptable.
Tomorrow, its leaders can become coalition partners.
Then, as the next election approaches, everyone rediscovers Goem, Goemkar, Goemkarponn.
Perhaps the problem isn't that politicians change alliances.
Perhaps it is that they expect voters to develop amnesia every five years.
Power is the real test
This is bigger than Sardesai.
Political power gives leaders influence, authority and the ability to shape government. But it also tests restraint.
Opposition is easy compared with government.
It is easy to thunder against those in power. It is harder to listen when the criticism is directed at you.
It is harder still to remember that a ministerial chair is not a personal throne.
Sardesai's critics have described his style as confrontational; his supporters would call it assertive.
Let voters decide.
The larger principle is simple:
No politician becomes more important than the institution he temporarily occupies.
Goa has seen what kingmakers can do
Goa's small Assembly means a handful of MLAs can determine who forms a government.
In 2017, Goa Forward's three seats became pivotal.
That episode should not be dismissed as ancient history.
It raises a question every voter should ask:
What will a small party do when it holds the balance of power?
Strengthen institutions?
Protect long-term interests?
Or maximise bargaining power and political relevance?
Those are very different things.
And
printing “Goa First” on a banner doesn't answer the question.
Why should Goans believe this time is different?
There is nothing wrong with AAP and GFP joining hands. There is nothing wrong with challenging the BJP and Congress.
Political competition is healthy.
But opposing existing parties is not, by itself, a qualification to govern.
The new alliance must answer a much harder question:
What happens after the votes are counted?
What happens if the numbers don't add up?
What happens if another party offers support?
What happens if a handful of MLAs become kingmakers?
What happens when personal ambition collides with coalition discipline?
What happens when political convenience clashes with the interests of Goa?
That is when we will discover whether Goa really comes first.
Because it is easy to put Goa first in a campaign speech.
It is much harder when power is sitting on the table.
Don't confuse political theatre with transformation
Goa has seen this movie before.
Different speeches.
Different faces.
Different slogans.
Different alliances.
Same plot.
First comes the grand declaration.
Then the promise.
Then the election.
Then the arithmetic.
And finally, principles acquire a remarkably flexible interpretation.
That is why “Goa First” should not be accepted at face value.
It should be interrogated.
Aggressively.
Especially by voters who have watched political certainties evaporate the moment ministerial chairs become available.
The inconvenient question
So call it “Goa First.”
Put it on posters.
Print it on caps.
Repeat it at rallies.
But Goans should ask the question that matters:
When the choice is between Goa's interest and a politician's interest, which one actually comes first?
Goa has had enough of politicians who discover the state just before an election.
It needs leaders who remember Goa after the election.
Because names don't govern.
People do.
And people must ultimately be judged by what they do with power — not by what they call themselves while asking for it.
In Goa, add the word Goa to anything and suddenly it acquires a patriotic fragrance.
So now we have “Goa First.”
How reassuring.
The name suggests that Goa will finally come before party, personality, ambition and political convenience.
But before the fireworks begin, there is one small problem:
Goans have heard this story before.
The AAP–Goa Forward alliance, formally announced for the 2027 Assembly election, is being presented as a new political alternative.
Perhaps it is.
But sitting at the centre of this experiment is Vijai Sardesai — and his political history offers Goa a useful reminder of the difference between political rhetoric and political arithmetic.
The art of political reinvention
Remember 2017?
Goa Forward went into that election hammering the BJP. Then the results arrived.
Congress emerged as the single largest party with 17 seats; the BJP had 13.
Goa Forward's three MLAs suddenly became crucial to government formation.
And political arithmetic performed its familiar magic.
Sardesai backed the BJP-led government and eventually became a minister.
He defended the decision on grounds of stability and advancing his party's agenda. He also acknowledged that it had damaged his reputation.
Politicians are entitled to change their minds.
Voters are entitled to remember.
And that is precisely why “Goa First” deserves scrutiny.
Goa has already seen what happens when political principles collide with the arithmetic of power.
The slogan changes. The mathematics doesn't.
Yesterday, Delhi can be the problem.
Tomorrow, Delhi can become the solution.
Yesterday, a national party can be declared unacceptable.
Tomorrow, its leaders can become coalition partners.
Then, as the next election approaches, everyone rediscovers Goem, Goemkar, Goemkarponn.
Perhaps the problem isn't that politicians change alliances.
Perhaps it is that they expect voters to develop amnesia every five years.
Power is the real test
This is bigger than Sardesai.
Political power gives leaders influence, authority and the ability to shape government. But it also tests restraint.
Opposition is easy compared with government.
It is easy to thunder against those in power. It is harder to listen when the criticism is directed at you.
It is harder still to remember that a ministerial chair is not a personal throne.
Sardesai's critics have described his style as confrontational; his supporters would call it assertive.
Let voters decide.
The larger principle is simple:
No politician becomes more important than the institution he temporarily occupies.
Goa has seen what kingmakers can do
Goa's small Assembly means a handful of MLAs can determine who forms a government.
In 2017, Goa Forward's three seats became pivotal.
That episode should not be dismissed as ancient history.
It raises a question every voter should ask:
What will a small party do when it holds the balance of power?
Strengthen institutions?
Protect long-term interests?
Or maximise bargaining power and political relevance?
Those are very different things.
And
printing “Goa First” on a banner doesn't answer the question.
Why should Goans believe this time is different?
There is nothing wrong with AAP and GFP joining hands. There is nothing wrong with challenging the BJP and Congress.
Political competition is healthy.
But opposing existing parties is not, by itself, a qualification to govern.
The new alliance must answer a much harder question:
What happens after the votes are counted?
What happens if the numbers don't add up?
What happens if another party offers support?
What happens if a handful of MLAs become kingmakers?
What happens when personal ambition collides with coalition discipline?
What happens when political convenience clashes with the interests of Goa?
That is when we will discover whether Goa really comes first.
Because it is easy to put Goa first in a campaign speech.
It is much harder when power is sitting on the table.
Don't confuse political theatre with transformation
Goa has seen this movie before.
Different speeches.
Different faces.
Different slogans.
Different alliances.
Same plot.
First comes the grand declaration.
Then the promise.
Then the election.
Then the arithmetic.
And finally, principles acquire a remarkably flexible interpretation.
That is why “Goa First” should not be accepted at face value.
It should be interrogated.
Aggressively.
Especially by voters who have watched political certainties evaporate the moment ministerial chairs become available.
The inconvenient question
So call it “Goa First.”
Put it on posters.
Print it on caps.
Repeat it at rallies.
But Goans should ask the question that matters:
When the choice is between Goa's interest and a politician's interest, which one actually comes first?
Goa has had enough of politicians who discover the state just before an election.
It needs leaders who remember Goa after the election.
Because names don't govern.
People do.
And people must ultimately be judged by what they do with power — not by what they call themselves while asking for it.
Friday, 11 September 2026
A President’s Colour, and a Question for Goa Police -- By Nisser Dias
On September 7, 2026, Union Home Minister Amit Shah presented the President’s Colour to the Goa Police, honouring eight decades of service by the force, including its role in coastal security and protecting Goa’s vital tourism economy.
The President’s Colour is among the highest honours bestowed upon a police force. It represents service, discipline, professionalism, courage and commitment to duty.
Which is precisely why what happened barely a day later at Chinchinim raises some uncomfortable questions.
The assault on Chinchinim sarpanch Gerson Gomes, allegedly by villager Malcolm Pereira, is undoubtedly condemnable. No individual has the right to take the law into his own hands. An assault on an elected representative deserves the full attention of the law.
But the subsequent handling of the case by the Cuncolim police has left many asking whether it was befitting of a force that had just received the President’s Colour.
The assault reportedly took place in the afternoon, yet the FIR was registered only around midnight. The explanation was that the police had not received a complaint from the victim, who was hospitalised, or from the panchayat secretary, panch members or staff.
But does the police’s responsibility to act depend entirely on someone walking into the station with a complaint? The police have the power to take cognisance of a cognizable offence and initiate proceedings. Given the seriousness of the incident and the video evidence reportedly circulating, the delay was bound to raise questions.
Then came the hospital episode.
As demands for Pereira’s arrest grew, he reportedly admitted himself to a private hospital. Police personnel were posted there to detain him upon discharge. Yet, according to reports, he managed to escape under their watch.
That raises a very simple question: How does an accused person, whom police are reportedly waiting to detain, simply disappear?
Who was responsible for the deployment? Were the officers questioned? Was there a procedural lapse? Were the hospital authorities asked to explain how the accused was discharged? And, most importantly, has anyone been held accountable?
These are not merely political questions. They are questions of basic policing.
An honour carries responsibility
The President’s Colour is awarded to the force as an institution. It is therefore unfair to judge thousands of dedicated police personnel by the alleged failures of one station or a handful of officers.
But institutional recognition also brings institutional accountability.
Had this incident occurred at another time, it might have been dismissed as an unfortunate police lapse. Coming just a day after the Goa Police received one of the country's highest honours, the contrast is difficult to ignore.
An award is not simply a ceremonial flag to be displayed. It represents a standard the force is expected to uphold.
If there was a lapse, the police leadership must identify it. If personnel failed in their duty, action must follow. And if there was no failure, the public deserves to know how the accused managed to evade the police.
Questions have also been raised about possible political influence. That is a serious allegation and should not be treated as fact without evidence. But when delays and apparent procedural failures occur in a politically sensitive case, suspicion is inevitable. Transparency is the only credible answer.
The courts will decide the legal fate of the accused. He is entitled to due process and must be presumed innocent until proven guilty.
But the police must still answer for their own conduct.
Eventually, public attention will fade. The hearings will continue, the headlines will disappear and life will return to normal.
But one question may linger:
Did the Goa Police, in their handling of the Chinchinim assault, live up to the standards symbolised by the President’s Colour?
The President’s Colour is an honour.
The President’s Colour should not merely be something displayed on ceremonial occasions.
It should represent a standard.
A standard of discipline.
A standard of integrity.
A standard of courage.
A standard of accountability.
Living up to it is a responsibility.
The President’s Colour is among the highest honours bestowed upon a police force. It represents service, discipline, professionalism, courage and commitment to duty.
Which is precisely why what happened barely a day later at Chinchinim raises some uncomfortable questions.
The assault on Chinchinim sarpanch Gerson Gomes, allegedly by villager Malcolm Pereira, is undoubtedly condemnable. No individual has the right to take the law into his own hands. An assault on an elected representative deserves the full attention of the law.
But the subsequent handling of the case by the Cuncolim police has left many asking whether it was befitting of a force that had just received the President’s Colour.
The assault reportedly took place in the afternoon, yet the FIR was registered only around midnight. The explanation was that the police had not received a complaint from the victim, who was hospitalised, or from the panchayat secretary, panch members or staff.
But does the police’s responsibility to act depend entirely on someone walking into the station with a complaint? The police have the power to take cognisance of a cognizable offence and initiate proceedings. Given the seriousness of the incident and the video evidence reportedly circulating, the delay was bound to raise questions.
Then came the hospital episode.
As demands for Pereira’s arrest grew, he reportedly admitted himself to a private hospital. Police personnel were posted there to detain him upon discharge. Yet, according to reports, he managed to escape under their watch.
That raises a very simple question: How does an accused person, whom police are reportedly waiting to detain, simply disappear?
Who was responsible for the deployment? Were the officers questioned? Was there a procedural lapse? Were the hospital authorities asked to explain how the accused was discharged? And, most importantly, has anyone been held accountable?
These are not merely political questions. They are questions of basic policing.
An honour carries responsibility
The President’s Colour is awarded to the force as an institution. It is therefore unfair to judge thousands of dedicated police personnel by the alleged failures of one station or a handful of officers.
But institutional recognition also brings institutional accountability.
Had this incident occurred at another time, it might have been dismissed as an unfortunate police lapse. Coming just a day after the Goa Police received one of the country's highest honours, the contrast is difficult to ignore.
An award is not simply a ceremonial flag to be displayed. It represents a standard the force is expected to uphold.
If there was a lapse, the police leadership must identify it. If personnel failed in their duty, action must follow. And if there was no failure, the public deserves to know how the accused managed to evade the police.
Questions have also been raised about possible political influence. That is a serious allegation and should not be treated as fact without evidence. But when delays and apparent procedural failures occur in a politically sensitive case, suspicion is inevitable. Transparency is the only credible answer.
The courts will decide the legal fate of the accused. He is entitled to due process and must be presumed innocent until proven guilty.
But the police must still answer for their own conduct.
Eventually, public attention will fade. The hearings will continue, the headlines will disappear and life will return to normal.
But one question may linger:
Did the Goa Police, in their handling of the Chinchinim assault, live up to the standards symbolised by the President’s Colour?
The President’s Colour is an honour.
The President’s Colour should not merely be something displayed on ceremonial occasions.
It should represent a standard.
A standard of discipline.
A standard of integrity.
A standard of courage.
A standard of accountability.
Living up to it is a responsibility.
Wednesday, 22 July 2026
You called the youth termites.. The real termites are busy hollowing out democracy – By Nisser Dias
Words matter, especially when they come from those occupying positions of political responsibility. That is why the alleged social media remark attributed to Goa BJP Vice President Narendra Sawaikar—"It's not just cockroaches: they are termites!"—has drawn widespread criticism. If the remark was indeed aimed at the hundreds of youth who gathered at Azad Maidan in Panjim in solidarity with students protesting in Delhi, it was not merely inappropriate; it was insulting, dismissive, and unbecoming of a public leader.
These young people were not protesting for personal gain. They had assembled to express solidarity with students demanding accountability over the NEET examination paper leak controversy and calling for the resignation of Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan. Whether one agrees with their protests or not, they were exercising a democratic right guaranteed by the Constitution. They were protesting to safeguard their future which is being destroyed by the BJP. Branding such citizens as "termites" is a disturbing attempt to belittle legitimate dissent instead of engaging with it.
As an advocate, Sawaikar understands that democracy thrives on debate, criticism, and protest. The concerns raised by the youth are neither imaginary nor frivolous. Repeated allegations of examination paper leaks have shaken public confidence, leaving lakhs of students and their families anxious about the integrity of India's education system. When young people demand accountability, they deserve answers—not insults.
If anyone should be concerned about the metaphor of termites, it is the BJP itself. After all, termites do not destroy a structure overnight. They weaken it from within, silently eating away at its foundations until the damage becomes impossible to ignore. That analogy fits BJP far better when applied to institutions that have steadily lost public trust than to young Indians raising their voices.
Critics of the BJP argue that over the years, key democratic institutions have been weakened, public confidence has eroded, and political polarization has deepened. They point to controversies surrounding demonetisation, repeated examination paper leaks, the perceived misuse of investigative agencies, and increasing questions about institutional independence, not forgetting the embezzlement of Lord Ram temple funds. Whether one agrees with every criticism or not, these are serious public issues that deserve discussion — not ridicule.
Calling the youth "termites" turns reality on its head. The youth are not consuming the nation's foundations; they are demanding that those foundations be repaired. They are asking for transparent examinations, accountable governance, and institutions they can trust. They are trying to preserve the future, not destroy it.
If the termite metaphor is to be used at all, many would argue it is the conduct of the BJP's political machinery that invites such comparison. According to its critics, it is not protesting students but political actors who weaken institutions for partisan advantage who resemble termites—eroding public faith from within. The allegation is that the real damage comes from those who allow corruption, shield failures, and dismiss legitimate public anger instead of addressing it.
Goa itself has not been immune to these concerns. Environmental degradation, pressure on natural resources, concerns over governance, and allegations about declining public accountability have become recurring themes in public discourse. Many Goans fear that unchecked political power, rather than citizen activism, poses the greater threat to the state's future.
Perhaps what unsettles some political leaders is not the protest itself but what it represents. The gathering of youth at Azad Maidan was more than a demonstration over one examination controversy. It reflected growing frustration among a generation that feels its future is being compromised by administrative failures and political indifference. Dismissing that frustration with insults only widens the disconnect.
History has repeatedly shown that societies progress because young people question authority, challenge injustice, and demand reform. Every generation that enjoys democratic freedoms today owes a debt to young citizens who refused to remain silent. To label today's youth as "termites" is therefore not only unfair—it is an insult to the democratic spirit itself.
The real question is not whether the youth are termites. They are not. The question is whether those who undermine institutions, erode public trust, and weaken democratic accountability are doing precisely what termites do—eating away at the nation's foundations from within.
If the BJP wishes to answer its critics, it should do so through transparency, accountability, and better governance—not by demeaning the very young citizens whose confidence it seeks to win. India's youth deserve respect, not ridicule. And in a democracy, those who speak truth to power should never be treated as pests.
These young people were not protesting for personal gain. They had assembled to express solidarity with students demanding accountability over the NEET examination paper leak controversy and calling for the resignation of Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan. Whether one agrees with their protests or not, they were exercising a democratic right guaranteed by the Constitution. They were protesting to safeguard their future which is being destroyed by the BJP. Branding such citizens as "termites" is a disturbing attempt to belittle legitimate dissent instead of engaging with it.
As an advocate, Sawaikar understands that democracy thrives on debate, criticism, and protest. The concerns raised by the youth are neither imaginary nor frivolous. Repeated allegations of examination paper leaks have shaken public confidence, leaving lakhs of students and their families anxious about the integrity of India's education system. When young people demand accountability, they deserve answers—not insults.
If anyone should be concerned about the metaphor of termites, it is the BJP itself. After all, termites do not destroy a structure overnight. They weaken it from within, silently eating away at its foundations until the damage becomes impossible to ignore. That analogy fits BJP far better when applied to institutions that have steadily lost public trust than to young Indians raising their voices.
Critics of the BJP argue that over the years, key democratic institutions have been weakened, public confidence has eroded, and political polarization has deepened. They point to controversies surrounding demonetisation, repeated examination paper leaks, the perceived misuse of investigative agencies, and increasing questions about institutional independence, not forgetting the embezzlement of Lord Ram temple funds. Whether one agrees with every criticism or not, these are serious public issues that deserve discussion — not ridicule.
Calling the youth "termites" turns reality on its head. The youth are not consuming the nation's foundations; they are demanding that those foundations be repaired. They are asking for transparent examinations, accountable governance, and institutions they can trust. They are trying to preserve the future, not destroy it.
If the termite metaphor is to be used at all, many would argue it is the conduct of the BJP's political machinery that invites such comparison. According to its critics, it is not protesting students but political actors who weaken institutions for partisan advantage who resemble termites—eroding public faith from within. The allegation is that the real damage comes from those who allow corruption, shield failures, and dismiss legitimate public anger instead of addressing it.
Goa itself has not been immune to these concerns. Environmental degradation, pressure on natural resources, concerns over governance, and allegations about declining public accountability have become recurring themes in public discourse. Many Goans fear that unchecked political power, rather than citizen activism, poses the greater threat to the state's future.
Perhaps what unsettles some political leaders is not the protest itself but what it represents. The gathering of youth at Azad Maidan was more than a demonstration over one examination controversy. It reflected growing frustration among a generation that feels its future is being compromised by administrative failures and political indifference. Dismissing that frustration with insults only widens the disconnect.
History has repeatedly shown that societies progress because young people question authority, challenge injustice, and demand reform. Every generation that enjoys democratic freedoms today owes a debt to young citizens who refused to remain silent. To label today's youth as "termites" is therefore not only unfair—it is an insult to the democratic spirit itself.
The real question is not whether the youth are termites. They are not. The question is whether those who undermine institutions, erode public trust, and weaken democratic accountability are doing precisely what termites do—eating away at the nation's foundations from within.
If the BJP wishes to answer its critics, it should do so through transparency, accountability, and better governance—not by demeaning the very young citizens whose confidence it seeks to win. India's youth deserve respect, not ridicule. And in a democracy, those who speak truth to power should never be treated as pests.
Wednesday, 3 June 2026
Political hibernation season ends as elections approach, BJP agents surface – By Nisser Dias
Hibernation, it appears, is not a phenomenon restricted to frogs, bears, and other creatures of the wild. In Goa, it has become a well-established political survival strategy. Few exemplify this better than Churchill Alemao and Francisco alias Mickky Pacheco, who, after years of near-total political silence, have suddenly awakened to the unmistakable scent of approaching elections.
For years, both leaders remained largely absent from the political frontline. Yet, as election season inches closer, they have emerged from their prolonged slumber with renewed enthusiasm, eager to reclaim relevance in a political landscape that may have already moved on without them.
Churchill Alemao's latest political manoeuvring is particularly noteworthy. After spending considerable time criticizing the Congress, extending support to the BJP, and singing praises of Chief Minister Pramod Sawant, he is now reportedly sending signals that he wishes to return to the Congress fold. Such dramatic political reversals have become so commonplace that they barely raise eyebrows anymore. In Goa's politics, yesterday's enemy often becomes today's indispensable ally, but deep inside a BJP agent.
Mickky Pacheco's journey has been no less fascinating. Throughout much of his active political career, he positioned himself firmly against the Congress. Yet when electoral prospects demanded it, he attempted to cozy up to the very party he had spent years opposing, seeking a Congress ticket. When that effort failed, he reverted to a familiar script - launching attacks against the party, publicly criticizing it, and resigning from the membership he had conveniently acquired while pursuing a ticket.
In recent years, Pacheco has also managed to find a place within Chief Minister Sawant's political orbit. However, despite this proximity, he continues to offer unsolicited advice to the Congress through what often appears to be a willing and ever-available media platform. One could almost mistake him for an unofficial Congress strategist, except that he has no formal association with the party.
His latest intervention saw him advising the Congress to replace GPCC President Girish Chodankar, warning that he would otherwise refuse to support the party. It was a curious declaration, considering support is generally offered by allies rather than by political outsiders issuing public ultimatums. Yet another BJP agent.
The reality, however, is that both Alemao and Pacheco are widely perceived by their critics as spent political forces whose electoral influence has significantly diminished. There is a growing belief that either would struggle to make a meaningful impact at the ballot box and could even risk forfeiting their deposits if they chose to contest.
More importantly, critics argue that both leaders function, directly or indirectly, as BJP agents. Their renewed interest in the Congress, according to this view, is not motivated by ideological alignment or political conviction but by a desire to weaken the party from within. The concern is not merely about entry into the Congress but about the possibility of influencing decisions, securing tickets, and eventually benefiting the BJP's broader electoral strategy.
Alemao's political trajectory is often cited in support of this argument. He supported the BJP while facing the Luis Berger case and was subsequently discharged by the court. Critics contend that political debts rarely disappear and that the BJP now expects its own return on investment. The alleged objective, they argue, is simple: infiltrate the Congress, secure tickets for himself and his daughter, and if circumstances permit, once again shift loyalties in favour of the BJP.
His record certainly provides ample material for political scrutiny. As the lone NCP MLA elected in 2017, he supported the BJP throughout its tenure. Then, in 2022, he contested on a TMC ticket while simultaneously attempting to forge an alliance with the Congress. Few politicians have demonstrated such flexibility in political affiliations while maintaining a straight face.
The Congress, for its part, has repeatedly accommodated and rehabilitated Alemao over the years. Yet at 77, many observers believe his political relevance has steadily faded since the 2022 elections. Rather than seeking yet another comeback, critics suggest he should gracefully continue his retirement from active politics instead of repeatedly asking both the Congress and the electorate for one more opportunity.
Pacheco's political career has similarly remained on the margins following his conviction for assaulting a Kadamba Transport Corporation driver. Having spent a prolonged period outside mainstream politics, his recent attacks on the Congress have surprised many observers, particularly given his lack of any formal alliance with the party.
His demands have gone far beyond criticism. Not only has he called for the removal of GPCC President Girish Chodankar, but he has also threatened to launch a third front or even float a new political party altogether. Such declarations generate headlines, but many view them as little more than political theatrics designed to maintain visibility.
Behind the rhetoric, critics believe the real objective remains unchanged: secure entry into the Congress, influence its internal dynamics, and ultimately tilt the political balance in favour of the BJP.
As election season approaches, Goa's political wildlife has clearly emerged from hibernation. Whether voters welcome these familiar faces back into public life or simply view them as relics of a bygone political era remains to be seen. One thing, however, is certain—the timing of their sudden awakening is unlikely to be mistaken for a coincidence.
For years, both leaders remained largely absent from the political frontline. Yet, as election season inches closer, they have emerged from their prolonged slumber with renewed enthusiasm, eager to reclaim relevance in a political landscape that may have already moved on without them.
Churchill Alemao's latest political manoeuvring is particularly noteworthy. After spending considerable time criticizing the Congress, extending support to the BJP, and singing praises of Chief Minister Pramod Sawant, he is now reportedly sending signals that he wishes to return to the Congress fold. Such dramatic political reversals have become so commonplace that they barely raise eyebrows anymore. In Goa's politics, yesterday's enemy often becomes today's indispensable ally, but deep inside a BJP agent.
Mickky Pacheco's journey has been no less fascinating. Throughout much of his active political career, he positioned himself firmly against the Congress. Yet when electoral prospects demanded it, he attempted to cozy up to the very party he had spent years opposing, seeking a Congress ticket. When that effort failed, he reverted to a familiar script - launching attacks against the party, publicly criticizing it, and resigning from the membership he had conveniently acquired while pursuing a ticket.
In recent years, Pacheco has also managed to find a place within Chief Minister Sawant's political orbit. However, despite this proximity, he continues to offer unsolicited advice to the Congress through what often appears to be a willing and ever-available media platform. One could almost mistake him for an unofficial Congress strategist, except that he has no formal association with the party.
His latest intervention saw him advising the Congress to replace GPCC President Girish Chodankar, warning that he would otherwise refuse to support the party. It was a curious declaration, considering support is generally offered by allies rather than by political outsiders issuing public ultimatums. Yet another BJP agent.
The reality, however, is that both Alemao and Pacheco are widely perceived by their critics as spent political forces whose electoral influence has significantly diminished. There is a growing belief that either would struggle to make a meaningful impact at the ballot box and could even risk forfeiting their deposits if they chose to contest.
More importantly, critics argue that both leaders function, directly or indirectly, as BJP agents. Their renewed interest in the Congress, according to this view, is not motivated by ideological alignment or political conviction but by a desire to weaken the party from within. The concern is not merely about entry into the Congress but about the possibility of influencing decisions, securing tickets, and eventually benefiting the BJP's broader electoral strategy.
Alemao's political trajectory is often cited in support of this argument. He supported the BJP while facing the Luis Berger case and was subsequently discharged by the court. Critics contend that political debts rarely disappear and that the BJP now expects its own return on investment. The alleged objective, they argue, is simple: infiltrate the Congress, secure tickets for himself and his daughter, and if circumstances permit, once again shift loyalties in favour of the BJP.
His record certainly provides ample material for political scrutiny. As the lone NCP MLA elected in 2017, he supported the BJP throughout its tenure. Then, in 2022, he contested on a TMC ticket while simultaneously attempting to forge an alliance with the Congress. Few politicians have demonstrated such flexibility in political affiliations while maintaining a straight face.
The Congress, for its part, has repeatedly accommodated and rehabilitated Alemao over the years. Yet at 77, many observers believe his political relevance has steadily faded since the 2022 elections. Rather than seeking yet another comeback, critics suggest he should gracefully continue his retirement from active politics instead of repeatedly asking both the Congress and the electorate for one more opportunity.
Pacheco's political career has similarly remained on the margins following his conviction for assaulting a Kadamba Transport Corporation driver. Having spent a prolonged period outside mainstream politics, his recent attacks on the Congress have surprised many observers, particularly given his lack of any formal alliance with the party.
His demands have gone far beyond criticism. Not only has he called for the removal of GPCC President Girish Chodankar, but he has also threatened to launch a third front or even float a new political party altogether. Such declarations generate headlines, but many view them as little more than political theatrics designed to maintain visibility.
Behind the rhetoric, critics believe the real objective remains unchanged: secure entry into the Congress, influence its internal dynamics, and ultimately tilt the political balance in favour of the BJP.
As election season approaches, Goa's political wildlife has clearly emerged from hibernation. Whether voters welcome these familiar faces back into public life or simply view them as relics of a bygone political era remains to be seen. One thing, however, is certain—the timing of their sudden awakening is unlikely to be mistaken for a coincidence.
Tuesday, 2 June 2026
Rahul Gandhi's democracy sermon collapses in Goa – By Nisser Dias
Few politicians in India speak more passionately about democracy than Rahul Gandhi. Whether addressing audiences in India or abroad, the Leader of the Opposition consistently warns about threats to democratic institutions, concentration of power, and the erosion of transparency under the BJP-led government.
But before preaching democracy to the nation and the world, Rahul Gandhi would do well to look within his own party.
The manner in which Amit Patkar was replaced as the Goa Pradesh Congress Committee (GPCC) president raises uncomfortable questions about the Congress party's commitment to the very democratic values it claims to champion. If the party cannot uphold transparency and consultation in its internal affairs, how convincing are its lectures on democracy to the rest of the country?
The controversy surrounding Patkar's removal and the appointment of Girish Chodankar exposes a troubling contradiction. While Chodankar has maintained that discussions on the leadership change were taking place openly, Patkar himself has publicly stated that he was neither informed nor consulted. Even South Goa MP Capt. Viriato Fernandes has expressed surprise over the development, claiming he was kept completely out of the loop.
If key stakeholders within the party were unaware of such a significant decision, who exactly was consulted?
The episode creates the impression that decisions are still being taken by a select circle rather than through a transparent and participative process. The involvement of the party high command, the Goa desk leadership, and a handful of influential leaders has fuelled the perception that a small coterie continues to wield disproportionate influence over Congress affairs in Goa.
That perception is politically damaging.
Nobody disputes that party positions are temporary. Leadership changes are a normal part of political life. Every office bearer eventually steps aside, and parties must constantly adapt to changing political realities. The issue is not that Amit Patkar was replaced. The issue is how he was replaced.
The timing makes the episode even more intriguing. With Assembly elections approaching, Patkar was widely expected to focus on his electoral prospects in Curchorem. If the party believed that organisational responsibilities were affecting his ability to prepare for the electoral battle, there was a straightforward and democratic way to handle the transition.
The leadership could have consulted Patkar. It could have discussed succession plans with party workers. It could have sought consensus on who should lead the organisation into the elections. If multiple names emerged, the high command could then have exercised its authority and made a final decision.
Instead, the leadership change appears to have been executed in a manner that has left many party workers questioning both the process and the motives behind it.
The statements made after the fact have only deepened the controversy. Aldona MLA Carlos Alvares' observation that Patkar "could have done better" raises more questions than it answers. If there were genuine concerns about Patkar's performance, why were they not raised openly earlier? Why was there no visible effort to guide, advise, or strengthen the party organisation while he was at the helm?
Were party leaders dissatisfied but silent? Or were plans already being drawn up behind closed doors?
Neither possibility reflects well on a party that prides itself on democratic values.
The larger issue extends beyond Goa. Rahul Gandhi has built much of his political narrative around defending democracy. That message resonates with many Indians who believe democratic institutions must be protected and strengthened. However, credibility in politics depends not merely on what leaders say but on what they practice.
Democracy cannot be a slogan for public rallies and international forums while internal party decisions are perceived as opaque, centralised, and exclusionary.
The Goa episode may appear to be a state-level organisational matter, but it carries national implications for the Congress party's image. It highlights the growing gap between the party's rhetoric and its actions.
If Congress wishes to present itself as the guardian of democratic values, it must begin by institutionalising those values within its own organisation. Internal democracy, transparency, consultation, and accountability cannot be selectively applied.
Otherwise, every speech delivered by Rahul Gandhi on the importance of democracy will be met with a simple question:
If democracy is not visible within the Congress party itself, why should voters believe it will flourish under a Congress government?
But before preaching democracy to the nation and the world, Rahul Gandhi would do well to look within his own party.
The manner in which Amit Patkar was replaced as the Goa Pradesh Congress Committee (GPCC) president raises uncomfortable questions about the Congress party's commitment to the very democratic values it claims to champion. If the party cannot uphold transparency and consultation in its internal affairs, how convincing are its lectures on democracy to the rest of the country?
The controversy surrounding Patkar's removal and the appointment of Girish Chodankar exposes a troubling contradiction. While Chodankar has maintained that discussions on the leadership change were taking place openly, Patkar himself has publicly stated that he was neither informed nor consulted. Even South Goa MP Capt. Viriato Fernandes has expressed surprise over the development, claiming he was kept completely out of the loop.
If key stakeholders within the party were unaware of such a significant decision, who exactly was consulted?
The episode creates the impression that decisions are still being taken by a select circle rather than through a transparent and participative process. The involvement of the party high command, the Goa desk leadership, and a handful of influential leaders has fuelled the perception that a small coterie continues to wield disproportionate influence over Congress affairs in Goa.
That perception is politically damaging.
Nobody disputes that party positions are temporary. Leadership changes are a normal part of political life. Every office bearer eventually steps aside, and parties must constantly adapt to changing political realities. The issue is not that Amit Patkar was replaced. The issue is how he was replaced.
The timing makes the episode even more intriguing. With Assembly elections approaching, Patkar was widely expected to focus on his electoral prospects in Curchorem. If the party believed that organisational responsibilities were affecting his ability to prepare for the electoral battle, there was a straightforward and democratic way to handle the transition.
The leadership could have consulted Patkar. It could have discussed succession plans with party workers. It could have sought consensus on who should lead the organisation into the elections. If multiple names emerged, the high command could then have exercised its authority and made a final decision.
Instead, the leadership change appears to have been executed in a manner that has left many party workers questioning both the process and the motives behind it.
The statements made after the fact have only deepened the controversy. Aldona MLA Carlos Alvares' observation that Patkar "could have done better" raises more questions than it answers. If there were genuine concerns about Patkar's performance, why were they not raised openly earlier? Why was there no visible effort to guide, advise, or strengthen the party organisation while he was at the helm?
Were party leaders dissatisfied but silent? Or were plans already being drawn up behind closed doors?
Neither possibility reflects well on a party that prides itself on democratic values.
The larger issue extends beyond Goa. Rahul Gandhi has built much of his political narrative around defending democracy. That message resonates with many Indians who believe democratic institutions must be protected and strengthened. However, credibility in politics depends not merely on what leaders say but on what they practice.
Democracy cannot be a slogan for public rallies and international forums while internal party decisions are perceived as opaque, centralised, and exclusionary.
The Goa episode may appear to be a state-level organisational matter, but it carries national implications for the Congress party's image. It highlights the growing gap between the party's rhetoric and its actions.
If Congress wishes to present itself as the guardian of democratic values, it must begin by institutionalising those values within its own organisation. Internal democracy, transparency, consultation, and accountability cannot be selectively applied.
Otherwise, every speech delivered by Rahul Gandhi on the importance of democracy will be met with a simple question:
If democracy is not visible within the Congress party itself, why should voters believe it will flourish under a Congress government?
Monday, 1 June 2026
Amit re-built the house. Congress handed the keys back to the man who burnt it down. – By Nisser Dias
Just months before Goa heads into another crucial Assembly election, the Congress party appears to have found a novel strategy for revival: revisit the very chapter many workers believe contributed to its last major setback.
The appointment of Girish Chodankar as president of the Goa Pradesh Congress Committee (GPCC), replacing Amit Patkar, has triggered a wave of resignations and exposed deep cracks within the party's state unit. What should have been a routine organisational reshuffle has instead snowballed into a full-blown rebellion, with workers openly questioning the wisdom of the Congress high command.
Almost immediately after Chodankar's appointment was announced, resignations began pouring in. From office-bearers to social media team members and block-level leaders, several party workers have chosen to walk away rather than work under the former GPCC chief.
Their grievance is straightforward. According to many within the party, Amit Patkar spent over four years rebuilding an organisation that had been left demoralised and fragmented after the 2022 Assembly elections. Patkar inherited a weakened party and, despite political challenges, managed to restore some degree of organisational stability.
Now, many workers fear that progress has been abruptly reversed.
The discontent is so intense that some disgruntled party members have reportedly even urged South Goa MP Captain Viriato Fernandes to resign in protest. While such a demand may appear extreme, it reflects the depth of frustration among grassroots workers who feel ignored by a leadership change they neither expected nor wanted.
Under Patkar's leadership, the Congress managed to secure a significant political victory in South Goa by winning the Lok Sabha seat through Captain Viriato Fernandes, a result that demonstrated the party's ability to challenge the BJP when united and organised.
The party also performed strongly in the Zilla Parishad elections, further indicating that the Congress machinery was slowly recovering from the wounds of 2022.
Those achievements may not have transformed Congress into a dominant force overnight, but they offered something the party desperately needed—hope.
Among those who have stepped down is GPCC General Secretary Manisha Usgaonkar, alongside several other office-bearers and party functionaries. Their resignations have sent a clear message: this is not merely dissatisfaction over a change in leadership, but a loss of confidence in the direction the party is taking.
And that raises an uncomfortable question. Why would the Congress choose to replace a sitting state president with a leader whose previous tenure culminated in one of the party's most disappointing electoral performances in Goa?
Chodankar led the Congress into the 2022 Assembly elections. The result was disastrous. The party's campaign was marred by confusion, delayed candidate announcements and controversial decisions that left many loyal workers feeling sidelined.
Instead of nurturing second-rung Congress leaders and strengthening the party's grassroots base, efforts were allegedly directed toward attracting leaders from rival camps. In constituencies that had long been considered Congress strongholds, dedicated party workers complained of being overlooked while outsiders were courted.
Many within the party still recall how candidate selection remained shrouded in uncertainty even as rival parties had already completed substantial groundwork on the campaign trail. While the BJP and other parties were well into election mode, Congress appeared to be struggling with its own internal calculations.
Following the electoral debacle, Chodankar resigned, accepting responsibility for the defeat. In politics, resignations after defeats are generally seen as acknowledgements of failure. In Congress, however, they increasingly seem to resemble temporary sabbaticals.
Four years later, the man who stepped down after the loss has been brought back to lead the party into another election cycle.
The timing has left many bewildered.
With the 2027 Assembly elections approaching and the party needing unity, momentum and organisational discipline, the Congress high command has instead sparked a controversy that has energised its critics and demoralised sections of its own cadre.
Adding to the intrigue is the manner in which the leadership change was executed. Party insiders describe it as a "midnight coup" carried out with remarkable speed and minimal consultation. The secrecy surrounding the decision has only fuelled speculation and resentment.
Of course, the Congress can replace those who resign. New faces can always be appointed. Vacant positions can always be filled.
What cannot be replaced so easily are the voters these workers influence.
Every block president, office-bearer and grassroots activist represents a network of supporters. When such individuals leave, they rarely depart alone. They take with them relationships, goodwill and votes accumulated over years of political work.
For a party that has repeatedly struggled to convert support into electoral victories, losing even a small segment of its committed cadre is a luxury it can ill afford.
The larger concern is whether the Congress leadership has correctly read the political mood in Goa. At a time when the party needed to project stability and preparedness, it has instead reignited memories of 2022.
One of the most controversial episodes then was the reported effort to offer a Congress ticket to former BJP Chief Minister Laxmikant Parsekar after his defeat within the BJP. For many Congress workers, the move was baffling. Instead of nurturing second-rung leaders and rewarding party loyalists, the leadership appeared more interested in importing political talent from outside.
The discontent deepened in constituencies such as Shiroda, traditionally considered a Congress stronghold, where local workers alleged that staunch BJP functionaries were being encouraged and promised tickets at the expense of long-serving Congress members.
The irony is difficult to miss. As Goa inches closer to another Assembly election, Congress workers were hoping the party would learn from its mistakes.
Instead, many feel the party has simply decided to reappoint them.
And if the current exodus continues, the Congress may soon discover that preparing for elections and preparing for farewells are not always very different exercises.
After all, in politics, history does not always repeat itself.
Sometimes, it gets reappointed.
The appointment of Girish Chodankar as president of the Goa Pradesh Congress Committee (GPCC), replacing Amit Patkar, has triggered a wave of resignations and exposed deep cracks within the party's state unit. What should have been a routine organisational reshuffle has instead snowballed into a full-blown rebellion, with workers openly questioning the wisdom of the Congress high command.
Almost immediately after Chodankar's appointment was announced, resignations began pouring in. From office-bearers to social media team members and block-level leaders, several party workers have chosen to walk away rather than work under the former GPCC chief.
Their grievance is straightforward. According to many within the party, Amit Patkar spent over four years rebuilding an organisation that had been left demoralised and fragmented after the 2022 Assembly elections. Patkar inherited a weakened party and, despite political challenges, managed to restore some degree of organisational stability.
Now, many workers fear that progress has been abruptly reversed.
The discontent is so intense that some disgruntled party members have reportedly even urged South Goa MP Captain Viriato Fernandes to resign in protest. While such a demand may appear extreme, it reflects the depth of frustration among grassroots workers who feel ignored by a leadership change they neither expected nor wanted.
Under Patkar's leadership, the Congress managed to secure a significant political victory in South Goa by winning the Lok Sabha seat through Captain Viriato Fernandes, a result that demonstrated the party's ability to challenge the BJP when united and organised.
The party also performed strongly in the Zilla Parishad elections, further indicating that the Congress machinery was slowly recovering from the wounds of 2022.
Those achievements may not have transformed Congress into a dominant force overnight, but they offered something the party desperately needed—hope.
Among those who have stepped down is GPCC General Secretary Manisha Usgaonkar, alongside several other office-bearers and party functionaries. Their resignations have sent a clear message: this is not merely dissatisfaction over a change in leadership, but a loss of confidence in the direction the party is taking.
And that raises an uncomfortable question. Why would the Congress choose to replace a sitting state president with a leader whose previous tenure culminated in one of the party's most disappointing electoral performances in Goa?
Chodankar led the Congress into the 2022 Assembly elections. The result was disastrous. The party's campaign was marred by confusion, delayed candidate announcements and controversial decisions that left many loyal workers feeling sidelined.
Instead of nurturing second-rung Congress leaders and strengthening the party's grassroots base, efforts were allegedly directed toward attracting leaders from rival camps. In constituencies that had long been considered Congress strongholds, dedicated party workers complained of being overlooked while outsiders were courted.
Many within the party still recall how candidate selection remained shrouded in uncertainty even as rival parties had already completed substantial groundwork on the campaign trail. While the BJP and other parties were well into election mode, Congress appeared to be struggling with its own internal calculations.
Following the electoral debacle, Chodankar resigned, accepting responsibility for the defeat. In politics, resignations after defeats are generally seen as acknowledgements of failure. In Congress, however, they increasingly seem to resemble temporary sabbaticals.
Four years later, the man who stepped down after the loss has been brought back to lead the party into another election cycle.
The timing has left many bewildered.
With the 2027 Assembly elections approaching and the party needing unity, momentum and organisational discipline, the Congress high command has instead sparked a controversy that has energised its critics and demoralised sections of its own cadre.
Adding to the intrigue is the manner in which the leadership change was executed. Party insiders describe it as a "midnight coup" carried out with remarkable speed and minimal consultation. The secrecy surrounding the decision has only fuelled speculation and resentment.
Of course, the Congress can replace those who resign. New faces can always be appointed. Vacant positions can always be filled.
What cannot be replaced so easily are the voters these workers influence.
Every block president, office-bearer and grassroots activist represents a network of supporters. When such individuals leave, they rarely depart alone. They take with them relationships, goodwill and votes accumulated over years of political work.
For a party that has repeatedly struggled to convert support into electoral victories, losing even a small segment of its committed cadre is a luxury it can ill afford.
The larger concern is whether the Congress leadership has correctly read the political mood in Goa. At a time when the party needed to project stability and preparedness, it has instead reignited memories of 2022.
One of the most controversial episodes then was the reported effort to offer a Congress ticket to former BJP Chief Minister Laxmikant Parsekar after his defeat within the BJP. For many Congress workers, the move was baffling. Instead of nurturing second-rung leaders and rewarding party loyalists, the leadership appeared more interested in importing political talent from outside.
The discontent deepened in constituencies such as Shiroda, traditionally considered a Congress stronghold, where local workers alleged that staunch BJP functionaries were being encouraged and promised tickets at the expense of long-serving Congress members.
The irony is difficult to miss. As Goa inches closer to another Assembly election, Congress workers were hoping the party would learn from its mistakes.
Instead, many feel the party has simply decided to reappoint them.
And if the current exodus continues, the Congress may soon discover that preparing for elections and preparing for farewells are not always very different exercises.
After all, in politics, history does not always repeat itself.
Sometimes, it gets reappointed.
Friday, 8 May 2026
From Goa to Chennai: A Political Chess Match Between Two Goans – By Nisser Dias
In a period when Goa finds itself increasingly dragged into divisive debates over religion, identity and communal polarization, it is ironic that two Goans from the same political and social background are simultaneously shaping political narratives nearly a thousand kilometres away in Tamil Nadu.
One is Rajendra Arlekar, presently occupying the constitutional office of Governor in Tamil Nadu. The other is Girish Chodankar, a senior Congress leader and All India Congress Committee observer involved in Tamil Nadu politics. Both men represent Goa in different ways, but their approaches to democracy, constitutional morality and political conduct could not be more different.
The recent political developments in Tamil Nadu have almost resembled a long-distance chess match between the two Goans. On one side stood Chodankar, attempting to negotiate political arithmetic and alliances in the post-election scenario. On the other stood Governor Arlekar, wielding the immense powers of the Raj Bhavan in deciding who should be invited to form the government.
Tamil Nadu has historically resisted central interference and has fiercely protected regional autonomy. The state’s political culture has always been rooted in anti-authoritarian Dravidian politics. Yet, the controversy following the elections once again brought to the forefront an old national debate — whether Governors appointed by the Centre act as neutral constitutional heads or political agents of the ruling party in Delhi.
Critics argue that Governor Arlekar’s conduct mirrored a larger pattern seen across India, where Governors in opposition-ruled states are often accused of delaying assent to bills, obstructing elected governments or selectively interpreting constitutional procedures. From Maharashtra to West Bengal, from Kerala to Punjab, Raj Bhavans have increasingly become battlegrounds of political confrontation. Tamil Nadu is merely the latest chapter in this ongoing struggle.
For many observers, Arlekar’s actions appeared less like those of an impartial constitutional authority and more like those of a seasoned ideological functionary carrying the political baggage of the RSS and the BJP. Instead of facilitating a smooth democratic transition, the Governor’s office appeared to become an instrument to delay or complicate the process.
Ironically, Goa itself is witnessing a similar atmosphere of polarization. Hate speeches, inflammatory social media posts, and attempts to pit one community against another have become disturbingly common. Fringe elements thrive on manufactured outrage, while political forces exploit identity divisions for electoral gains. Speakers from outside Goa are routinely invited to spread communal rhetoric, poisoning the state’s traditionally harmonious social fabric.
Against this backdrop, it becomes even more painful for many Goans to watch one of their own, Rajendra Arlekar, accused of undermining democratic norms in another state. Goa has always prided itself on moderation, co-existence and civility. Goans travelling outside the state are often respected for their balanced outlook and cosmopolitan temperament. Yet, when a Goan occupying a constitutional office is perceived as partisan, it inevitably reflects upon the image of the state itself.
On the other hand, Girish Chodankar presents an interesting contrast. Within Goa politics, Chodankar has never been without critics. During his tenure as Goa Pradesh Congress Committee president, he faced rebellion, factionalism and internal sabotage. Many within his own party questioned his strategies and leadership style. However, even detractors concede that he managed to build relationships and maintain relevance in Tamil Nadu’s complex political environment.
While the Congress has often appeared fragmented and directionless, Tamil Nadu politics demands coalition management, ideological clarity and negotiation skills. Chodankar’s role there demonstrated his ability to operate in a politically mature and highly competitive landscape. Whether one agrees with his politics or not, he at least functioned within the democratic framework of electoral politics rather than through constitutional manipulation.
The contrast between the two Goans therefore, becomes symbolic of two very different political cultures emerging in India today.
One represents electoral politics, negotiation, alliance-building and democratic engagement. The other represents the growing centralization of power through institutions that are constitutionally expected to remain neutral.
This is not merely about Tamil Nadu. It is about the future of Indian federalism itself.
Increasingly, opposition parties across India accuse the BJP-led central government of weaponizing institutions — from the Election Commssion to Enforcement Directorate and the CBI to Governors and even constitutional bodies. Whether these accusations are entirely fair or politically exaggerated is open to debate, but the perception itself is becoming deeply entrenched in public discourse.
The BJP’s critics argue that the party’s so-called “double engine government” model often translates into relentless pressure on opposition-ruled states. Supporters, meanwhile, defend such actions as necessary for administrative accountability and national unity. But somewhere in this political battle, constitutional morality risks becoming collateral damage.
For Goans observing these events, the irony remains striking. Far away from Goa, two sons of the soil have ended up standing on opposite sides of India’s democratic fault lines.
One is trying to influence power through political persuasion.
The other is accused of influencing power through constitutional authority.
And that difference may ultimately define how history remembers them.
One is Rajendra Arlekar, presently occupying the constitutional office of Governor in Tamil Nadu. The other is Girish Chodankar, a senior Congress leader and All India Congress Committee observer involved in Tamil Nadu politics. Both men represent Goa in different ways, but their approaches to democracy, constitutional morality and political conduct could not be more different.
The recent political developments in Tamil Nadu have almost resembled a long-distance chess match between the two Goans. On one side stood Chodankar, attempting to negotiate political arithmetic and alliances in the post-election scenario. On the other stood Governor Arlekar, wielding the immense powers of the Raj Bhavan in deciding who should be invited to form the government.
Tamil Nadu has historically resisted central interference and has fiercely protected regional autonomy. The state’s political culture has always been rooted in anti-authoritarian Dravidian politics. Yet, the controversy following the elections once again brought to the forefront an old national debate — whether Governors appointed by the Centre act as neutral constitutional heads or political agents of the ruling party in Delhi.
Critics argue that Governor Arlekar’s conduct mirrored a larger pattern seen across India, where Governors in opposition-ruled states are often accused of delaying assent to bills, obstructing elected governments or selectively interpreting constitutional procedures. From Maharashtra to West Bengal, from Kerala to Punjab, Raj Bhavans have increasingly become battlegrounds of political confrontation. Tamil Nadu is merely the latest chapter in this ongoing struggle.
For many observers, Arlekar’s actions appeared less like those of an impartial constitutional authority and more like those of a seasoned ideological functionary carrying the political baggage of the RSS and the BJP. Instead of facilitating a smooth democratic transition, the Governor’s office appeared to become an instrument to delay or complicate the process.
Ironically, Goa itself is witnessing a similar atmosphere of polarization. Hate speeches, inflammatory social media posts, and attempts to pit one community against another have become disturbingly common. Fringe elements thrive on manufactured outrage, while political forces exploit identity divisions for electoral gains. Speakers from outside Goa are routinely invited to spread communal rhetoric, poisoning the state’s traditionally harmonious social fabric.
Against this backdrop, it becomes even more painful for many Goans to watch one of their own, Rajendra Arlekar, accused of undermining democratic norms in another state. Goa has always prided itself on moderation, co-existence and civility. Goans travelling outside the state are often respected for their balanced outlook and cosmopolitan temperament. Yet, when a Goan occupying a constitutional office is perceived as partisan, it inevitably reflects upon the image of the state itself.
On the other hand, Girish Chodankar presents an interesting contrast. Within Goa politics, Chodankar has never been without critics. During his tenure as Goa Pradesh Congress Committee president, he faced rebellion, factionalism and internal sabotage. Many within his own party questioned his strategies and leadership style. However, even detractors concede that he managed to build relationships and maintain relevance in Tamil Nadu’s complex political environment.
While the Congress has often appeared fragmented and directionless, Tamil Nadu politics demands coalition management, ideological clarity and negotiation skills. Chodankar’s role there demonstrated his ability to operate in a politically mature and highly competitive landscape. Whether one agrees with his politics or not, he at least functioned within the democratic framework of electoral politics rather than through constitutional manipulation.
The contrast between the two Goans therefore, becomes symbolic of two very different political cultures emerging in India today.
One represents electoral politics, negotiation, alliance-building and democratic engagement. The other represents the growing centralization of power through institutions that are constitutionally expected to remain neutral.
This is not merely about Tamil Nadu. It is about the future of Indian federalism itself.
Increasingly, opposition parties across India accuse the BJP-led central government of weaponizing institutions — from the Election Commssion to Enforcement Directorate and the CBI to Governors and even constitutional bodies. Whether these accusations are entirely fair or politically exaggerated is open to debate, but the perception itself is becoming deeply entrenched in public discourse.
The BJP’s critics argue that the party’s so-called “double engine government” model often translates into relentless pressure on opposition-ruled states. Supporters, meanwhile, defend such actions as necessary for administrative accountability and national unity. But somewhere in this political battle, constitutional morality risks becoming collateral damage.
For Goans observing these events, the irony remains striking. Far away from Goa, two sons of the soil have ended up standing on opposite sides of India’s democratic fault lines.
One is trying to influence power through political persuasion.
The other is accused of influencing power through constitutional authority.
And that difference may ultimately define how history remembers them.
Thursday, 26 March 2026
Vishwajit Rane: Minister by Title, Marauder by Action? – By Nisser Dias
The cracks in Goa’s land governance have split wide open—again. And once again, the spotlight falls squarely on Town and Country Planning Minister Vishwajit Rane and the department he heads.
Chief Minister Pramod Sawant has ordered the revocation of an 80,000 sqm land conversion in Maulinguem, Bicholim, categorizing it as a valley. The speed was startling—within hours, the TCP department moved to withdraw permissions. Efficient? Perhaps. But also deeply revealing.
Because this is not about one land parcel.
This is about a system.
A token action won’t cut it
Let’s be clear: Goans are not appeased by selective reversals. Revoking a single conversion is not reform—it is damage control.
What people are demanding is far more fundamental:
Scrap Section 39A entirely Revoke all conversions cleared under it Annul the final notifications issued through this route
And above all, accountability.
That accountability must begin with Vishwajit Rane. Not just questions—but consequences. Removal from the cabinet. A thorough investigation into alleged kickbacks. A full audit of every approval granted under his watch.
Anything less is cosmetic.
The convenient denial
Rane’s response has only deepened public suspicion. Claiming he was “unaware” whether his own department examined such a massive land parcel is not just implausible—it is insulting.
This is the very mechanism Section 39A was designed to enable. Large-scale land conversions, fast-tracked, often opaque.
And we are expected to believe the minister in charge knew nothing?
That narrative doesn’t hold.
It looks less like ignorance and more like an attempt to distance himself—leaving bureaucrats exposed while he searches for an escape route.
The rot runs deep
Responsibility doesn’t stop at the minister’s office. The chain of approvals—from case registration to inspection to final clearance—involves multiple senior officials.
If there is to be an investigation, it must be systemic:
Secure all files immediately Suspend and probe the officials involved Examine every step of the approval process
But the probe must start at the top. Anything else would be a deliberate diversion.
A warning ignored
This crisis didn’t emerge overnight.
Concerns around Section 39A were raised long ago. Even judicial voices like Ferdino Rebello had flagged the dangers. Citizens approached courts. Protests followed.
Local resistance intensified when MLA Viresh Borkar escalated the issue through a hunger strike , forcing the government to pause conversions in his constituency.
And yet, despite mounting pressure, the recent Assembly session ended without scrapping Section 39A—a move that left many Goans disillusioned.
A moment of reckoning
Now, with Sawant finally acting—whether out of conviction or compulsion—there is a narrow window for real change.
Every file cleared, pending, or processed under Section 39A must be reopened and scrutinized.
But this cannot be left to politicians alone. Public trust in elected representatives is at a low ebb, and not without reason.
It is up to Goans themselves to:
Call out questionable conversions Demand transparency
Push for complete repeal of Section 39A
Public pressure, especially with elections on the horizon, may be the only force strong enough to compel action.
The uncomfortable truth
Here lies the dilemma.
Will Chief Minister Pramod Sawant act decisively against Vishwajit Rane?
Or will political compulsions prevail?
Because any serious action risks exposing deeper issues—not just within the TCP department, but within the broader functioning of the government itself.
That is the truth many suspect.
And that is exactly why half-measures are no longer acceptable.
Goa stands at a crossroads. This is not just about land—it is about trust, governance, and the future of the state.
The question is simple:
Will this moment lead to real accountability?
Or will it become just another chapter in a long history of convenient silence? .
Chief Minister Pramod Sawant has ordered the revocation of an 80,000 sqm land conversion in Maulinguem, Bicholim, categorizing it as a valley. The speed was startling—within hours, the TCP department moved to withdraw permissions. Efficient? Perhaps. But also deeply revealing.
Because this is not about one land parcel.
This is about a system.
A token action won’t cut it
Let’s be clear: Goans are not appeased by selective reversals. Revoking a single conversion is not reform—it is damage control.
What people are demanding is far more fundamental:
Scrap Section 39A entirely Revoke all conversions cleared under it Annul the final notifications issued through this route
And above all, accountability.
That accountability must begin with Vishwajit Rane. Not just questions—but consequences. Removal from the cabinet. A thorough investigation into alleged kickbacks. A full audit of every approval granted under his watch.
Anything less is cosmetic.
The convenient denial
Rane’s response has only deepened public suspicion. Claiming he was “unaware” whether his own department examined such a massive land parcel is not just implausible—it is insulting.
This is the very mechanism Section 39A was designed to enable. Large-scale land conversions, fast-tracked, often opaque.
And we are expected to believe the minister in charge knew nothing?
That narrative doesn’t hold.
It looks less like ignorance and more like an attempt to distance himself—leaving bureaucrats exposed while he searches for an escape route.
The rot runs deep
Responsibility doesn’t stop at the minister’s office. The chain of approvals—from case registration to inspection to final clearance—involves multiple senior officials.
If there is to be an investigation, it must be systemic:
Secure all files immediately Suspend and probe the officials involved Examine every step of the approval process
But the probe must start at the top. Anything else would be a deliberate diversion.
A warning ignored
This crisis didn’t emerge overnight.
Concerns around Section 39A were raised long ago. Even judicial voices like Ferdino Rebello had flagged the dangers. Citizens approached courts. Protests followed.
Local resistance intensified when MLA Viresh Borkar escalated the issue through a hunger strike , forcing the government to pause conversions in his constituency.
And yet, despite mounting pressure, the recent Assembly session ended without scrapping Section 39A—a move that left many Goans disillusioned.
A moment of reckoning
Now, with Sawant finally acting—whether out of conviction or compulsion—there is a narrow window for real change.
Every file cleared, pending, or processed under Section 39A must be reopened and scrutinized.
But this cannot be left to politicians alone. Public trust in elected representatives is at a low ebb, and not without reason.
It is up to Goans themselves to:
Call out questionable conversions Demand transparency
Push for complete repeal of Section 39A
Public pressure, especially with elections on the horizon, may be the only force strong enough to compel action.
The uncomfortable truth
Here lies the dilemma.
Will Chief Minister Pramod Sawant act decisively against Vishwajit Rane?
Or will political compulsions prevail?
Because any serious action risks exposing deeper issues—not just within the TCP department, but within the broader functioning of the government itself.
That is the truth many suspect.
And that is exactly why half-measures are no longer acceptable.
Goa stands at a crossroads. This is not just about land—it is about trust, governance, and the future of the state.
The question is simple:
Will this moment lead to real accountability?
Or will it become just another chapter in a long history of convenient silence? .
Saturday, 14 March 2026
Panjim has voted — But has Goa learned anything? – By Nisser Dias
Panjekars have spoken. They have elected their corporators to govern their city in the Corporation of the City of Panaji. The outcome reminds us of the old adage: people eventually get the government they vote for.
Yet many Goans had hoped for something different this time.
Across the state there was a sense that Panjim — the capital city and political nerve centre of Goa — would lead the charge for change. Goans hoped Panjekars would “inhale the future by exhaling the past.” Instead, the voters chose to remain in the same rut, giving the Bharatiya Janata Party-led panel a thumping and absolute majority.
And that is what makes the result so baffling.
For the past five years, Panjekars have been shouting from their rooftops about casinos, the chaos surrounding the Smart City works, pathetic roads, lack of parking, overflowing gutters, flooding during the monsoon, and civic mismanagement that has made everyday life miserable.
The complaints were not whispers. They were loud, angry and relentless.
The situation became so dire that even judges of the Bombay High Court had to step down from their high pedestal and walk the potholed roads and broken streets of Panjim to witness firsthand the suffering of those who live and work in Goa’s capital.
Yet when Deliverance Day arrived at the ballot box, Panjekars chose the known devil over an unknown angel.
What a tragic irony.
A couple of weeks ago, I had written an article titled “Protest Today, Freebie Tomorrow — Will Anger Turn into Votes against BJP?”.
Providence, it seems, has answered that question rather bluntly.
Anger did not translate into votes against the BJP government.
Chief Minister Pramod Sawant has already interpreted the verdict in his own way. According to him, the CCP victory is merely a “trailer for the 2027 Assembly elections.” He claims the result reflects people’s trust in his party and its governance.
But many Goans see a very different reality.
This government, critics argue, has presided over the steady erosion of Goa — destroying hills, fields, rivers, ponds and mangroves. Along with them disappear fragments of our culture, traditions, ecology and the Goan way of life.
The expectation was simple: Panjim would show courage. Panjekars would lead the way. The capital city would send a clear signal that the people of Goa had had enough.
That signal never came.
Instead, the same forces have been handed another mandate to continue as before.
It feels like a moment of deep disappointment.
But this is not the moment for despair.
All is not lost.
Goans must refuse to sink into resignation. We may have stumbled, but we must rise again. The struggle to protect Goa cannot end at the municipal ballot box.
Stopping the destruction of Goa is not merely about removing the BJP government. Replacing one party with another will achieve little if the same tired faces, the same political culture and the same appetite for power continue to dominate our politics.
A change of government does not automatically mean a change of mindset.
Too often in Goa, elections simply reshuffle the same actors — giving them a fresh stage from which to continue the same old plunder.
For the next five years, Panjekars will have to live with the consequences of their choice. The hardships, the civic chaos and the neglect may very well continue.
But let that be their lesson, not Goa’s destiny.
When the next Assembly elections arrive, Goans across the state must resist the temptation to follow the same pattern. We must think differently. Think boldly. Think beyond parties and personalities.
Most importantly, think about saving Goa.
Saving our rolling hills and green fields.
Saving our cascading rivers and monsoon waterfalls.
Saving our mangroves, ponds, roaring seas and white beaches.
Saving the fragile ecology and cultural soul that make Goa what it is.
The next mandate should not merely elect another government.
It should be a mandate to save Goa from the clutches of politicians themselves.
Yet many Goans had hoped for something different this time.
Across the state there was a sense that Panjim — the capital city and political nerve centre of Goa — would lead the charge for change. Goans hoped Panjekars would “inhale the future by exhaling the past.” Instead, the voters chose to remain in the same rut, giving the Bharatiya Janata Party-led panel a thumping and absolute majority.
And that is what makes the result so baffling.
For the past five years, Panjekars have been shouting from their rooftops about casinos, the chaos surrounding the Smart City works, pathetic roads, lack of parking, overflowing gutters, flooding during the monsoon, and civic mismanagement that has made everyday life miserable.
The complaints were not whispers. They were loud, angry and relentless.
The situation became so dire that even judges of the Bombay High Court had to step down from their high pedestal and walk the potholed roads and broken streets of Panjim to witness firsthand the suffering of those who live and work in Goa’s capital.
Yet when Deliverance Day arrived at the ballot box, Panjekars chose the known devil over an unknown angel.
What a tragic irony.
A couple of weeks ago, I had written an article titled “Protest Today, Freebie Tomorrow — Will Anger Turn into Votes against BJP?”.
Providence, it seems, has answered that question rather bluntly.
Anger did not translate into votes against the BJP government.
Chief Minister Pramod Sawant has already interpreted the verdict in his own way. According to him, the CCP victory is merely a “trailer for the 2027 Assembly elections.” He claims the result reflects people’s trust in his party and its governance.
But many Goans see a very different reality.
This government, critics argue, has presided over the steady erosion of Goa — destroying hills, fields, rivers, ponds and mangroves. Along with them disappear fragments of our culture, traditions, ecology and the Goan way of life.
The expectation was simple: Panjim would show courage. Panjekars would lead the way. The capital city would send a clear signal that the people of Goa had had enough.
That signal never came.
Instead, the same forces have been handed another mandate to continue as before.
It feels like a moment of deep disappointment.
But this is not the moment for despair.
All is not lost.
Goans must refuse to sink into resignation. We may have stumbled, but we must rise again. The struggle to protect Goa cannot end at the municipal ballot box.
Stopping the destruction of Goa is not merely about removing the BJP government. Replacing one party with another will achieve little if the same tired faces, the same political culture and the same appetite for power continue to dominate our politics.
A change of government does not automatically mean a change of mindset.
Too often in Goa, elections simply reshuffle the same actors — giving them a fresh stage from which to continue the same old plunder.
For the next five years, Panjekars will have to live with the consequences of their choice. The hardships, the civic chaos and the neglect may very well continue.
But let that be their lesson, not Goa’s destiny.
When the next Assembly elections arrive, Goans across the state must resist the temptation to follow the same pattern. We must think differently. Think boldly. Think beyond parties and personalities.
Most importantly, think about saving Goa.
Saving our rolling hills and green fields.
Saving our cascading rivers and monsoon waterfalls.
Saving our mangroves, ponds, roaring seas and white beaches.
Saving the fragile ecology and cultural soul that make Goa what it is.
The next mandate should not merely elect another government.
It should be a mandate to save Goa from the clutches of politicians themselves.
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