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.
Saturday, 14 March 2026
Saturday, 7 March 2026
Protest today, freebies tomorrow - Will anger turn into votes against BJP? – By Nisser Dias
Four anti-bandhara protesters from Sanvordem–Mirabag were detained on Friday, March 6, the very first day of the Assembly’s budget session. Their crime? Holding placards and raising slogans. Democracy, apparently, works best when it is quiet.
Villagers from the same area were also denied permission to stage a sit-in at Lohia Maidan that very day. After all, peaceful protests are terribly inconvenient when the government is busy presenting a “people-friendly” budget.
Meanwhile, the police—now functioning with remarkable efficiency as the unofficial security wing of the ruling politicians—have summoned hundreds of protesters who demanded the repeal of Section 39A of the Town and Country Planning Act. Their offence was equally grave: raising slogans against Vishwajit Rane outside his Miramar residence.
Across Goa, discontent is no longer simmering—it is boiling. Vasco continues to witness agitations against coal transportation. Velsao and Cansaulim residents remain locked in protests over double tracking. Tivim and St. Andre are up in arms against mega housing projects. Curchorem is tense over the proposed coal handling jetty. Old Goa has seen protests against construction creeping into heritage zones.
The list is long. In fact, it is growing faster than the so-called “development” these projects promise.
Thousands of villagers—women, men, even children—are leaving their homes and daily work to join these agitations. For them, this is about survival, land, and identity. For the government, however, it is simply “development”.
Ironically, history shows that when people persist, the government eventually blinks.
The BJP government led by Chief Minister Pramod Sawant was forced to abandon the proposed Unity Mall in Chimbel after public opposition. TCP approvals under Section 39A had to be kept in abeyance in Palem-Siridao following protests.
Back in 2019, the proposed IIT campus at Shel-Melauli collapsed under the weight of massive public resistance to land acquisition. The plan was quietly shelved after sustained agitation.
Similarly, the draft zoning plan in Pernem ran into a wall of public anger when people realised that large stretches of green cover might conveniently transform into concrete jungles. Once again, resistance forced the government to rethink.
Which brings us to the uncomfortable question: will these protests actually translate into votes against the BJP? Or will voters, once again, suffer from Goa’s well-documented case of political amnesia?
With just a year left for the general elections, the familiar ritual is about to begin. Soon the carrots will appear—welfare schemes, subsidies, incentives, and generous promises packaged as governance. The budget presented on March 6 already gives us a preview.
Fifty thousand senior citizens will receive free pneumococcal vaccines. After “Mhaji Ghar”, the government now promises “Mhaji Flat”. There’s a “Nari Shakti” scheme for women. Anganwadi workers will see their wages increased. Rs. 30 crore is earmarked for empowerment of the disabled. Scheduled Tribes are promised incentives and benefits. Tribal sportsmen will receive cash rewards. Even journalists have reason to smile with their pensions raised from Rs.10,000 to Rs.15,000.
And this, of course, is only the tip of the iceberg.
As elections approach, the BJP’s strategists will likely unveil more “instant relief” schemes—the kind designed to make voters forget yesterday’s protests and tomorrow’s consequences. We have seen similar political generosity elsewhere, such as in Bihar, where cash incentives were rolled out for women voters.
And, as always, the ever-mysterious management of electoral rolls will quietly play its role in the background.
Which is why the real challenge lies with the people of Goa.
If voters truly wish to protect their hills, fields, rivers, ponds, and mangroves—if they wish to preserve their culture, traditions, ecology, and the Goan way of life—then they must see through the glitter of last-minute schemes and inducements.
Or even worse, will it be religion that decides the voting pattern? Or will it be a vote for Hindutva, the Hindu nation narrative?
Because in the end, the real question is simple: will Goans vote to save their land, or will they once again settle for the next well-packaged promise?
Or even worse, will it be religion that decides the voting pattern? Or will it be a vote for Hindutva, Hindu nation narrative?
Because the choice is simple.
Vote for the future of Goa.
Or vote for the next freebie.
Villagers from the same area were also denied permission to stage a sit-in at Lohia Maidan that very day. After all, peaceful protests are terribly inconvenient when the government is busy presenting a “people-friendly” budget.
Meanwhile, the police—now functioning with remarkable efficiency as the unofficial security wing of the ruling politicians—have summoned hundreds of protesters who demanded the repeal of Section 39A of the Town and Country Planning Act. Their offence was equally grave: raising slogans against Vishwajit Rane outside his Miramar residence.
Across Goa, discontent is no longer simmering—it is boiling. Vasco continues to witness agitations against coal transportation. Velsao and Cansaulim residents remain locked in protests over double tracking. Tivim and St. Andre are up in arms against mega housing projects. Curchorem is tense over the proposed coal handling jetty. Old Goa has seen protests against construction creeping into heritage zones.
The list is long. In fact, it is growing faster than the so-called “development” these projects promise.
Thousands of villagers—women, men, even children—are leaving their homes and daily work to join these agitations. For them, this is about survival, land, and identity. For the government, however, it is simply “development”.
Ironically, history shows that when people persist, the government eventually blinks.
The BJP government led by Chief Minister Pramod Sawant was forced to abandon the proposed Unity Mall in Chimbel after public opposition. TCP approvals under Section 39A had to be kept in abeyance in Palem-Siridao following protests.
Back in 2019, the proposed IIT campus at Shel-Melauli collapsed under the weight of massive public resistance to land acquisition. The plan was quietly shelved after sustained agitation.
Similarly, the draft zoning plan in Pernem ran into a wall of public anger when people realised that large stretches of green cover might conveniently transform into concrete jungles. Once again, resistance forced the government to rethink.
Which brings us to the uncomfortable question: will these protests actually translate into votes against the BJP? Or will voters, once again, suffer from Goa’s well-documented case of political amnesia?
With just a year left for the general elections, the familiar ritual is about to begin. Soon the carrots will appear—welfare schemes, subsidies, incentives, and generous promises packaged as governance. The budget presented on March 6 already gives us a preview.
Fifty thousand senior citizens will receive free pneumococcal vaccines. After “Mhaji Ghar”, the government now promises “Mhaji Flat”. There’s a “Nari Shakti” scheme for women. Anganwadi workers will see their wages increased. Rs. 30 crore is earmarked for empowerment of the disabled. Scheduled Tribes are promised incentives and benefits. Tribal sportsmen will receive cash rewards. Even journalists have reason to smile with their pensions raised from Rs.10,000 to Rs.15,000.
And this, of course, is only the tip of the iceberg.
As elections approach, the BJP’s strategists will likely unveil more “instant relief” schemes—the kind designed to make voters forget yesterday’s protests and tomorrow’s consequences. We have seen similar political generosity elsewhere, such as in Bihar, where cash incentives were rolled out for women voters.
And, as always, the ever-mysterious management of electoral rolls will quietly play its role in the background.
Which is why the real challenge lies with the people of Goa.
If voters truly wish to protect their hills, fields, rivers, ponds, and mangroves—if they wish to preserve their culture, traditions, ecology, and the Goan way of life—then they must see through the glitter of last-minute schemes and inducements.
Or even worse, will it be religion that decides the voting pattern? Or will it be a vote for Hindutva, the Hindu nation narrative?
Because in the end, the real question is simple: will Goans vote to save their land, or will they once again settle for the next well-packaged promise?
Or even worse, will it be religion that decides the voting pattern? Or will it be a vote for Hindutva, Hindu nation narrative?
Because the choice is simple.
Vote for the future of Goa.
Or vote for the next freebie.
Tuesday, 3 March 2026
The Spirit of Protest vs The Machinery of Doubt – By Nisser Dias
Goa, has once again delivered peak political theatre — complete with fasting, rumours, AI-generated wisdom, and a bonus episode titled “To Be Continued.”
St. Andre MLA Viresh Borkar and Tushar Gawas recently called off their hunger strike — but not without leaving us with a cliffhanger. The fast, staged against Section 39A of the Town and Country Planning Act, has been “temporarily suspended” with a dramatic addendum: it shall resume if the BJP government does not repeal the contentious provision. In other words, the protest is on standby mode.
Now, let’s address the real star of this saga: not the fast, not Section 39A, but the mighty and unstoppable WhatsApp University — now upgraded with Artificial Intelligence. Because why rely on boring facts when you can have cinematic conspiracy theories?
During and after the fast, the rumour mills spun faster than a casino roulette wheel in the Mandovi river. AI-crafted videos and fantastical narratives emerged with the precision of a well-funded content studio. One theory claimed that Viresh had some master chess game planned with Chief Minister Pramod Sawant. Another insisted that Manoj Parab, chief of the Revolutionary Goans Party, was allegedly monetizing the protest by extracting huge sums from the builder lobby. Not satisfied with that, yet another rumour suggested Manoj was panicking over Viresh’s rising popularity and therefore plotting to sabotage him.
Honestly, Netflix should consider outsourcing its political thrillers to Goa’s WhatsApp groups. The scripts are tighter. The twists are better. And the fact-checking? Completely optional.
What’s fascinating is not just the creativity of these theories, but their timing and coordination. They didn’t merely attack individuals; they attacked the spirit of the protest itself. Because if you can’t defeat a movement, you can always divide it. If you can’t discredit the issue, discredit the people. And if you can’t win the argument, just flood the timeline.
Whether the “alumni” of WhatsApp University succeeded is debatable. But what isn’t debatable is that someone, somewhere, has the machinery to churn out such content with alarming efficiency. The BJP’s well-oiled social media apparatus has long been known for its digital agility. When a protest gains traction, suddenly a parallel digital universe appears — complete with suspiciously polished AI videos and neatly packaged narratives designed to inject doubt like a political vaccine.
Of course, let’s not be unfair. It could also be “independent creators” who just happen to have professional-level editing skills, strategic messaging instincts, and perfect timing. Pure coincidence, I’m sure. Just passionate citizens with laptops and too much free time.
But here’s the real damage: it’s not about who created what. It’s about the slow erosion of trust. When every protester is suspected of a hidden agenda, when every leader is presumed to be playing a double game, and when every video could be AI-generated fiction, public discourse doesn’t just get polluted — it gets paralysed.
The purpose of such propaganda is simple: confuse, divide, exhaust. Make people so tired of sorting truth from trash that they give up altogether. Snatch the spirit of collective action and replace it with suspicion. Turn solidarity into side-eye.
And that is where the real battle lies.
Because Section 39A, builder lobbies, political rivalries — all of that is policy-level conflict. But the information war? That’s psychological. It’s about shaping perception so effectively that the protest collapses under the weight of its own doubts.
Goans, therefore, face a new civic responsibility. It’s no longer enough to show up at a protest or share a post. One must also become a fact-checker, a sceptic, and occasionally, a digital detective. The new literacy isn’t just reading and writing — it’s discerning and verifying.
Ignore malicious content. Question conveniently timed “leaks.” Ask who benefits from a narrative that divides protesters more than it challenges power. Separate the chaff from the grain, as the elders would say — except now the chaff is algorithmically optimized.
The hunger strike may have been paused. The rumours certainly won’t be. But if Goa has survived colonialism, mining scams, casino politics, and monsoon potholes, it can surely survive a few AI-generated conspiracy videos.
The real question is not whether the fast will resume.
The real question is whether Goans will stay hungry — not for drama, not for viral forwards — but for truth.
St. Andre MLA Viresh Borkar and Tushar Gawas recently called off their hunger strike — but not without leaving us with a cliffhanger. The fast, staged against Section 39A of the Town and Country Planning Act, has been “temporarily suspended” with a dramatic addendum: it shall resume if the BJP government does not repeal the contentious provision. In other words, the protest is on standby mode.
Now, let’s address the real star of this saga: not the fast, not Section 39A, but the mighty and unstoppable WhatsApp University — now upgraded with Artificial Intelligence. Because why rely on boring facts when you can have cinematic conspiracy theories?
During and after the fast, the rumour mills spun faster than a casino roulette wheel in the Mandovi river. AI-crafted videos and fantastical narratives emerged with the precision of a well-funded content studio. One theory claimed that Viresh had some master chess game planned with Chief Minister Pramod Sawant. Another insisted that Manoj Parab, chief of the Revolutionary Goans Party, was allegedly monetizing the protest by extracting huge sums from the builder lobby. Not satisfied with that, yet another rumour suggested Manoj was panicking over Viresh’s rising popularity and therefore plotting to sabotage him.
Honestly, Netflix should consider outsourcing its political thrillers to Goa’s WhatsApp groups. The scripts are tighter. The twists are better. And the fact-checking? Completely optional.
What’s fascinating is not just the creativity of these theories, but their timing and coordination. They didn’t merely attack individuals; they attacked the spirit of the protest itself. Because if you can’t defeat a movement, you can always divide it. If you can’t discredit the issue, discredit the people. And if you can’t win the argument, just flood the timeline.
Whether the “alumni” of WhatsApp University succeeded is debatable. But what isn’t debatable is that someone, somewhere, has the machinery to churn out such content with alarming efficiency. The BJP’s well-oiled social media apparatus has long been known for its digital agility. When a protest gains traction, suddenly a parallel digital universe appears — complete with suspiciously polished AI videos and neatly packaged narratives designed to inject doubt like a political vaccine.
Of course, let’s not be unfair. It could also be “independent creators” who just happen to have professional-level editing skills, strategic messaging instincts, and perfect timing. Pure coincidence, I’m sure. Just passionate citizens with laptops and too much free time.
But here’s the real damage: it’s not about who created what. It’s about the slow erosion of trust. When every protester is suspected of a hidden agenda, when every leader is presumed to be playing a double game, and when every video could be AI-generated fiction, public discourse doesn’t just get polluted — it gets paralysed.
The purpose of such propaganda is simple: confuse, divide, exhaust. Make people so tired of sorting truth from trash that they give up altogether. Snatch the spirit of collective action and replace it with suspicion. Turn solidarity into side-eye.
And that is where the real battle lies.
Because Section 39A, builder lobbies, political rivalries — all of that is policy-level conflict. But the information war? That’s psychological. It’s about shaping perception so effectively that the protest collapses under the weight of its own doubts.
Goans, therefore, face a new civic responsibility. It’s no longer enough to show up at a protest or share a post. One must also become a fact-checker, a sceptic, and occasionally, a digital detective. The new literacy isn’t just reading and writing — it’s discerning and verifying.
Ignore malicious content. Question conveniently timed “leaks.” Ask who benefits from a narrative that divides protesters more than it challenges power. Separate the chaff from the grain, as the elders would say — except now the chaff is algorithmically optimized.
The hunger strike may have been paused. The rumours certainly won’t be. But if Goa has survived colonialism, mining scams, casino politics, and monsoon potholes, it can surely survive a few AI-generated conspiracy videos.
The real question is not whether the fast will resume.
The real question is whether Goans will stay hungry — not for drama, not for viral forwards — but for truth.
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