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.
Monday, 1 June 2026
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
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.
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? .
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