From dominance to desperation: Why Bengal is boiling before polls

India stands at the political crossroads today. The electorate is more aware, contests are more open, and the stakes are higher than ever before. Yet, the persistence of violence—particularly in states like West Bengal—raises uncomfortable questions about the quality of democratic engagement within political parties themselves.

A troubling paradox defines the current political discourse. Leaders of the opposition alliance, whether it is Mamata Banerjee, Akhilesh Yadav, Leader of Opposition Rahul Gandhi, or even Arvind Kejriwal, routinely accuse Prime Minister Narendra Modi of authoritarianism. Yet, within their respective parties, dissent is often met with zero tolerance—if not outright hostility.

Internal democracy appears to be the first casualty. Party members are expected to display unwavering sycophancy. Praising the “supreme leader” becomes more important than raising people’s issues. Those who deviate are quickly labelled as dissenters, or worse, traitors, and shown the door. This culture of conformity undermines the very democratic values these leaders claim to defend.

A recent example is that of Raghav Chadha, who, despite actively raising public issues, was reportedly stripped of his position as APP deputy leader in the Rajya Sabha and even restrained from speaking on behalf of his party. The message is clear: independent articulation, even within constitutional forums, is unwelcome.

Similarly, in Karnataka, on a directive from Rahul Gandhi, a minister was removed for expressing a divergent view on allegations of “vote theft”. This reflects a growing pattern—centralised authority overriding institutional process. Such instances reinforce the perception that political parties are becoming increasingly intolerant of internal debate.

West Bengal-Where tension meets transition:

Nowhere is this democratic contradiction more visible than in West Bengal, which is heading into a crucial election amid palpable tension. For decades, its politics revolved around single-party dominance—first the Left Front, and later Trinamool Congress (TMC). Elections, though contested, followed a largely predictable trajectory. That certainty has now vanished.

What has replaced it is a high-stakes, no-margin battlefield where every booth, every panchayat, and every vote is fiercely contested. The shift from political dominance to genuine competition has fundamentally altered the electoral landscape.

However, this transition has not been smooth.

A deeply disturbing incident in Malda exposed the fragility of administrative neutrality. A group of protesters confined seven judicial officers—including three women—for hours during an electoral revision exercise. They were attacked with stones, bricks, and sticks, and denied basic necessities such as food and water.

The Supreme Court of India described the episode as “deeply troubling,” observing that it appeared to be a deliberate attempt to intimidate officials and derail a constitutionally mandated process. It made it clear that interference in election-related duties would not be tolerated under any circumstances.

It further advised the state government to coordinate with the Election Commission of India (ECI) and granted the commission liberty to consider transferring the probe to agencies like the Central Bureau of Investigation, if required.

Instead of expressing concern or accountability, Mamata Banerjee distanced herself from the incident, claiming she had not been informed by senior officials. She further suggested that the Union government, particularly Home Minister Amit Shah, should be held responsible, arguing that the Election Commission was effectively in control during the poll process.

However, this argument does not stand constitutional scrutiny.

Under the Constitution of India, law and order remains a State subject. Even during elections, the primary responsibility for maintaining peace rests with the state government. The poll panel exercises supervisory powers under Article 324—it does not replace the state machinery.

The state government is directly accountable for preventing violence, protecting voters and officials, and ensuring free and fair campaigning. Attempts to deflect this responsibility only deepen public suspicion and erode institutional credibility.

The violence witnessed in West Bengal is not just electoral but territorial. In large parts of rural Bengal, politics is intertwined with local power structures. Control over political space often translates into control over resources, influence, and administration.

At the heart of this churn lies the emergence of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) as a formidable challenger. Its steady expansion has disrupted the old order, transforming Bengal into an arena of direct political confrontation.

Such transitions—from dominance to competition—are rarely peaceful. Bengal is living through that turbulence. The critical question is whether the ruling TMC is acting out of political anxiety.

There is little doubt that the party remains deeply entrenched, with a strong grassroots network and a loyal support base. To suggest an imminent collapse would be inaccurate.

However, it is equally evident that the party is under pressure in several constituencies.

The BJP’s rise has altered electoral arithmetic in urban centres, border districts, and regions experiencing anti-incumbency. Contests are tighter, margins thinner, and outcomes less predictable. For a party accustomed to dominance, even marginal erosion can feel like a strategic threat. Recent statements by the Chief Minister, her confrontations with central agencies and aggressive political messaging have added to the perception of a leadership under pressure. Whether this perception is politically constructed or grounded in reality, it has undeniably influenced the behaviour of the party cadre on the ground.

When electoral outcomes become uncertain, political instinct shifts—from expansion to defensive consolidation. In Bengal’s cadre-driven ecosystem, this often translates into aggressive efforts to retain control at the grassroots level.

The opposition frames the current unrest as evidence of a ruling party gripped by fear. The TMC dismisses these claims as politically motivated narratives designed to discredit it. In reality, both sides are engaged in a larger battle—not just for votes, but for perception.

Modern elections are fought as much in the information space as on the ground. Every incident is amplified, every clash politicised, and every narrative weaponised. The result is a self-reinforcing cycle of accusation and counter-accusation, raising the political temperature further.

What is unfolding in West Bengal is not an isolated phenomenon. It reflects a broader transformation in Indian politics—from predictability to uncertainty, from dominance to competition, from controlled outcomes to genuinely contested verdicts.

The real issue is not whether the TMC is afraid or whether the BJP is ascendant. The deeper question is whether political parties—across the spectrum—are willing to adapt to competitive politics without resorting to coercive methods.

Democracy thrives on contestation. But it weakens when contestation turns coercive.

West Bengal today is not just witnessing an election; it is undergoing a test of democratic maturity. The persistence of violence, erosion of internal party democracy, and the tendency to deflect accountability indicate a deeper malaise within the political ecosystem.

Unless leaders begin to stand by the people rather than party hierarchies, unless opposition politics moves beyond victimhood narratives, and unless civil servants demonstrate the courage to uphold constitutional norms, meaningful change will remain elusive.

Until that transformation occurs, elections—especially in politically volatile states like West Bengal—will continue to be less about governance and more about control. And democracy will remain a contest not just at the ballot box, but on the streets.

(The author is former Chief Editor of The Hans India)