If obstructing a court from hearing a petition filed by a constitutional investigative agency does not amount to contempt of the judiciary, then the phrase has lost all meaning. If an elected Chief Minister allegedly snatching official files during an ongoing money-laundering probe does not constitute an assault on the Constitution, then constitutional morality has become an expendable slogan. And if a ruling party’s cadre can intimidate institutions of justice on the streets with impunity, then the very idea of the rule of law stands on dangerously hollow ground.
What unfolded in in Kolkata today—where Trinamool Congress (TMC) protesters allegedly forced the disruption of a court hearing on an Enforcement Directorate (ED) petition against Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee—is not merely political theatre. It is an institutional breakdown. It is the state apparatus turning against the state itself.
According to the ED’s submissions, the agency has alleged that during an ongoing money-laundering investigation linked to iPAC, the Chief Minister not only forcibly removed files from the residence of an iPAC co-founder but also allegedly alerted those under investigation. If true, this is not a political controversy—it is a constitutional emergency. Investigative agencies operate under the authority of law, supervised by courts, not at the mercy of street power or executive muscle.
The most chilling aspect is not even the allegation itself, but the brazenness surrounding it. How does a sitting Chief Minister—constitutionally bound to uphold the law—allegedly interfere with an investigation mid-raid? How do the Director General of Police and the City Police Commissioner allegedly accompany the Chief Minister in an act that, on the face of it, obstructs justice? Whose command were they following—the Constitution’s or the Chief Minister’s?
An elected government is entrusted with safeguarding constitutional institutions, not besieging them. Courts, investigative agencies, and election authorities are not adversaries of the state; they are its pillars. When a ruling party’s supporters block court proceedings and the state machinery appears complicit, it ceases to be dissent. It becomes a defiance of constitutional authority.
The TMC’s justification—that this is resistance against “BJP misuse” of central agencies—falls flat. In a constitutional democracy, grievances against investigations are addressed through courts, not street intimidation. Legal remedies exist precisely to prevent chaos. Taking to the streets to obstruct judicial processes is not a protest; it is a mob veto over justice.
This raises a fundamental question: What is Mamata Banerjee afraid of? If the allegations are baseless, the courts provide the safest forum for vindication. Why then resort to confrontation, obstruction, and alleged file-snatching? Why convert an investigative process into a political battleground unless there is something to hide?
Equally disturbing is the silence—or timidity—of constitutional watchdogs. Should the Supreme Court not take suo motu cognisance of a situation where a High Court hearing is allegedly disrupted through political pressure? When state power is used, or appears to be used, to frustrate judicial scrutiny, the matter transcends partisan politics. It strikes at the heart of constitutional governance.
Article 356 exists for precisely such breakdowns—not for political vendetta, but for situations where constitutional machinery fails. When a state government allegedly obstructs investigations, undermines courts, and encourages lawlessness, does it not meet the threshold of “failure of constitutional machinery”?
The Election Commission, too, cannot remain a mute spectator. A political party that repeatedly resorts to street coercion, intimidates institutions, and substitutes governance with agitation raises serious questions about its commitment to constitutional norms. Derecognition is not punitive—it is corrective, meant to protect democratic integrity.
The irony is stark. A Chief Minister who frequently lectures the nation on federalism and democracy now stands accused—by a constitutional agency—of violating both. Federalism does not mean immunity from law. Democracy does not mean elected autocracy. And constitutional offices do not grant constitutional exemption.
Ultimately, this is not about the BJP versus the TMC. It is about whether India will remain a nation governed by law or slide into selective constitutional obedience—where institutions are respected only when convenient.
So, who is truly destroying constitutional bodies—the agencies acting under judicial oversight, or those allegedly preventing courts from doing their duty? The answer should trouble every citizen who believes the Constitution is not a slogan, but a covenant.
Because when the state itself lays siege to the Constitution, democracy is no longer under threat—it is under attack.
