West Bengal is burning—again. And this time, the flames are not accidental; they are political, calculated, and chillingly familiar. Mere condemnation of the unrelenting violence allegedly unleashed by cadres of the Trinamool Congress (TMC) is not just inadequate—it is an abdication of responsibility. What unfolded in Malda, where judicial officials were reportedly obstructed and vehicles linked to election duties attacked, is not an isolated aberration. It is the logical outcome of a system that has normalized intimidation as an electoral strategy. Even the highest judicial conscience of the country has taken note. When Supreme Court Chief Justice Surya Kant publicly expresses anguish over the collapse of law and order in a poll-bound state, it is no routine observation—it is a red alert. And yet, the response from the West Bengal government remains predictably defensive, if not dismissive. Political violence in Bengal is not new. From the dark days of Left Front dominance to the current TMC regime under Mamata Banerjee, elections have too often resembled battlegrounds rather than democratic exercises. But what is deeply disturbing is the brazenness with which this culture has now evolved. Violence is no longer sporadic—it is systemic. It is deployed not just to win votes, but to prevent them. Yes, the Election Commission steps in once the poll schedule is announced. Yes, it has attempted damage control—replacing top bureaucrats, reshuffling police officials. But let’s not pretend this scratches the surface. The machinery of intimidation is far too entrenched. The foot soldiers of fear don’t vanish with a transfer order. They operate with an ideological loyalty that transcends administrative reshuffles. Take the incidents in sensitive districts like Malda and Murshidabad—regions that have repeatedly witnessed heightened tensions during elections. Reports of opposition campaign disruptions, including alleged attacks on rallies linked to senior BJP leaders, underline a grim truth: the electoral playing field is anything but level. When even high-profile political figures like Amit Shah face disruptions, what chance does the ordinary voter stand?
This is not just about party rivalry. This is about the erosion of democratic confidence. When voters are intimidated, when officials are threatened, when the state machinery appears compromised, democracy becomes a hollow ritual. For Mamata Banerjee, this election is existential. A fourth consecutive term is at stake. And the stakes explain the strategy. The politics of consolidation—particularly through minority appeasement and alleged tolerance of illegal migration in border districts—has long been her party’s backbone. But as cracks appear and opposition gains ground, the methods seem to have hardened. Her opposition to the Election Commission’s Special Intensive Revision (SIR), which reportedly flagged lakhs of questionable entries, raises further questions. Transparency should strengthen democracy—not threaten it. But in Bengal, even administrative exercises are seen through the lens of political survival. The larger concern is this: Can the Election Commission alone ensure free and fair polls in such an environment? The answer, increasingly, appears to be no. When the state apparatus is perceived to be partisan, neutrality must be imported. It is time for extraordinary measures. The Supreme Court must seriously consider recommending the deployment of central forces across the state, not in piecemeal fashion, but comprehensively. Already announced two-phase election under full केंद्रीय सुरक्षा oversight may be the only way to restore faith. If necessary, even a temporary imposition of President’s Rule should not be ruled out. Democracy cannot be held hostage to political expediency. This is not a partisan plea—it is a constitutional one. The right to vote freely is the bedrock of the republic. If that right is compromised, everything else collapses. West Bengal does not need sympathy. It needs intervention. And urgently.
