4 minutes reading time
I’ve been thinking about the referee.
In a football match, if one team gets to pick the referee, and the referee is the brother-in-law of the striker, do you call it a game? Or do you call it a scam?
In India, we have the Election Commission. They call it the “Watchdog of Democracy.” They give it a big building in Delhi, a lot of CRPF jawans to guard the boxes, and a lot of power to stop the traffic and shout at candidates during the campaign. It looks impressive. It looks like a neutral, independent institution.
But look at how the watchdogs are chosen.
The Election Commissioners are not appointed by a neutral panel. They are not chosen by the Chief Justice or the Leader of the Opposition. They are appointed directly by the President, acting on the advice of the Prime Minister.
Which means the ruling party picks its own referee.
It is a mechanical flaw so obvious that a child could see it. If the person who is supposed to catch you cheating was hired by you, and can be rewarded by you after they retire, what are the chances they will ever blow the whistle?
We saw it in 2014, and we are seeing it more clearly in 2016. The Election Commission is very brave when it comes to shouting at a small-time local candidate for giving a speech ten minutes past the deadline. But when the Prime Minister or the high command of a national party uses religion, hate, or state resources to win a campaign?
The watchdog suddenly finds something very interesting to look at in the other direction.
There is a deeper rot here. Most Election Commissioners are retired IAS officers. They spend their careers in the bureaucracy, and then they are gifted this prestigious post at the end of their service.
And after they finish their term at the EC? They are eligible for more "post-retirement benefits." A governorship here, a Rajya Sabha seat there, a position on a high-level committee.
The system is designed to reward silence.
If you are an Election Commissioner and you want a comfortable life after you leave the big building in Delhi, you learn very quickly that "independence" is a luxury you cannot afford. You learn that the rules apply to the weak, but they are "matters of interpretation" for the strong.
The ECI survives on its reputation. It point to the 800 million voters, the logistics, the mountains of ink, and says: "Look at how well we run the show!"
And they do run the show well. The logistics are a miracle. But logistics are not the same as integrity. A post office can deliver a letter efficiently, but it doesn't mean it isn't reading your mail.
When the ECI fails to act on hate speech, when it looks away from the massive infusion of corporate money that bypasses all limits, when it ignores the capture of the media by the ruling party—it isn't being "neutral." It is being an accomplice.
Neutrality in the face of a rigged game is just a slower form of surrender.
If the referee is compromised, the score doesn't matter.
We can argue about EVMs, about NOTA, about the Whip—but all of it assumes there is a neutral force at the top that is keeping the gears clean. There isn't. The compass is broken because the person who made it was paid by the person who is using it to find their way to power.
We have built a house of democracy where the doors are locked from the outside, and the man who has the key is the one who wants to rob us.
I’m going to go sit by the water tank. The water doesn't lie. It just flows where it must.