When Politics Becomes an Investment and Silence Becomes Policy

December 23, 2025

Dr Jagmohan Singh Raju
A retired IAS officer

When does Generation Z rebel? Not merely when opportunities shrink, but when faith in institutions collapses. When watchdogs fall silent, cynicism replaces hope. Institutional integrity, therefore, is not an abstract ideal; it is foundational to democracy itself.
A recent public statement by a well-educated and experienced political leader from Punjab — that the office of Chief Minister is effectively accessible to the highest bidder and carries a price tag of Rs 500 crore — has shaken public conscience. Such a remark, coming from an insider rather than a political adversary, strikes at the roots of the Republic. It corrodes trust in constitutional governance and deepens public suspicion that democratic power has been commodified.

In moments like these, institutional response matters far more than political rebuttal. The damage caused by such an allegation — whether ultimately substantiated or not — could have been contained had constitutional and statutory watchdogs acted promptly: by examining the claim, verifying facts, and communicating transparently. That alone would have reassured citizens that the system remains alert to threats against its integrity. Instead, silence prevailed.

Concerned by this institutional inertia, I approached the High Court through a Public Interest Litigation, seeking only one modest relief: a direction to the State to examine the allegation through its agencies. I did not ask the Court to pronounce on guilt or truth, but merely to ensure that executive silence did not become the final response to a claim implicating the highest public office in the State. The petition, however, was dismissed on the ground that no “public interest” was involved.
This raises a troubling question. If an allegation — true or false — suggesting monetisation of the Chief Minister’s office does not qualify as public interest, what does? Corruption, when it touches the apex of executive power, is neither a private matter nor a partisan dispute. It affects every citizen governed by that authority. The credibility of democratic institutions cannot be divorced from the integrity of those who occupy them.
A related question naturally follows: from where does such enormous money come?
Politics, increasingly, is being treated as a business venture. The unspoken formula is simple: invest heavily during elections and reap returns after victory. Even individuals who enter public life with idealism soon find themselves shaped by the economics of the system. The exorbitant cost of contesting elections, opaque political funding, and the pressure to “recover” expenses transform public service into a transactional enterprise. Idealism does not vanish overnight; it is eroded gradually by structural compulsions.
Punjab’s political arena today reflects this distortion. A serious Vidhan Sabha campaign often costs eight to ten crore rupees — far beyond statutory limits and utterly inaccessible to ordinary citizens. This unaffordable entry barrier converts elections into high-risk investment projects. Once such capital is deployed, recovery becomes inevitable: financiers must be repaid, future contests funded, and political survival secured. Public office then becomes less a platform for service and more an instrument for return on investment.
Seen in this context, Dr Navjot Kaur Sidhu’s remark — suggesting that high political office carries a “suitcase price” — resonates with widespread public suspicion. Whether the figure is accurate is secondary. What matters is that a large section of society already believes that political power in Punjab is being monetised. This perception cuts across party lines and reflects systemic incentives rather than individual culpability.

The consequences of this political economy seep deeply into governance. A recent episode in which a DIG-rank police officer was arrested by the CBI with approximately Rs 7.5 crore in cash recovered offers a stark illustration. Irrespective of the eventual outcome of that case, its symbolism is disturbing. Accumulation of unexplained wealth at such senior levels rarely occurs in isolation. It usually signals a wider ecosystem of political patronage, bureaucratic compromise and economic rent-seeking — an ecosystem sustained by selective enforcement and institutional indulgence.

This is not to suggest that all politicians or officers are corrupt. Punjab has produced leaders of integrity across parties and continues to do so. The real danger lies in a growing minority that has learned to exploit the system — and in a system that rewards those who treat politics as enterprise rather than service. Their conduct distorts public perception, creating a sense that everything — from tickets to transfers, from contracts to colonies — has a price, even though many resist this culture.
The recovery mechanisms of this political business model are by now familiar. Illegal sand mining generates quick liquidity. Regularisation of unauthorised colonies converts violations into revenue. Liquor vends, hotels, real-estate transactions and commercial permissions become conduits for financial flows. In darker corners, narcotics, betting syndicates and protection networks flourish under selective blindness. The cycle is predictable: political power enables administrative protection; protection enables illegal enterprise; illegal enterprise funds the next election. Thus, a circular economy of corruption sustains itself.

The ultimate cost is borne by the common citizen. When sand, liquor, land and transport become instruments of political finance, prices rise for ordinary families. Funds meant for schools, hospitals and rural development are diverted or diluted. Law-and-order weakens when postings depend on money rather than merit. Investors hesitate, employment shrinks, and young people lose faith. Corruption at the top translates into daily hardship at the bottom.The institutional damage is equally severe. Public trust erodes, honest officers feel isolated, and administrative neutrality becomes fragile. Policy priorities drift towards activities that generate quick informal revenue rather than long-term public good. Punjab’s deeper challenges — agrarian distress, fiscal stress, unemployment and the social devastation caused by drugs — cannot be separated from this political economy.

What is required now is not merely another round of procedural reform, but a shift in institutional attitude. Watchdog institutions must act with greater alacrity. Excessive legalism at the threshold — waiting for perfectly drafted complaints or ideal complainants — does not safeguard the rule of law; it paralyses it. When allegations emanate from within the political system and implicate constitutional offices, it is safer to err on the side of inquiry than on the side of silence.
Courts, too, must adopt a broader constitutional lens. Judicial restraint is a virtue, but restraint should not harden into abdication. Public interest cannot be reduced to technical checklists such as the absence of a formal complaint. The real question is whether ignoring an allegation undermines public confidence in governance. Where executive silence prevails, judicial oversight becomes not an intrusion but a constitutional necessity.

Finally, accountability mechanisms must recognise that preliminary scrutiny is not prosecution. Directing an examination does not declare guilt; it merely affirms a basic democratic principle — that no constitutional office is beyond scrutiny and that silence is not an acceptable institutional response.

Arrests and televised outrage, though necessary, are not cures. The deeper disease lies in the architecture of political finance and institutional hesitation. Democracies decay not because every allegation is true, but because too many are never examined. Early, proportionate and transparent institutional response remains the best antidote to cynicism.Punjab has a proud legacy of public service. Preserving it requires institutions that are alert, not apprehensive; responsive, not defensive. Politics must not resemble a marketplace. Government must not function as an ATM. And democracy must never rely on silence to protect itself.
(Views are personal.)