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By:

Akhilesh Sinha

25 June 2025 at 2:53:54 pm

Between illegal migration and the promise of development

New Delhi: Assam's 2026 election reflects a fierce contest over identity, illegal migration, and development, where youth sentiment, tribal rights, border anxieties, and welfare politics converge to redefine the state's-and Northeast India's-political future.   Over the past decade, Assam's politics has undergone a transformation of remarkable intensity. This shift is not merely a story of power struggles or the thrill of electoral victories and defeats; rather, it reflects a deeper internal...

Between illegal migration and the promise of development

New Delhi: Assam's 2026 election reflects a fierce contest over identity, illegal migration, and development, where youth sentiment, tribal rights, border anxieties, and welfare politics converge to redefine the state's-and Northeast India's-political future.   Over the past decade, Assam's politics has undergone a transformation of remarkable intensity. This shift is not merely a story of power struggles or the thrill of electoral victories and defeats; rather, it reflects a deeper internal conflict within the state, one caught at the intersection of identity, demography, land, and development. What emerges is a portrait of a society negotiating competing anxieties and aspirations, where political change mirrors a broader search for equilibrium. Congress seeks to craft a broader social coalition built around the "shared concerns" of tribal.   In the current electoral landscape, an unexpected emotional issue has also surfaced, the reported death of popular singer Jubin Garg. This development has triggered a strong reaction, particularly among young people. The surge of sentiment on social media, marked by calls for justice and visible public outrage, suggests that if this issue sustains its presence in the campaign discourse, it could significantly influence youth voting behavior.   Another crucial dimension of identity politics is the demand to grant Scheduled Tribe status to six indigenous communities. The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) had made this promise in the previous election, but it remains unfulfilled. The opposition has framed this as a case of electoral betrayal, while the BJP has cited administrative and constitutional complexities as the reason for the delay. The issue continues to carry both symbolic and electoral weight.   Political Narratives This election is not merely about the arithmetic of seats; it is equally about the reconfiguration of alliances and the reconstruction of political narratives. The Congress has distanced itself from the All India United Democratic Front (AIUDF) and formed a new platform, the "Assam Sonmilito Morcha," which includes regional players such as the Assam Jatiya Parishad. In the previous election, the alliance with AIUDF helped Congress consolidate Muslim votes, but it also enabled the BJP to polarize Hindu voters more effectively. This time, Congress appears to be attempting to move beyond that image, seeking to craft a broader social coalition built around the "shared concerns" of tribal, Assamese, and other communities.   On the other hand, the BJP's strategy also reflects notable recalibration. Its cautious approach to seat-sharing with the Asom Gana Parishad (AGP) and its focused attention on 15 seats in the Bodoland Territorial Region illustrate this shift. In this region, the BJP has allied with the Bodoland People's Front (BPF), with BPF contesting 11 seats and the BJP 4. In the previous election, BPF had aligned with Congress; however, its resurgence in the Bodoland Territorial Council elections has altered the political equations. This shift is significant, as the Bodoland Territorial Region remains central to Assam's evolving geopolitical balance, making it a decisive arena in the state's new political calculus.   Central Issue In this election, the question of "illegal immigrants" has once again emerged as a central and polarising issue. In Assam, concerns around undocumented migration, particularly involving those alleged to have entered from Bangladesh, have long shaped political discourse. Recent statements by Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma referring to "Miya Muslims," along with large-scale eviction drives targeting what the government describes as illegal encroachments, have further intensified the debate. The state claims to have cleared thousands of acres of government land, framing these actions as necessary for restoring law, order, and enabling development.   The opposition, however, views these measures through a different lens, arguing that they deepen social divisions and disproportionately target specific communities. At the same time, proponents within the state's ruling establishment contend that without addressing illegal land occupation and demographic imbalances, "balanced development" remains unattainable. This assertion is being challenged by the Congress and other opposition parties, who invoke constitutional protections and the need for social harmony.   The impact of eviction and "de-bonding" drives has been particularly visible in sensitive border belts, often referred to as the "Chicken Neck" villages. In these fragile frontier regions, communities such as small farmers, tea garden workers, and borderland populations find themselves in a state of uncertainty, grappling with questions of security and identity. Here, electoral politics is often caught between two competing narratives: resistance to illegal immigration and the urgent demand for local livelihoods.   Direct Inducement On the development front, the ruling BJP is foregrounding its governance record, with the Orunodoi (Arunodoy) scheme as a centerpiece. Just ahead of the elections, under its third phase, direct financial assistance of Rs 9,000 was transferred to nearly four million women beneficiaries, amounting to an outlay of approximately Rs 3,600 crore. Beyond its welfare dimension, the scheme is also widely seen as a calibrated political strategy aimed at consolidating women voters, a demographic that is nearly equal in size to male voters in Assam and, in several regions, exhibits higher turnout rates.   The opposition has sharply criticised the scheme, describing it as a form of "direct electoral inducement." In its "People's Chargesheet," the Congress has leveled serious allegations against the government, including corruption, the prevalence of a "syndicate raj," the transfer of land to corporate interests, and misuse of administrative machinery. According to opposition claims, a structured network influences the allocation of contracts and resources, adversely affecting small businesses, tea garden workers, and ordinary citizens. Alongside these concerns, broader issues such as unemployment, inflation, and growing social discontent have also become integral to the electoral narrative.   While the BJP highlights its administrative assertiveness, such as crackdowns on child marriage and measures aimed at curbing polygamy, as key achievements, the opposition dismisses these as selective interventions, arguing that they divert attention from deeper economic challenges.   Ultimately, the Assam Assembly election of 2026 is not merely about a change in power; it represents a critical inflection point in the state's political trajectory. On one side, the BJP is seeking to legitimize its governance model by linking the issue of illegal immigration with development, security, and stability. On the other, the Congress is attempting to position itself as a viable alternative, emphasizing social balance, institutional politics, and renewed leadership.   For voters, the choice is stark: whether to endorse the promise of stability and continuity, or to pivot toward change. The results on May 4 will not only shape Assam's future but are also likely to influence the broader political direction of Northeast India.

Digital Delusions

The Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority (MMRDA) has been feted as a model bureaucrat on paper, at least. Under the state government’s 150 Days Sevakarmi Plus Programme, it recently clinched the top rank. In the parallel 150 Days E-Governance Reform Programme, it placed fourth - no small feat in a state keen to advertise its digital credentials.


The larger point is such metrics, however carefully designed, measure processes more than outcomes. They reward compliance, adoption and internal efficiency. Whether they capture the lived experience of the citizens of Maharashtra and Mumbai is another matter entirely.


The felicitation of MMRDA for its strides in e-governance fits neatly into this pattern. Outside conference halls and PowerPoint decks, Mumbai’s commuters remain stuck in a daily crawl that no algorithm has yet managed to dissolve.


E-governance, at its best, promises efficiency in form of quicker clearances, transparent tendering and real-time monitoring. MMRDA’s initiatives tick all the right boxes. They signal a bureaucracy eager to modernise, to shed its paper-choked past and embrace the language of smart cities.


But intent is not impact.


Consider the daily commute along the Western Express Highway or the arterial choke points of Bandra-Kurla Complex. Here, the promise of ‘smart mobility’ collides with a far more stubborn reality of perpetual construction, bottlenecks engineered as much by poor planning as by population density, and a near-total absence of coordination between agencies. Metro lines snake overhead and roadworks appear and vanish with little warning.


If MMRDA’s digital tools are meant to orchestrate this complexity, their effects are difficult to discern. Real-time data is only as useful as the decisions it informs. Yet traffic diversions remain ad hoc, often communicated late or not at all. Project timelines slip with wearying regularity, their delays seldom explained in terms accessible to the public. The result is that more information exists within the system than ever before, but commuters experience little of its supposed clarity.


This gap points to a deeper problem. E-governance, in many Indian cities, has become an end rather than a means. The risk is that digitalisation becomes a substitute for reform, rather than its instrument.


Mumbai’s traffic woes are not, after all, a data problem. They are a governance problem. They reflect a planning culture that prioritises project announcements over project completion, and ribbon-cuttings over long-term usability. No amount of digitisation can compensate for these structural deficits.


While the city’s metro expansion, coastal road and trans-harbour link are transformative projects where some degree of disruption is inevitable, the question is whether that disruption is being managed intelligently.


Here, MMRDA’s awards invite scrutiny. Do they reflect genuine improvements in how projects are sequenced, how traffic is managed during construction, how citizens are informed?


None of this is to dismiss the value of e-governance. But it cannot, on its own, resolve the contradictions of Mumbai’s urban governance. For that, the city needs coordination and accountability, something less glamorous than an award ceremony. 


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