Has politics of convenience caused ideology to collapse in Maharashtra?

In the political churn that followed the Emergency (1975–77), one of Maharashtra’s most defining moments came in 1978 when the joint government of the Reddy Congress and the Indira Congress collapsed. A young Sharad Pawar, then just 38, walked out with 40 MLAs and brought down the government. He soon returned to power via the ‘Pulod’ alliance, only to move back into the Congress fold in 1986 — and then break away again in 1999 to float the Nationalist Congress Party (NCP) over the issue of Sonia Gandhi’s foreign origins.

Ironically, the same Pawar later partnered with the Congress for a decade at the Centre, switching between Left allies and the erstwhile Jan Sangh with equal ease to retain power. Yet the questions remain: Where were ideology and loyalty in this long trajectory? His admirers and political commentators routinely called it statesmanship, but for Maharashtra, it marked the beginning of a political culture where ideology and party loyalty became dispensable. That seed has now grown into a full-fledged tree: in today’s politics, ideology is optional, loyalty negotiable.

Shiv Sena, founded in 1966 by Balasaheb Thackeray to assert Marathi identity, was first split in 1991 — a move widely attributed to Pawar, who backed Chhagan Bhujbal’s exit. Years later, the same Pawar shared power with the Sena in the state and even installed Uddhav Thackeray as Chief Minister. The Sena later splintered again, this time under Narayan Rane, and most dramatically under Eknath Shinde. Meanwhile, Raj Thackeray’s MNS took shape as a revolt against his uncle’s party.

More recently, the Baramati family feud saw Ajit Pawar walk into the BJP camp. Now talk of a rapprochement between Uddhav and Raj Thackeray, and between Sharad and Ajit Pawar, is gaining momentum. The churn has spread. Across districts and talukas, defections and homecomings are routine. Ideology and loyalty are honoured more in rhetoric than reality.

But it is the workers who bear the brunt. While leaders exchange sweet words and political comfort, it is party cadres who crack heads on the street, face police cases by the hundreds, and wage bitter battles in the name of leaders who may reunite the next day. The real question haunting Maharashtra today is: Who is fighting for whom — and against whom?

Power, as they say, is honey on the finger. Compromises existed earlier too, but there was once some hesitation in abandoning ideology and loyalty. Party-switching was an exception; today it is a norm.

Kolhapur has witnessed some of the most dramatic political rivalries — none more iconic than the decades-long clash between Sadashivrao Mandlik and Vikramsinh Ghatge. Their workers were so fiercely loyal that even inter-family social ties were avoided. After nearly 30 years of conflict, the two leaders reconciled — leaving party cadres bewildered.

The pattern repeats in Kagal today. Hasan Mushrif, once Mandlik’s trusted lieutenant and later his fiercest rival, and Samarsinh Ghatge, son of Vikramsinh, have come together. For years, Mushrif and Samarsinh fought pitched electoral and street battles. The BJP backed Samarsinh to unseat Mushrif. When power equations shifted, the BJP embraced Mushrif, leaving Samarsinh isolated. He crossed over to the NCP but continued to be uneasy under Devendra Fadnavis’s influence. Now rumours of reconciliation are again in the air — and once more, it is the workers who are left directionless.

Political battles in Maharashtra have always been fierce. In the 1970s, the Peasants and Workers  Party of India produced workers so committed that some vowed never to remove their red caps even in death. Congress stalwart Shripat Rao Bondre carried a Gandhi cap discreetly in his pocket in ShKP strongholds, but never abandoned the Congress ideology after winning municipal power.

Over the decades, thousands of workers have suffered fractured skulls, broken homes, lost generations, children dragged into police cases, and families ruined in local rivalries. Leaders switched parties, but workers continued visiting courts.

Which brings us back to the central question: In progressive Maharashtra, who exactly is fighting for whom — and against whom?