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By:

Akhilesh Sinha

25 June 2025 at 2:53:54 pm

Beyond the Waiver Reflex

As Tamil Nadu approaches a high-stakes election, its farm policy will test whether voters favour a blend of immediate relief and long-term reform over familiar short-term populism CM MK Stalin uses a handloom during an early morning outreach campaign ahead of the state Assembly elections in Ramanathapuram. Pic: PTI New Delhi: India’s farm policy is generally trapped in a loop. Each crisis, whether drought or flood has shown state governments usually reaching out for the same palliative...

Beyond the Waiver Reflex

As Tamil Nadu approaches a high-stakes election, its farm policy will test whether voters favour a blend of immediate relief and long-term reform over familiar short-term populism CM MK Stalin uses a handloom during an early morning outreach campaign ahead of the state Assembly elections in Ramanathapuram. Pic: PTI New Delhi: India’s farm policy is generally trapped in a loop. Each crisis, whether drought or flood has shown state governments usually reaching out for the same palliative instruments – be it loan waivers, raising procurement or subsidising inputs. However, these are measures that do not solve the problem, The underlying system of fragmented holdings, fickle markets and water stress remains brittle. What distinguishes Tamil Nadu’s recent approach in recent years - particularly under Edappadi K. Palaniswami’s tenure as Chief Minister - is not that it broke from this cycle, but that it tried to bend it. That matters all the more in a poll-bound state. As Tamil Nadu edges toward its next electoral test, farm policy is poised to become more than a ledger of promises. It is a referendum on whether voters reward immediate relief or longer-term repair - or, as this model suggests, a calibrated mix of both. Take the Rs. 12,110 crore crop loan waiver of 2021. The waiver came in the wake of the economic dislocation caused by COVID-19 and the destruction wrought by cyclones Cyclone Nivar and Cyclone Burevi. It functioned as a stabiliser during systemic shock. Crucially, it was paired with measures designed to reduce the likelihood of such distress recurring. Among the most consequential was the notification of the Cauvery delta as a Special Protected Agricultural Zone. Covering eight districts, the policy imposed restrictions on non-agricultural activities, effectively redrawing the boundary between industrial expansion and fertile land. In a country where urbanisation often consumes prime farmland, this was an explicit political choice: preservation over encroachment. Revival and Expansion Water management - Tamil Nadu’s perennial Achilles’ heel - was tackled through a blend of revival and expansion. The Kudimaramath scheme, rooted in traditional community-led tank restoration, was scaled up significantly, with thousands of works completed. Alongside this decentralised effort, the state pushed forward with the Athikadavu-Avinashi project, a large-scale attempt to divert surplus water from the Bhavani River to drought-prone regions. River-linking proposals and negotiated land acquisitions aimed to extend irrigation benefits further. The logic was that resilience begins with water security. Yet improving production is only half the battle. Farmers’ incomes depend less on what they grow than on what they earn. Here, too, Tamil Nadu attempted incremental correction. Procurement under price-support schemes was expanded beyond staples to include pulses and copra. The state set relatively generous support prices for paddy and sugarcane, seeking to inject a degree of predictability into an otherwise erratic market. Such measures cannot eliminate volatility, but they can soften its edges. Mitigating Ecological Risk Diversification has formed another layer of the strategy. India’s long-standing bias towards water-intensive monocropping has heightened ecological risk. Incentives were therefore introduced to promote millets and horticulture - crops better suited to changing climatic conditions. By integrating millets into the public distribution system in cities such as Chennai and Coimbatore, the state attempted something more ambitious: aligning production incentives with consumption patterns. It is a subtle but important shift. Lowering the cost of cultivation was another priority. Subsidised solar pump sets hinted at a convergence between agriculture and renewable energy, while assurances of continuous three-phase electricity addressed a mundane but critical constraint on farm productivity. These are not headline-grabbing reforms, but they shape the everyday economics of farming. Beyond the farm gate, attention turned to value addition. Plans for Mega Food Parks in districts such as Dindigul, Krishnagiri and Salem sought to integrate farmers into processing-led supply chains, reducing post-harvest losses and capturing greater value. Meanwhile, Tamil Nadu Agricultural University released dozens of new crop varieties and hybrids, spanning cereals, pulses and horticulture. Such investments in research and development rarely yield immediate political dividends, but they underpin long-term productivity. Institutional reform, too, has been part of the picture. Proposals for a State Agricultural Commission suggest a move towards continuous policy calibration rather than episodic intervention. Efforts to strengthen Farmer Producer Organisations through financial support, federated structures and tax relief reflect an understanding that aggregation is essential in modern agricultural markets. The contrast with the broader Indian pattern is instructive. Agriculture is often treated as a sector requiring periodic rescue rather than systemic redesign. Tamil Nadu’s approach, imperfect and incomplete though it is, hints at a different framing: farming as an economic system that must be made more resilient, diversified and knowledge-driven. The emphasis shifts from producing more to earning better. Under subsequent administrations, including that of M. K. Stalin, improvements in irrigation and output have continued, though the translation into higher farm incomes remains uneven. Tamil Nadu does not offer a ready-made template for India. Its geography, politics and institutional capacity are distinct. But its experience illustrates that where political intent aligns short-term relief with long-term restructuring, the contours of a more stable agrarian system begin to emerge. Over to the voters now.

Selective Outrage

India’s left-liberal media has long prided itself on being the torchbearer of secularism, dissent and moral rectitude. In the aftermath of ‘Operation Sindoor,’ the precision military strike launched by the Modi government against Pakistan-based terror camps, it has revealed its not a principled commitment to peace or truth, but a disturbing penchant for ideological prejudice, performative sanctimony and selective outrage.


The operation itself was a textbook display of calibrated force and geopolitical prudence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, often caricatured as ‘authoritarian’ by the ‘liberal’ English-language commentariat, chose patience over provocation. He consulted opposition leaders, held detailed discussions with defence chiefs and took key international stakeholders, notably the United States and Russia, into confidence before authorising limited military action. The symbolism of ‘Operation Sindoor’ was also carefully crafted: a pointed reminder that the attack’s real victims were Hindu women widowed by Pakistan-sponsored militants in Kashmir. The government’s briefings were also strategic and symbolic as two ranking female officers, one of them Muslim, were made the public face of the mission, underlining a new Indian confidence that blends military muscle with democratic pluralism.


But this was unacceptable for India’s entrenched ‘left-liberal’ press, steeped in academic jargon, Western validation and a knee-jerk hostility to anything remotely ‘Hindutva.’ That a Muslim officer briefed the nation on ‘Operation Sindoor’ was branded ‘tokenism’ by such commentators. Others crudely alleged that the April 22 Pahalgam massacre was the logical culmination of reported atrocities against Muslims since Modi came to power in 2014.


The semantic nitpicking over ‘Operation Sindoor’ was maddening. An editor of a prominent magazine dubbed the operation’s name as ‘patriarchal’ and coded in Hindutva tropes. In a bizarre case of moral inversion, sindoor was likened to symbols of ‘honour killings’ and gender oppression, ignoring both its cultural resonance and the cruel reality that these women had lost their husbands in cold blood. For years, India’s ‘secular’ commentariat nurtured a preordained binary: the Congress may be flawed but was at least ‘secular’ while the BJP was an inveterate ‘fascist.’ Thus, the 2002 Gujarat riots are always focused upon but the Congress-backed pogrom of the Sikhs in 1984 is either downplayed or rationalised. Terrorism in Kashmir is tragic, but state retaliation is ‘jingoism.’ A strong Muslim voice in government is ‘tokenism’ but its absence is ‘exclusion.’ Even journalistic rigour is selectively applied. When Pakistan claimed to have downed Indian jets, some Indian outlets rushed to amplify the story before verification, inadvertently echoing enemy propaganda.


Dissent is vital in any democracy. But when its becomes indistinguishable from disdain, when editorial choices are dictated by ideological conformity, then the press becomes a caricature of itself. Ironically, many of these journalists enjoy robust free speech and loudly lament India’s supposed slide into ‘fascism’ from the safety of their X handles. Yet they turn a blind eye to Putin’s repression, Erdogan’s purges or Xi Jinping’s camps. In their eyes, Modi remains the greatest threat to democracy even as they broadcast their outrage freely, without fear of censorship or reprisal. ‘Operation Sindoor’ was a statement of cultural self-confidence. That confidence has rattled those who have spent their careers gatekeeping Indian discourse. Today, their monopoly is over. The people are watching and they no longer believe that the emperor has clothes.

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