The eruption in the Lok Sabha over the Constitution (130th Amendment) Bill reflects more than the usual Opposition-versus-government theatrics; it raises troubling questions about the trajectory of our democracy. The proposed amendment, tabled by Union Home Minister Amit Shah, seeks to disqualify the Prime Minister, Chief Ministers, and ministers from office if they spend more than 30 days in jail for an offence carrying a potential sentence of at least five years. On the surface, this may appear as an attempt to uphold constitutional morality and restore integrity in public life. Indeed, the draft legislation couches itself in lofty ideals, noting that ministers must be “beyond suspicion” to sustain public trust. Yet, the deeper concern lies in the absence of conviction as a precondition. Removal would be triggered not by judicial proof of guilt but by an allegation leading to detention—leaving the door wide open for misuse. In a political climate where central agencies are routinely accused of being deployed against adversaries, the risk of weaponising the law for partisan ends is not hypothetical but very real. The Opposition’s immediate reaction—that this Bill would hasten the drift toward a police state—cannot be dismissed as mere exaggeration.
The government, of course, has its own defence. It argues that the absence of a clear constitutional provision on whether an arrested minister must step down has created an untenable vacuum. The example of Delhi’s former Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal, who refused to resign even while in custody, has been cited as the trigger for this legislation. The Centre insists that its aim is to elevate standards in political life, not to destabilise elected governments. Yet, the timing and arithmetic betray another motive. A constitutional amendment requires a two-thirds majority in both Houses of Parliament as well as ratification by at least half the states. With the NDA falling well short of these numbers, passage of the Bill is almost impossible without Opposition support—support that will not be forthcoming. Even if it somehow scraped through, it would inevitably face a Supreme Court challenge for violating the principle of “innocent until proven guilty.” This makes the legislation less about lawmaking and more about optics. The ruling party is keen to frame itself as the champion of clean politics, while painting the Opposition as defenders of tainted leaders. That this Bill was listed for referral to a Joint Parliamentary Committee on the penultimate day of the Monsoon Session, rather than for immediate passage, further underlines its symbolic intent.
What we are witnessing, then, is not merely a clash over constitutional procedure but a larger battle of narratives. The government seeks to shift the political discourse from allegations of “vote theft” and governance lapses towards a moral high ground of anti-corruption. By daring the Opposition to oppose the Bill, it creates a trap: resistance can be portrayed as tacit approval of corruption, while cooperation is politically suicidal for Opposition parties who already allege systemic misuse of agencies. It is a clever strategy but a dangerous one. If the government’s purpose is truly to cleanse politics, it must first ensure that agencies operate without bias, convictions are secured through due process, and justice is not conflated with mere detention. To legislate morality through shortcuts that bypass the presumption of innocence is to weaken democracy in the name of strengthening it. At stake is not just the fate of a controversial Bill, but the integrity of India’s constitutional order. Parliament must guard against turning criminal allegations into political weapons, lest the very principle of representative democracy is eroded.