Sikkim Assembly Seats
: Do the Math, Dude!
Limbu and Tamang communities of Sikkim are being taken for a long, long ride.
Politicians tell lie. It's part of the game. Everybody knows, no problem! Once in a while, however, after keeping low profile for months, enjoying their proximity to the honey pots, they may suddenly force themselves in the limelight. As if beset with Musth, they exhibit particular restlessness, getting loud, abusing rivals as well as cronies, making silly promises and asserting that the world has never seen a more honest leader, acting in the sole and exclusive interest of the common people.
If this happens, you can bet your life on it:
Either they face prosecution, or elections are in the offing.
Politicians lure their audience with worthless promises everywhere, worldwide. A friend from Europe told me, that, in Germany, they had to coin a new term, some years ago, to cope with the notorious inefficiency of an environment minister. Hence, they invented the word Ankündigungsminister (announcement minister), a new creation that came in handy for a number of other members of the cabinet, later on. Oh, these innocent Germans! In India, announcement ministers are the only type of politician available! If, by sheer coincidence, a representative attempts to translate commitment to deed, his mates will find ways and means to stop him. Utterly unbearable to let a newbie brighten the professional profile of the guild!
To give credit where credit is due, politicians in Sikkim outdo their fellows in other states in at least one respect: Their promises manifest towering lack of inspiration. May be, this is a consequence of the fact that the most absurd crap thinkable has already been discussed in the past. For a campaign, the only way out is the old soup to be warmed up. What's mind-blowing, however, is the skill of the campaigners to, still, find people willing to swallow that age-old soup without even noticing the foul taste.
One of the smudgy bowls dished up at regular intervals contains the LT Seat Reservation, a nauseous broth, meanwhile. Limbu and Tamang communities regarded as Nepalese, before, were promoted to Scheduled Tribes in 2003. Hence, they are entitled to reserved seats in the Sikkim Legislative Assembly. Implementation of that legitimate claim was competently delayed by several consecutive administrations formed by the ever same state party, pointing a finger at the Ministry of Home Affairs where the matter hung at poise, reportedly.
Things could have been arranged in a straightforward manner: Since Limbu and Tamang had occupied general seats of the SLA, so far, the five seats considered appropriate could have been relabelled from 'General' to 'ST'. Obviously, this was not to the administration's taste. Following a reconfirming verdict of the Supreme Court of India, local outfits increased pressure. The magic formula presented by the administration, thereupon, was as startling as inadequate: Pump up the assembly from 32 to 40 seats.
As if I had to buy a bigger car if my wife insists on occuppying a front seat!
Besides, Sikkim already enjoys unmatched abundance of assembly seats. 19,000 Sikkimese, each, have a deputy of their own! In comparison, an average of 220,000 Indian citizens have to share one and the same representative, rising up to half a million in Uttar Pradesh.
What should we learn from these figures?
Are legislators 11 times as lazy in Sikkim as elsewhere in India?
Are Sikkimese 26 times as troublesome to deal with as people in Uttar Pradesh?
What's the benefit of lowering the quota per MLA to 15,000 citizens, then?
Constitutional experts, in general, agree in regard to the impracticability of the scheme for legal reasons. Moreover, the increase of assembly seats would result in yet another decrease of Bhutia-Lepcha representation. The two communities have shown amazing stoicism at their previous cutback, but no one would bet on a successful sequel, in spite of the silent nod through of the progressive political castration by their own legislators within the ruling party. Anyway, the present standoff provides those at the helm with more than enough options - playing off the different communities against eachother as well as against the Ministry of Home Affairs - to get away with it.
With waters muddied thoroughly, the Chief Minister strikes a heroic pose solemnly declaring, first, he would end his political career if Limbu and Tamang would not get their reserved seats for the next elections. Then, sensing that his opponents are keen to take him literally, he makes a volte-face with the generous promise to give the LT five seats - ex-gratia, so to say - if the bureaucrats in Delhi would not manage to settle the matter in due time. Which is a most surprising view of things since, normally, you can't give something the beneficiary already acquired.
Limbu and Tamang succeeded in the elections for the last four legislations with an average of 4.5 seats without reservation (1999: 6; 2004: 5; 2009: 4; 2014: 4), a value close to the five seats sought. I freely admit that Realpolitik does not know half seats, anyway, it's exactly what the fuss is all about. And no one in the ruling circle seems to consider checking the math.
Increase by eight seats to make up for half a seat ... sounds weird and casts doubt on the mathematical proficiency of the policy makers. But, being the leaders of the state, they're certainly no fools. Thus, the only remaining explanation is the opposite: They think we are the fools as we wouldn't find out on our own!
Shouldn't we show them they are wrong?
Chopel Serkhangpa, 26th December 2018
Illustration: Common Man confused by R.K. Laxman