Editorial

The repeated adjournment of the Lok Sabha, which ultimately denied Prime Minister Narendra Modi the opportunity to reply to the Motion of Thanks, cannot be viewed in isolation from the deeper structural imbalance that now defines parliamentary functioning. While disorder on the floor is often blamed on the Opposition, the more uncomfortable truth is that disruption has increasingly become the last remaining instrument for an Opposition systematically denied its due share of time, voice, and relevance.

Parliamentary democracy rests on a simple premise: the government governs, but the Opposition questions. This balance collapses when the ruling majority uses its numerical strength to control not only legislation but also the clock. In the present Lok Sabha, debates are frequently truncated, key bills rushed through with minimal discussion, and Opposition interventions curtailed or expunged. In such a climate, moral lectures on “parliamentary decorum” ring hollow.

The Motion of Thanks to the President’s Address is among the few constitutionally significant moments when the Opposition can place a comprehensive critique of governance on record. Yet even here, allegations against former Congress Prime Ministers—raised by the ruling party—shifted the focus from present accountability to historical vilification. When provocation replaces policy, protest becomes predictable.

The decision of Opposition women MPs to display banners was not an impulsive act of spectacle, but a conscious assertion of presence in a House where dissent is increasingly marginalised. In a Parliament where microphones are muted, speaking time is curtailed, and interruptions are selectively tolerated, the Opposition is left with little choice but to demonstrate its strength visually and collectively.

To argue that protest “prevented” the Prime Minister’s reply is to invert responsibility. A confident government, secure in its record, would ensure adequate time for dissent and respond through debate, not dominance. If the Prime Minister’s speech was disrupted, it was not because the Opposition feared his words, but because Parliament has been reduced to a one-way monologue rather than a two-sided conversation.

Disruption is not ideal. But neither is enforced silence. Order imposed without fairness is not order; it is control. The Opposition does not protest to avoid debate—it protests to reclaim it.

Democracy is not measured by how smoothly the ruling party speaks, but by how freely the Opposition is allowed to question. When that freedom is curtailed, resistance—however uncomfortable—becomes a democratic compulsion. The real adjournment, therefore, is not of the House, but of parliamentary ethics itself.

The Karnataka Assembly’s resolution demanding the restoration of full Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (MGNREGA) benefits is more than a routine political gesture; it is a pointed assertion of federal responsibility in the face of what states perceive as creeping central indifference to rural distress. Passed amid ongoing national debates over funding priorities and welfare delivery, the resolution brings into sharp focus the uneasy relationship between constitutional guarantees and fiscal control.

MGNREGA is not a discretionary welfare scheme. It is a rights-based law, enacted by Parliament, that guarantees 100 days of wage employment to rural households and places a legal obligation on governments to provide work on demand. Any dilution—whether through delayed payments, reduced person-days, or curtailed funds—amounts not merely to administrative failure but to a breach of statutory commitment. Karnataka’s resolution reflects growing frustration among states that are left to manage rising rural distress while bearing the political and social cost of Centre-driven constraints.

The immediate context is the persistent delay in wage payments and alleged reduction in effective allocation for MGNREGA. For millions of rural workers, particularly in drought-prone and agrarian-stressed regions, the scheme remains a critical lifeline. It smoothens seasonal unemployment, supports household consumption, and acts as a shock absorber during economic slowdowns. When payments are delayed for weeks or months, the very purpose of the programme is defeated, forcing workers back into debt cycles or distress migration.

Critics of MGNREGA often argue that the scheme distorts labour markets or burdens the exchequer. Such arguments overlook both empirical evidence and constitutional intent. Numerous studies have shown that MGNREGA enhances rural wage floors, strengthens local infrastructure, and empowers marginalised communities, especially women and Scheduled Castes. Fiscal prudence cannot become a euphemism for abdication of responsibility, particularly when welfare commitments coexist with rising expenditures in less socially productive domains.

The Karnataka Assembly’s resolution also highlights a deeper federal issue. While states are responsible for implementation and are answerable to citizens on the ground, the Centre retains decisive control over funding flows and administrative rules. This asymmetry erodes cooperative federalism and turns welfare delivery into a site of political contestation. When elected state governments are compelled to pass resolutions to demand what is already a legal entitlement, it signals a breakdown in institutional trust.

Resolutions alone may not restore wages or person-days, but they perform an essential democratic function: they record dissent, mobilise public attention, and reaffirm constitutional values. The Centre would do well to treat this demand not as partisan pressure, but as a warning. A rights-based welfare state cannot function on discretionary generosity.

The real debate, therefore, is not about restoring MGNREGA benefits, but about whether India remains committed to the idea that economic security for the rural poor is a legal right, not a negotiable privilege.

• SAS Kirmani