Editorial

A viral video from Tilak Nagar has once again forced Delhi’s politics into the uncomfortable glare of public scrutiny. In the footage, BJP minister and Delhi PWD Minister Parvesh Verma is seen allegedly slapping a young man during a routine road inspection. Within hours, the clip ignited the familiar cycle of outrage, counter-claims, police complaints from both sides, and political theatre. The Aam Aadmi Party demanded his arrest. Barricades went up outside the minister’s residence. And the city, as always, took sides.

The incident is not merely about one slap. It raises a deeper question about how power behaves when it believes itself entitled to enforce order with its own hands. Road inspections are legitimate. Citizens have a right to demand accountability from contractors and officials. But elected representatives are not street-level enforcers. The moment a minister raises his hand, the distinction between authority and aggression collapses. In a democracy, the state possesses a monopoly on legitimate force; individuals, however high their office, do not.

Verma’s supporters will argue that the youth was obstructive, that tempers frayed in the heat of the moment, and that the video has been selectively edited for political gain. Complaints have been filed from both sides, suggesting the encounter was not one-sided. Yet the optics remain damning. In an age of ubiquitous cameras, every public official must assume that their conduct will be recorded and judged. Restraint is no longer optional; it is the price of office.

The AAP’s swift demand for arrest is predictable politics, but it also reflects a broader public expectation that those who govern must be held to a higher standard. Selective outrage, however, weakens the argument. Similar incidents involving leaders across party lines have often been rationalised or forgotten. Consistency in demanding accountability is rarer than the videos that demand it.

What Delhi needs now is not another round of competitive indignation but a transparent investigation. The police must examine the complete sequence of events, not the most shareable seconds. If the minister exceeded his authority, consequences must follow. If the youth provoked or obstructed, that too must be established. Neither political protection nor political persecution serves the public interest.

Ultimately, this episode is a reminder that power is most credible when it is most restrained. Ministers are not meant to win arguments with their palms. They are meant to win them with policy, persuasion, and the quiet authority of the law. In Tilak Nagar last week, that distinction was momentarily lost. The city should insist that it not be lost again.

In a rare public appearance, Chief Election Commissioner Gyanesh Kumar, alongside his fellow commissioners, sought to project unity and resolve. All decisions related to the Special Intensive Revision of electoral rolls, they insisted, were unanimous. Criticism of the Commission’s backend software and digital initiatives was met with a firm pushback. The message was clear: the Election Commission of India remains institutionally cohesive and unapologetic about its processes. Yet outside the meeting hall, opposition parties and groups such as the Cockroach Janta Party continued to demand the CEC’s resignation. The contrast is instructive.

Electoral rolls form the foundation of democratic legitimacy. An inaccurate or manipulated list can disenfranchise citizens or inflate voter numbers, undermining the very idea of free and fair elections. Periodic intensive revisions are therefore not only desirable but necessary. The Commission’s decision to undertake a Special Intensive Revision reflects an institutional recognition of this responsibility. Its assertion that decisions were collective rather than the product of individual fiat is an important defence of collegial functioning.

However, the intensity of the backlash cannot be dismissed as mere political theatre. In an era of deep polarisation, any large-scale exercise involving deletion or addition of names inevitably generates suspicion. Concerns about the transparency of digital systems, the criteria applied for verification, and the adequacy of safeguards against error or bias are legitimate. Public trust in the electoral process is not automatic; it must be continuously earned. The Commission’s technical explanations, while necessary, are insufficient if they do not address the deeper crisis of perception.

Opposition parties have every right to scrutinise the process and demand accountability. Protests and calls for resignation are part of democratic contestation. Yet there is a distinction between rigorous oversight and institutional undermining. Treating the Election Commission as just another political actor risks eroding one of the few remaining referees of the democratic contest. Once the referee’s neutrality is successfully questioned, every future decision becomes suspect, regardless of its merit. What is required now is neither defensive opacity nor theatrical confrontation. The Commission should place detailed data, methodology, and audit trails in the public domain. Independent verification mechanisms and clearer communication can help bridge the trust deficit. Political parties, for their part, must recognise that weakening the referee ultimately weakens the game itself.

India’s democracy has endured because its institutional architecture has retained a measure of credibility even amid fierce political competition. The current controversy over the Special Intensive Revision is a test of that architecture. How the Commission explains itself—and how the political class responds—will shape public confidence long after the present protests fade.

• SAS Kirmani