Published Jun 12, 2026 | 6:08 PM ⚊ Updated Jun 12, 2026 | 6:08 PM
The loneliness of Mamata Banerjee these days holds a powerful lesson for all leaders. (X)
Synopsis: Mamata’s fall must serve as a lesson for India’s politicians. The message from it is loud and clear and should be internalised by all leaders.
Power without accountability breeds contempt.
This timeless truth manifested dramatically in West Bengal following the 2026 Assembly elections, where the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) swept to power with over 200 seats, ending Mamata Banerjee’s 15-year Trinamool Congress (TMC) rule.
The defeat was not just political; it triggered a visceral public backlash. Crowds chased TMC leaders in their localities, vandalised party offices, and in some cases turned violent—scenes that captured deep-seated public disillusionment rather than mere elite defections.
This Bengal episode serves as a stark eye-opener for would-be dictators and entrenched regional satraps across India. Several patterns recur in such regimes: centralisation of authority in one individual or family; erosion of independent institutions; patronage networks that prioritise loyalty; suppression of media and opposition through administrative or street-level pressure; and a narrative that equates criticism with disloyalty to the state or community. Banerjee’s TMC exemplified these traits, transforming an initial promise of ‘poriborton’ (change) against Left Front rule into a personality-driven system that many critics labelled authoritarian.
At the core was the centralisation of power.
Decision-making revolved around Banerjee and her nephew Abhishek, with family-centric control fostering perceptions of a private fiefdom. Dissent within the party was stifled, and loyalty trumped competence. Post-defeat came internal rebellion, with over 50 MLAs and 20 MPs distancing themselves, accusing the top leadership of disconnect and high-handedness. This mirrors a classic authoritarian drift: institutions bend to serve the leader, not the public.
Erosion of independent institutions compounded the malaise. The police and administration were widely viewed as partisan tools. Recruitment scams in education and health sectors—where jobs allegedly went to the highest bidders—shattered merit and public trust. The RG Kar medical college incident, involving grave allegations of atrocity and cover-up, became a rallying point for women’s anger. Syndicate raj thrived: party-backed networks extorted from sand mining, construction, and local contracts, creating a parallel extortion economy that crippled small businesses and daily life. Land grabs and threats against dissenters further alienated the middle class and youth.
Patronage networks prioritising loyalty over governance defined the regime. Cadres enjoyed impunity, while the opposition faced street-level pressure and administrative harassment. Media and critics encountered suppression, with narratives framing any challenge as anti-Bengal or communal. Perceived appeasement politics deepened Hindu-Muslim polarisation and insecurity. Industrial stagnation and joblessness contrasted sharply with populist rhetoric, leaving ordinary citizens—teachers hired via scams, women fearing for their safety, entrepreneurs paying “tolls”—humiliated by systemic failures.
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The public’s post-result fury was the inevitable backlash. Videos of TMC functionaries being confronted, chased, and attacked in neighbourhoods reflected years of pent-up resentment against localised tyranny. Clashes claimed lives on both sides, with offices vandalised across districts like Cooch Behar, Asansol, and Kolkata.
While violence is never justifiable in a democracy, it signalled a societal rupture when a regime weaponises power, projecting invincibility until the electoral dam breaks. Banerjee’s initial refusal to concede gracefully, claims of rigging despite the Election Commission’s oversight, and reluctance to step down only reinforced entitlement perceptions.
These patterns are not unique to Bengal but recur among regional satraps who mistake mandates for personal thrones. Power centralises, institutions erode, loyalty trumps law, and criticism becomes treason. Voters tolerate rhetoric for a time, but governance failures—jobs, safety, dignity—eventually prevail. India’s democracy has humbled many such leaders through anti-incumbency. Bengal’s shift proves no satrap is immune when citizens feel disempowered in their own streets.
For India’s political class, this cautionary tale demands reflection. Strengthening institutions, ensuring transparent recruitment and contracts, depoliticising police, and nurturing genuine competition counter creeping authoritarianism. Leaders ruling by fear eventually confront fear themselves. True democrats must address root causes rather than gloat over chaos. Misrule invites backlash; accountable governance from day one prevents it.
As West Bengal turns the page under new leadership, the message resonates nationwide: power is a public trust, not a personal empire. When regimes equate the leader with the state and suppress accountability, public rage becomes the reckoning.
Dictators and aspiring ones elsewhere should heed Bengal’s streets. Centralised hubris collapses under its own weight. Democracy’s strength lies in its capacity for correction—even if the transition turns turbulent. The patterns that felled TMC warn all who walk the same path.
(Views are personal.)
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