Mr Chief Minister, why do you now need police to silence your critics?

In the pantheon of India’s enduring political figures—those who’ve weathered decades in governance’s turbulent waters—few can rival Assam Chief Minister Dr Himanta Biswa Sarma’s remarkable command over public affection. This assertion isn’t made lightly. What distinguishes Sarma is how his popularity transcends ideological metamorphosis; whether donning the Congress colours or BJP’s saffron, public adoration follows him with unwavering constancy.

His appeal stems not from ideological gymnastics—switching from prompt skull cap-wearing Congressman to fervent Hindutva champion—but from something far more fundamental: the art of governance that prioritizes public welfare and an uncanny ability to read the collective pulse. Despite undeniable flaws in his political methodology, his administrative acumen has consistently served Assam’s citizens with distinction.

This grassroots connection explains why Dr Sarma never required fear’s blunt instrument to wield power. Even during his most isolated period within Congress—stripped of ministry and high command support—rivals trembled before him, recognizing that beyond his Machiavellian dexterity lay something more formidable: authentic public support. His chief ministerial tenure, while far from being perfect, embodies dynamism—a calculated fusion of progressive governance and populist measures that will undoubtedly yield electoral dividends.

Which makes the midnight arrest of journalist Dilwar Hussain Mozumdar all the more bewildering and disturbing.

Let’s dispense with pretence—this was no routine legal procedure but a calculated political manoeuvre, evident in its theatrical execution. I don’t presume to declare Mozumdar innocent; that remains the judiciary’s domain. I acknowledge his employment with a media organization unofficially controlled by Dr Sarma’s political adversary. I understand allegations that this outlet routinely targets the chief minister’s family, often without substantial evidence.

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The incident’s details remain contested. Senior police officials claim Mozumdar vandalized a bank executive’s office and attempted document snatching when reporting on protests against alleged irregularities at The Assam Co-operative Apex Bank Ltd. Mozumdar’s associates counter that he faced intimidation and had video evidence erased from his device.

What followed, however, is incontrovertible: after extended detention at Pan Bazar Police Station—isolated from colleagues and counsel—Mozumdar was charged under the non-bailable Scheduled Caste and Scheduled Tribe (Prevention of Atrocities) Act, 1989, for allegedly abusing a security officer. Two additional, bailable complaints proved insufficient for incarceration, necessitating perhaps this third, more severe charge.

Even accepting the prosecution’s narrative completely, the arrest’s choreography reveals its political nature—the prolonged isolation, the witching-hour processing, the deliberate choice of non-bailable charges. This methodology transmits an unmistakable message: legal outcome notwithstanding, we possess the machinery to make your existence unbearable. The process itself becomes the punishment.

The political machinations grow more apparent upon closer inspection. The bank’s chairman is a BJP legislator who recently corroborated Dr Sarma’s allegations against the spouse of his rival—coincidentally the unofficial proprietor of Mozumdar’s media outlet—that she got her job as a college teacher by unfair means. Political observers suggest the media organization’s subsequent scrutiny of the bank represents retaliatory action. Plausible, perhaps—but does this justify midnight detention under stringent, non-bailable provisions?

One might dismiss these connections as speculative overreach, but when a journalist affiliated with opposition interests faces disproportionate legal action, the invisible hand of executive approval becomes difficult to ignore—particularly given the theatrical nature of the proceedings. As Home Minister, either Dr Sarma sanctioned this approach or his administrative control has slipped dangerously. If an overzealous MLA manipulated law enforcement to settle personal scores without executive oversight, the governance breakdown is even more alarming.

I repeat, I’m not disputing the charges. I’m in no position to do that. Journalistic credentials offer no immunity from legal consequences—but process matters. How justice is administered defines administrative character more definitively than the administration itself.

This heavy-handed approach may earn Dr Sarma temporary adulation from sycophants—the predictable chorus of “You’ve taught them a lesson” will surely follow. But leadership’s true measure lies not in whether lessons are taught but in how they’re delivered. Like charity—one can offer assistance with dignity preserved or with humiliation administered; the material outcome remains identical, but the moral distance between approaches spans worlds.

Those justifying such tactics reveal themselves as Dr Sarma's worst enemies, regardless of their performative loyalty. Their flattery may be song to his ears but misrepresents the sentiments of constituents who genuinely admire him. More important, whether or not it intimidates the journalist, it reveals a strain of intolerance and insecurity within the chief minister or his associates. Dr. Sarma has long been a master of disarming or outmanoeuvring critics and opponents through sheer political acumen and powerful public persuasion. He has never needed the police to fight his battles. In fact, this use of state machinery only lends weight to his critics and what they say or do.

Chief Minister Sarma’s political narrative has been one of fearless conviction. Why permit this distinguished legacy to be tarnished now—whether by his hand or another’s?