THE relationship between the Centre and the states in India can best be described as a work in progress. Besides being a popular topic for doctoral theses and op-ed pieces, it has been studied at length by important national commissions. The Justice R.S. Sarkaria commission did so from 1983 to 1988 and submitted a 1600 page report with almost 250 specific suggestions; but it is generally accepted that most of them supported the status quo and that the rest were not implemented. A new commission was set up in 2007, headed by Justice M.M. Punchhi, former Chief Justice of India, with a two-year mandate.

Another much studied subject is administrative reforms. The original Administrative Reforms Commission was headed by former Prime Minister Morarji Desai. Its second avatar, chaired by Congress veteran Veerappa Moily, last December submitted a comprehensive set of recommendations. This 377 page report contains ideas that are nothing short of revolutionary (for India), including the almost blasphemous suggestion that civil servants be guaranteed only 20 years of service, instead of the currently typical 35, and pass a mid-career review of skills and competence before being allowed to continue into the higher echelons.

The confluence of these ongoing national debates, centre-state relations and the nature of our bureaucracy, holds the key to when, or even whether, India can break out of sub-optimal patterns of governance that are rooted in the raison d’être of eras long past.

The change in India’s system of governance at independence was evolutionary, not revolutionary. We neither got radical change of the kind China did a couple of years later when Mao’s communists took power, nor even the kind that was possible under a democracy, such as a presidential form of government, which would have granted the executive branch much more authority over the bureaucracy. Despite a much lauded Constitution, the framers essentially did not want to rock the boat too much. They also wanted to strengthen the hands of the central government to help hold the new republic together.

To cite a former bureaucrat, ‘The trauma of Partition, the resistance of some princely states to integration with the Indian Union, the secessionist ideologies of some political groups, etc, made the preservation of the integrity of the new-born nation the topmost priority of the rulers after independence and this got reflected in the new constitution which, based as it was largely on the Government of India Act, 1935, acquired a distinct centrist orientation.’¹ 

 

Though in later years the essentially federal nature of the country would force its way out of constitutional captivity, this early ‘centrist orientation’ was clearly evident in the mindset of the post-independence governments. Politically, this did not lead to any significant problems; after all, most states were governed by the same political party, Congress, and the era of regional parties fiercely asserting themselves was still two generations away. But this mindset manifested itself in the kind of economic decision-making that played havoc with the country’s economy – remember the derogatorily termed ‘Hindu rate of growth?’– and with those of the states.

States like Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, Madhya Pradesh, Orissa and West Bengal, which have large mineral resources (the development of which comes under the concurrent list), had the rug pulled out from under their feet. In classic Soviet style, the mandarins of the central government dictated where the investments for the downstream production facilities would go. And they went far, far away, devoid of economic logic – in fact, artifices like freight subsidies were introduced to make such investments viable in distant states. The concurrent power of the states meant virtually nothing, since the ultimate power of approval for mining leases lay with the central government which, in any case, also controlled the related investment clearances.

 

What could not be achieved through recommendations of commissions or acts of Parliament has, in some measure, already been achieved by the evolution of the Indian polity from single party rule to coalition governments. The past two decades has seen the emergence of coalitions with constituent parties from around the country. This has led to a regional assertiveness that has redefined governance at both the state and central level, at least in practice if not yet in principle or constitutional provisions. To go back to the example of mineral rich states, the past decade has seen many of them enact laws or internal departmental rules which favour the recommendation of mining leases to those applicants who also commit to investing in the value-added downstream production facilities in the state.

Such policies favouring local value addition has upset the apple cart of the Centre dictating favoured investment destinations in heavy industry, with many formerly laggard mineral-rich states now often leading new investment rankings. This has also led to a shift in the balance of power. While major mineral development continues in the concurrent list, the state governments’ recommendations – and the attendant role of the state bureaucracy in processing these in a litigation-free manner – has now acquired at least as much or more importance as the central government’s final approval. This shift of power to the state governments is much more evident when the state happens to be governed by a regional ally of the coalition at the Centre, and often the state’s recommendation acquires the tone of an offer the Centre cannot refuse.² 

This shift in the balance of power is evident in the Centre as well, when important ministries, such as telecom, are held by a representative of a regional party. In such instances, even when the subject may not be part of the concurrent list, and when ostensibly all policy recommendations are prepared either by the central bureaucracy or autonomous regulators, the final diktat often clearly emanates from state capitals and not Delhi.

 

Such developments can hardly be expected to leave the civil service unscathed. Bureaucracies are nothing if not astute about the subtext of power. But de facto power shifts, while comprehensible to and adaptable by civil servants, leave grey areas open as well. There is an expectation that bureaucrats will resist improper pressures from their political masters of the day, and the continuing legacy of the Raj-era and parliamentary democratic traditions reinforce this. Thus the State Administrative Tribunals (SATs) and the Central Administrative Tribunal (CAT), devised as forums for redressal of grievances, are meant to provide a degree of protection to non-compliant bureaucrats who are unfairly targeted.

It is important to note that none of these shifts in power, while very real, have yet been reflected in constitutional changes. It has been argued, however, that they should be in order to more accurately reflect the federal spirit of the republic. It can also be argued that the heretofore unitary form of top-down administration of economic policy could never be sustainable in the long run in a country as diverse as India.

 

In other key areas of the delineation of power, however, the opposite can be argued. Take for instance the crucial area of law and order. Unlike certain aspects of economic policy which are on the concurrent list, law and order has always been a state subject and central intervention under Article 355 or 356 of the Constitution is intended to be invoked only in the rarest of cases. Indeed, in recent years, that has been the case. In earlier years, however, Article 356 – the much reviled power of the central government to dismiss elected state governments – had been abused many times in the pursuit of political goals. This shift of practice can also be linked to the rise of regional political parties, to whom this all-encompassing power of the Centre is anathema.

This shift has often left the Centre in a position resembling that of a bystander, not because of the lack of constitutional provisions but for the lack of political will to intervene. For some years now, the standard response of the central government to law and order fraying anywhere in the country has been to practically wash its hands off with the plea that it is a state subject. This is occasionally countered by state governments with the argument that central support, in terms of intelligence, logistics and paramilitary troops, is inadequate. It is ironic that two of the vestiges of the Raj, the national police and civil service cadres, continue to survive, and in fact play key roles, on both sides of this disconnect.

On a related issue, terrorism, national legislation has waxed and waned in harmony with the fortunes of the two largest political parties, the BJP and the Congress, and the respective coalitions they lead. The lack of a national consensus possibly had to do with vote banks, but the effect of combining anti-terror laws with those dealing with law and order has been to dilute both. This is disputed in some quarters, particularly among some NGOs and civil liberty groups, but has been a constant complaint of police officers and home-related bureaucrats throughout the country.

 

Until very recently, the concept of a unilateral federal role to tackle terrorism and severe law and order problems – that is, without a request from a state government – did not get much traction. In fact, until the terrorist attacks in Mumbai last November, there simply had not been a political consensus to alter the status quo and give more teeth to the Centre. But the spate of terrorist attacks in recent years had created a groundswell of support for the idea that the centre needs to be equipped for a more pro-active role, and the Mumbai attacks proved to be the proverbial last straw. The subsequent changes in law and the enactment of a federal agency along the lines of the US FBI saw a rare level of harmony across party lines. Chastened by the public’s anger against politicians of every persuasion, government and opposition benches spoke and acted in unison.

But already there are dissenting voices. Chief ministers belonging to the currently opposition NDA alliance have started muttering that the newly enacted National Investigative Agency (NIA) will intrude on states’ rights in the crucial area of law and order. Although no chief minister or other senior leader belonging to the presently governing UPA alliance has voiced a similar opinion yet, at least in public, that too shall undoubtedly happen whenever they next find themselves being in the opposition. Besides throwing up important questions relating to the federal nature of our Constitution, these developments will undoubtedly lead to instances where state and central officers will be working at cross-purposes.

 

There are, of course, many areas other than mineral development policy and law and order where such dichotomies exist. In many ways, we are still trying to make up our minds as to the kind of country we want to be. India is often compared with the USA, as the world’s largest democracy vis-à-vis the latter being the oldest. But America’s democracy emerged from armed revolution against the British, not civil disobedience as in our case. And it broke the very mould of colonial government, replacing it with radically different systems from top to bottom.

We in India, on the other hand, retained the form, and most of the laws, that had already taken shape under the British by the first half of the twentieth century. Sixty two years later, there remains in place the steel frame of the bureaucracy, perhaps a bit rusty, but nevertheless bolstered by a widespread belief that an ‘independent bureaucracy’ is still necessary to keep politicians in check.

This is more a lingering after-effect of the Raj than a true reflection of a democracy that has broken with the past. But while the political power shifts referred to earlier have been taking place, the bureaucracy has remained essentially unchanged. This is not a sustainable situation and something has to give, if for no other reason than because democracy has already unleashed forces that the colonial-era administration was intended to control. The bureaucracy today is woefully out of sync with a twenty-first century India, where even the poorest of villages is connected to the world via cell phone. The disinter-mediation that has resulted, by which many layers of middlemen have been bypassed in trade, agriculture and everyday life, has still not reached the civil service, which continues to rely on a deeply hierarchical nineteenth century organisation.

Previous attempts to reform the civil service have all foundered, many scuppered by senior bureaucrats loath to alter the cosy status quo, but the changing political equation will lead to change sooner than might be thought possible now. Furthermore, many bureaucrats today are themselves hankering for change. Recent years have seen a sharp rise in the number of bureaucrats who, frustrated with poor pay and a rigid work environment, have left the service to pursue greener pastures in the private sector.

On the other hand, politicians, for all their flaws, have been changing with the times. It is part of their job description. The use of computers, databases, mass-mail, automated sms texting, and speeches relayed to thousands via cell phones, are all examples of how things are changing in politics. In the civil service, however, even the most highly educated, tech-savvy, IIT-educated bureaucrat is still stuck dealing with paper files and hand written notes in her day job.

India has the proclivity to resist change, without regard to common sense, until it becomes a compulsion. A tipping point is approaching when reforming the bureaucracy, unshackling it from its nineteenth century moorings, is about to become a political compulsion.

 

* www.jay.panda.name

Footnotes:

1. P.K. Doraiswamy, ‘IAS’, Business Line, 8 February 2008.

2. Delhi’s mandarins have been trying to fight back with the new National Mineral Policy (NMP) 2008, which seeks to redefine the states’ role and grant greater authority to the central government.