The Great Indian Heist: Power, Propaganda, and the Politics of Deception
The Great Indian Heist: Power,
Propaganda, and the Politics of Deception
Let us revisit the subject of Narendra Modi’s governance once
again. Not out of habit, not out of partisan reflex, but because recent
developments have brought old patterns back into sharp focus.
Globally, renewed attention around the files linked to
Jeffrey Epstein has unsettled political circles. These disclosures have touched
business leaders, academics, and politicians across continents. In India,
questions intensified after it became known that a senior political figure who
later rose to ministerial office had met Epstein multiple times before entering
government. The meetings occurred before he held power, but that distinction
does not eliminate the need for clarity. It makes transparency more important,
not less.
Now there are circulating claims and online reports
suggesting that Epstein-related materials reference Modi himself, including
accounts tied to his past international visits. At this stage, such references
remain unverified in official legal findings. They may prove exaggerated or
baseless. But when smoke begins to gather around global disclosures, leaders do
not strengthen their position by remaining silent.
The issue here is not guilt by rumor. It is a response to
scrutiny.
Across the world, political figures have been asked
uncomfortable questions about any past association with Epstein. In the United
States, even President Donald Trump has faced repeated questioning about his earlier social interactions with Epstein, which occurred years before his
2024 reelection. He has denied wrongdoing and addressed the matter publicly.
The point is not the comparison of culpability. It is a comparison of posture.
Questions arise. The press asks them. The leader answers, even if defensively.
In India, the Prime Minister has largely avoided open,
unscripted press conferences for over a decade. Speeches are frequent.
Messaging is disciplined. Interviews are carefully structured. But direct,
unpredictable questioning from independent journalists has been minimal. When
controversies surface, the absence of open engagement does not calm public
curiosity. It fuels it.
And this is where the transition from international
controversy to domestic political conduct becomes clear.
Because the Epstein discussion is not an isolated incident.
It fits into a broader communication pattern. When uncomfortable narratives
begin to circulate, the response is often to shift the spotlight. A major
summit. A development announcement. A high-visibility public event. The
attention moves quickly.
In that environment, familiar campaign lines return. Modi
continues to promise voters in different states that their state will become the
“number one” state under Bharatiya Janata Party governance. Telangana hears it.
Odisha hears it. Karnataka hears it. Each crowd is told it will lead the
nation.
Ambition is not the issue. Arithmetic is. Not every state can
be number one at the same time. When identical superlatives are offered
everywhere, they stop sounding like policy goals and start sounding like
standardized persuasion.
This mirrors the 2014 pledge that black money hidden abroad
would be returned and that ₹15 to ₹20 lakh would be deposited into every
citizen’s account. That was not a metaphor. It was a numeric commitment. It did
not materialize. It was never reconciled with a detailed public explanation
matching the scale of the original claim.
The pattern is consistent. Grand declaration. Applause. Time
passes. The declaration fades. Accountability does not follow at an equal volume.
Layer onto this the ongoing debate about institutional
independence. The Enforcement Directorate continues to initiate high-profile
investigations, often targeting opposition figures. Yet its conviction rate
remains strikingly low relative to the number of major cases announced. Leaders
from the Aam Aadmi Party have faced arrest and prolonged scrutiny, only for
courts to grant relief when evidence failed to firmly sustain the accusations
at critical stages. Meanwhile, political realignments appear to correlate, at
least in public perception, with shifts in investigative intensity.
Whether each individual case stands legally independent is
for the courts to determine. But patterns are judged politically as much as
legally. And perception, once hardened, is difficult to reverse.
This is where the role of the judiciary becomes central. A
democracy survives executive overreach only if courts act as an independent
counterweight. When allegations of large sums of unaccounted cash linked to
members of the judiciary surface, the response must be swift, transparent, and
uncompromising. If the system appears to protect itself rather than investigate
itself, public faith weakens. If courts deliver judgments that consistently
appear to disadvantage opposition leaders while granting relief aligned with
those in power, even when legally defensible, perception begins to overshadow
principle.
A compromised judiciary, or even the perception of one,
changes everything. It signals that checks and balances are no longer
functioning as intended. It suggests that power is not merely being exercised,
but consolidated.
In that context, another perception has taken hold and
refuses to fade. Critics argue that vast amounts of taxpayer money, public
contracts, infrastructure concessions, and financial advantages have flowed
disproportionately toward a small circle of powerful business groups, many with
roots in Gujarat, the Prime Minister’s home state. The government frames these
relationships as part of a development-driven partnership between state and
industry. Supporters call it economic nationalism and scale-building. But
detractors see something far darker.
To them, it resembles a transfer of public wealth into
private hands carried out in plain sight. Airports, ports, natural resources,
major infrastructure corridors, and strategic sectors have increasingly come
under the control of a narrow set of conglomerates. When public institutions
absorb losses and private entities accumulate gains, the imbalance invites
scrutiny. When investigative agencies act swiftly against opposition leaders
yet move cautiously around powerful corporate allies, suspicion deepens.
This is why the word “heist” resonates, especially with
younger audiences who understand what a heist story looks like. It is not
always loud. It is not always chaotic. It is often strategic, methodical, and
carried out while attention is fixed elsewhere. Critics argue that while
citizens are mobilized through religious slogans and promised historic
transformation, structural economic shifts have quietly concentrated power and
wealth.
Overlaying it all is the strategic use of religious
symbolism. Appeals to faith and civilizational pride are powerful political
tools. But when religious messaging becomes a shield against policy criticism,
it shifts debate away from measurable outcomes and toward emotional allegiance.
The national conversation becomes polarized between loyalty and dissent, rather than focusing on performance and accountability.
The method is visible: narrative control, limited press
scrutiny, expansive promises, aggressive investigative optics, institutional
pressure points, financial consolidation, and religious mobilization.
Democracy does not require leaders to be flawless. It
requires them to be accountable. When allegations circulate, they must be
confronted openly. When promises are made, they must be measured honestly. When
institutions act, they must do so visibly and impartially.
Revisiting Modi’s governance today is not about amplifying rumors.
It is about observing repetition. And repetition, over time, tells its own
story.
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