Article 240, Chandigarh, and the 131st Amendment

YouTube

What Is Article 240?

Article 240 of the Indian Constitution gives the President the authority to issue regulations for certain Union Territories (UTs) “for the peace, progress and good governance” of those regions. These regulations operate with the same force as Acts of Parliament and can even amend or repeal existing parliamentary laws applicable to those territories. The purpose of this provision is to allow the Union government to swiftly legislate in territories that do not have legislatures of their own.

This presidential power, however, is not intended to be permanent everywhere. Under Article 239A, when a Union Territory establishes its own legislature—as Puducherry has—the President’s regulatory power under Article 240 normally ceases from the date of that legislature’s first sitting. As of now, Article 240 applies mainly to UTs without legislative assemblies, including the Andaman & Nicobar Islands, Lakshadweep, and the merged territory of Dadra & Nagar Haveli and Daman & Diu. Puducherry comes under Article 240 only if its assembly is dissolved or suspended.

Chandigarh has never been governed under Article 240. Though it is a Union Territory, it is administered directly by the President under Article 239 through an Administrator who is, in practice, the Governor of Punjab holding additional charge. Despite lacking a legislature of its own, Chandigarh is governed through this hybrid arrangement involving central oversight and local municipal governance rather than through presidential regulations like other small UTs.

The Proposed Constitutional Change: Bringing Chandigarh Under Article 240

In late 2025, the Union Government listed the Constitution (131st Amendment) Bill, 2025 for introduction in the Winter Session of Parliament. The bill sought to include Chandigarh within the scope of Article 240, thereby giving the President the authority to issue binding regulations for the Union Territory. Such a change would place Chandigarh in the same legal category as UTs without legislatures and would have given the Centre greater flexibility in framing laws for the city.

A major administrative consequence of this move would be the appointment of a full-time Lieutenant Governor (LG) or Administrator dedicated solely to Chandigarh, replacing the long-standing practice of the Punjab Governor overseeing it. According to the government’s stated rationale, this would “simplify the law-making process” for the city and streamline administrative control, but without altering its shared-capital status for Punjab and Haryana or disturbing established arrangements such as shared institutions, joint police infrastructure, or inter-state service structures.

However, soon after the bill appeared in parliamentary bulletins, the Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA) issued a clarification on November 23, 2025, stating that no such bill would be introduced in the Winter Session. The MHA emphasised that the proposal was still “under consideration,” that no final decision had been taken, and that any movement on the matter would require consultations with all stakeholders. The government also clarified that it had no intention of disturbing Chandigarh’s traditional administrative arrangements or its symbolic status as the shared capital of Punjab and Haryana.

The abrupt clarification effectively put the proposal on hold and indicated that the government had misjudged the political sensitivity of the issue.

How Serious Is the Modi Government About This Change?

The Centre’s quick retreat suggests that it was testing political waters rather than pushing a pre-finalised reform. The strong and immediate opposition from multiple political parties—across ideological boundaries—forced the government to step back and avoid escalation ahead of the crucial parliamentary session.

In Punjab, the reaction was especially fierce. Chief Minister Bhagwant Mann described the proposal as an attempt to “snatch Chandigarh,” while leaders from the Congress and Shiromani Akali Dal (SAD) argued that bringing Chandigarh under Article 240 would erode Punjab’s claim over the city and weaken the delicate balance established after the 1966 reorganisation of Punjab and Haryana. Even the Punjab BJP avoided defending the bill, aware of the emotional weight Chandigarh carries for Punjabi voters. The rare display of political unity suggested that this issue cut across party lines, with all major groups viewing it as a matter of Punjabi identity and historical rights.

In Haryana, the response was more cautious. While some saw the possibility of administrative streamlining through an independent LG, others feared that altering Chandigarh’s constitutional status could disrupt long-standing joint arrangements relating to policing, staff allocations, university affiliations, and shared infrastructure. The BJP-led government in the state also faced pressure not to appear complicit in a move that Punjab framed as an “attack” on its rights.

At the national level, the backlash risked strengthening opposition narratives about federal overreach. In states where the BJP is not in power, particularly border and sensitive regions, the proposal was seen as another example of the Centre asserting greater control—similar to the controversies surrounding the role of Lieutenant Governors in Delhi and Jammu & Kashmir. The government’s rapid clarification indicated a recognition that the political cost outweighed the administrative benefit, at least in the short term.

Political Consequences and Emerging Dynamics

The episode triggered a renewed debate on federalism, centre-state relations, and the symbolism of Chandigarh as more than just a Union Territory. For Punjab, Chandigarh has historically represented unfulfilled promises, especially since several national governments have avoided resolving the city’s final status despite earlier commitments to transfer it fully to Punjab. The proposal, therefore, revived these emotions and highlighted the fragility of trust between the Centre and the state.

In Punjab, the controversy has temporarily unified political actors who are otherwise deeply divided. Aam Aadmi Party, Congress, and Shiromani Akali Dal are all positioning themselves as defenders of Punjab’s rights, using the Centre’s proposal as evidence of alleged attempts to dilute the state’s authority. This solidarity could strengthen anti-BJP sentiment in the run-up to the 2027 state elections. It may also increase pressure on the Centre during negotiations on agricultural reforms, state finances, or federal grants, as the state government becomes less willing to appear cooperative.

In Haryana, the political consequences are subtler. While the BJP-led state government wants to appear aligned with the Centre, it also must protect local sentiment regarding Chandigarh’s joint status. Opposition parties in Haryana are already highlighting the ambiguity and potential risks of the Centre’s proposal, arguing that any disruption to shared governance could affect both states adversely. Although the issue is unlikely to trigger mass protests, it could influence political narratives and provide openings for local opposition groups.

Himachal Pradesh, by contrast, is largely a peripheral stakeholder. While it shares institutional ties to Chandigarh—especially through universities and economic corridors—it is unlikely to be directly affected by changes to the city’s constitutional status. The Congress-ruled state may, however, echo Punjab’s concerns about excessive centralisation as part of a broader opposition strategy in northern India.

At the national level, the controversy reinforces an ongoing narrative about the centralisation of authority under the BJP government. Opposition parties may use the Chandigarh episode to argue that the Centre increasingly seeks to expand its control over territories and institutions, from Jammu & Kashmir to Delhi, and now potentially Chandigarh. This line of attack could further solidify the INDIA Bloc’s federalism platform as the 2029 general elections draw closer.

Overall Assessment

The Centre’s proposal to extend Article 240 to Chandigarh has been effectively paused, yet it remains formally “under consideration.” The government’s retreat shows that it underestimated the emotional and political resonance of Chandigarh’s status, especially in Punjab. Although the Ministry of Home Affairs insists that the core aim was only to streamline administrative processes, the backlash has made it clear that any attempt to modify Chandigarh’s governance structure carries significant political risk.

However, the idea could re-emerge after extensive consultations, but its future depends on whether the Centre can build consensus among Punjab, Haryana, and local stakeholders. For now, the episode has reinforced regional distrust, exposed the limits of administrative reforms in sensitive border states, and revived long-standing debates on the meaning of federalism in India.

Article 240, 131st Amendment, Chandigarh, Punjab, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, Constitution, AAP, Akali Dal, Congress Party, Bhagwant Mann, Modi, Amit Shah

Indira Gandhi: Beyond the Shadows of Triumph and Turmoil

YouTube

Frail-looking but fiercely independent, Indira Gandhi remains one of the most polarising figures in modern Indian history. She inherited not just a legacy of independence but also the weight of responsibilities that would test her to the extreme. She served as India’s prime minister from 1966 to 1977, and again from 1980 until her assassination in 1984. Her long tenure reshaped India’s political, economic and social landscape.

She was not a mere sum-total of the triumphs of the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War, the Garibi Hatao campaign, and the lows of the 1975-77 Emergency and Operation Blue Star in 1984. There were multifaceted dimensions of her statesmanship. Indira was a pragmatist who navigated a nascent democracy through economic fragility, regional insurgencies and Cold War intrigues. Which she often did at the cost of institutional norms. Her legacy is not just a ledger of victories and defeats but a testament to the complexities of leading a diverse post-colonial giant, which India is.

The Persona: Iron Lady or Enigmatic Matriarch?

Indira Gandhi’s personal charisma was as potent as her policies. She blended vulnerability with unyielding authority. She was often dubbed the Iron Lady by foreign observers during the tense U.S.–India negotiations in the 1970s.

Although reserved by nature she cultivated a public image of Durga-like invincibility — especially after the 1971 war when opposition leader Atal Bihari Vajpayee hailed her as “the goddess of power”. Beneath this façade, however, lay a woman shaped by personal tragedy: the early death of her mother in 1936, the passing of her husband Feroze Gandhi in 1960 from a heart attack, and her son Sanjay Gandhi’s fatal plane crash in 1980. These losses forged her into a fiercely protective figure, viewing politics as an extension of familial duty.

Unlike her father’s intellectualism and institutional bent, she favoured direct engagement with the masses. As Congress president, she travelled to remote villages in the 1950s, engaged with women on child-health and crafts, and developed a bond with rural women who saw her as a “Mother India” figure. She rejected explicit feminism — insisting she was “not a feminist” but believed in equal opportunities — a stance that symbolised women’s potential without challenging patriarchal structures.

Dismissed as a goongi gudiya or dumb doll by the likes of Lohiya and Congress bosses, she quietly dismantled their influence and asserted control. She was a tender matriarch to the poor and a ruthless strategist to rivals. This made her magnetic yet divisive — her cult of personality (encapsulated in the slogan “Indira is India”) permeated the Indian psyche. Her style influenced successors, embedding personalisation in Indian leadership. It also sowed seeds of nepotism, as seen in grooming Sanjay and later Rajiv Gandhi for politics.

Indira’s persona reflected cultural syncretism. Although she drew inspiration from figures like Joan of Arc for defiance and Mahatma Gandhi for non-violence, her decisions often veered toward realpolitik. In private correspondence and speeches she revealed insecurities about her English-education conflicting with India’s multilingual ethos. This fed policies like the 1967 decision on Hindi-English bilingualism.

Politics: From Syndicate Puppet to Congress Supremo

Indira’s political journey was a masterclass in adaptation. She transformed from a reluctant heir to an unchallenged supreme leader. In the 1950s she entered politics, first as Congress President, which was a largely ceremonial post, and then through more active roles. She had little patience with democratic processes. This became evident in 1959, when she engineered the dismissal of Kerala’s Communist government. 

After Nehru’s death in 1964, she joined Lal Bahadur Shastri’s cabinet as Information Minister and gained administrative training during the 1965 Indo-Pak war. Her elevation to Prime Minister in 1966 was a compromise arranged by the Congress “Syndicate” of senior regional leaders. However, she rapidly moved to shake off their influence. In 1969 she nationalised the banks in a dramatic move — without consultation — thus provoking a split in the Congress into Congress (R) backing her and Congress (O) backing the old guard. This was partly sparked by her support for V. V. Giri’s presidential campaign and her determination to “stand with the people”.

Her Congress (R) won 352 of 518 Lok Sabha seats during the 1971 general elections. This validated her populist strategy of aligning with regional outfits like the DMK in Tamil Nadu and using anti-establishment rhetoric. She blended Nehruvian socialism with Gandhian populism. But she had no qualms while eroding federalism by imposing President’s Rule in nine states by 1977 to install loyalists.

After the Emergency, which spanned 1975-77, she was defeated by the Janata Party, but made a dramatic comeback in 1980. She secured 353 seats in the Lok Sabha. Her electoral genius lay in micro-mobilisation like anti-poverty schemes. She bypassed upper-caste intermediaries and empowered OBCs and Dalits in the Hindi heartland.

Yet this political style came at a cost: ordinances bypassed Parliament; a “kitchen cabinet” of aides such as P. N. Haksar sidestepped formal institutions; inner-party democracy eroded. She reshaped the Congress into a centralised machine, influencing India’s shift from consensus politics to majoritarian democracy — at the expense of institutional autonomy.

Achievements: Architect of Self-Reliance

Indira Gandhi’s achievements went far beyond winning the 1971 war. She introduced major structural changes that strengthened India’s independence and long-term stability.

One of her biggest contributions was ensuring food security. The Green Revolution picked up speed during her tenure. By 1972, India became self-sufficient in food, and by 1975 it even exported grain. In 1974, she authorised India’s first nuclear test, known as “Smiling Buddha,” which marked a bold step toward strategic autonomy. She also oversaw the 1975 merger of Sikkim with India through a referendum, and later, in 1984, launched Operation Meghdoot to secure the Siachen Glacier from Pakistan.

Indira also reshaped India’s financial system. On 19 July 1969, she nationalised 14 major commercial banks that controlled most of the country’s deposits. She said the goal was to support faster growth in agriculture, small industries, exports, and rural development. This move expanded banking access across the country. Bank branches increased from about 8,200 in 1969 to more than 65,000 by 2000, greatly improving credit availability in villages and small towns.

Another major reform was the abolition of privy purses. Through the 26th Constitutional Amendment in 1971, she ended the official recognition and special payments given to former princes. Indira argued that this was essential to uphold equality among all citizens.

Her leadership during the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War gave India a decisive victory and significantly raised India’s influence in the region. In foreign policy, she maintained a non-aligned position but developed strong ties with the Soviet Union, securing affordable military support. She supported global causes such as the fight against apartheid, the rights of Palestinians, and regional cooperation through the launch of SAARC in 1983.

Together, these actions helped shift India from an aid-dependent nation to a more confident, self-reliant power. Her welfare messaging, especially the slogan Garibi Hatao in 1971, became a defining part of her political legacy.

Failures: The Cost of Centralisation

Indira Gandhi’s mistakes were as serious as her achievements, and many came from her desire to centralise power.

The biggest and most damaging error was the Emergency from 1975 to 1977. On 25 June 1975, the President declared a national emergency on her advice, citing “internal disturbance.” During this period, citizens lost basic freedoms, opposition leaders were jailed, the press was censored, and several constitutional changes were made to give the government more control. The Emergency ended only after she lost the 1977 election.

This period also saw many authoritarian abuses. A forced sterilisation campaign, driven mainly by her son Sanjay Gandhi, led to millions of men being sterilised. There were widespread misuse of ordinances, harsh demolition drives in Delhi in 1976, and strong action against anyone who criticised the government. These actions left deep marks on India’s democracy, which endure to this day.

Her approach in Punjab brought further trouble. She initially supported Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale to weaken the Akali Dal, but this strategy backfired. In June 1984, she ordered Operation Blue Star, a military action inside the Golden Temple. This angered many Sikhs and led to her assassination on 31 October 1984 by her Sikh bodyguards. The assassination was followed by anti-Sikh riots in which thousands died. The adverse consequences are being felt even now.

There were also economic costs. Although bank nationalisation improved access to credit, it reduced efficiency. The public sector became slow and resistant to innovation. The licence-raj system choked private enterprise, and by the early 1980s India was growing much slower than other Asian countries.

Indira’s long tussles with institutions also weakened democratic checks and balances. She frequently clashed with the judiciary and parliament. The famous 1973 Kesavananda Bharati judgement — which said that constitutional amendments cannot change the “basic structure” of the Constitution — was a direct response to her attempts to expand her power through the 24th and 25th amendments.

Legacy: A Fractured Icon

Indira’s legacy endures as a double-edged sword. She is hailed as a symbol of female empowerment and assertive nationalism. She was voted BBC’s Woman of the Millennium in 1999. But her tenure is a cautionary tale of power unchecked.

Her reforms, like bank nationalisation, rural branch expansion, and abolition of princely privileges, created a welfare-state infrastructure and opened politics to the marginalised OBCs and Dalits. In economic terms, her push for self-reliance laid groundwork for later liberalisation, though delayed. In foreign policy, her assertive Third-World leadership inspired Global South states.

Yet her downsides remain. For example, executive overreach, erosion of civil liberties, and the decline of Congress Party’s inner-party democracy. The influence of her style of personalised leadership and centralisation remains till today. As populism rises globally, her model of charismatic centralisation resonates uneasily and raises questions: how does a democracy balance strong leadership and institutional safeguards?

Indira Gandhi’s story reminds us that greatness often exacts a democratic toll. She was more than her headlines: a visionary who fed a billion and armed a nation, yet also a cautionary tale of power’s perils. Statesmanship in a post-colonial democracy demands both empathy and restraint. She forged India anew, flaws and all. In balancing empathy with expediency, she teaches that the path to greatness may cast long shadows.

Indira Gandhi, Lal Bahadur Shastri, Syndicate, Bangladesh War, Pakistan, United States, Jawaharlal Nehru, Lohia, Bank Nationalisation, Global South

Asim Munir: The Architect of 21st Century Military Dictatorship

YouTube

The 27th Amendment to Pakistan’s Constitution is a significant restructuring of state power since the country’s birth. It has made a sweeping redefinition of civil–military relations since the coups of Ayub Khan and Zia-ul-Haq. It represents a new model of military rule which is no longer reliant on dissolving parliaments or imposing martial law. Now, military supremacy has been embedded within the constitution itself. The amendment has created a constitutionally recognised post of Chief of Defence Forces, a position automatically held by the sitting Army Chief. This arrangement effectively places all three armed services—the Army, Navy, and Air Force—under the direct command of one individual, currently Field Marshal Asim Munir. In practical terms, the army chief is no longer merely first among equals but the singular military authority, with constitutional status and lifetime institutional privileges.

The amendment abolishes the Joint Chiefs of Staff Committee, which was supposed to act as a counterweight to the Army Chief’s powers. The removal of this Committee elevates the army’s primacy. Moreover, the amendment introduces a National Strategic Command, which is responsible for Pakistan’s nuclear and strategic assets. Crucially, the head of this command must be chosen from the Army and appointed in consultation with the Chief of Defence Forces. This indicates an unequivocal constitutional guarantee that Pakistan’s most sensitive national capability—its nuclear arsenal—will remain firmly in the grip of the army leadership.

Even more striking is the grant of lifetime rank, uniform, privileges, and legal immunity to five-star officers. This creates a small class of military elite who are permanently insulated from prosecution. No civilian officeholder in Pakistan’s history has enjoyed comparable constitutional protection. The symbolism is unmistakable: top military leaders are above the reach of ordinary law, and their authority extends beyond their tenure. The last time Pakistan saw a Field Marshal wielding enduring political power was under Ayub Khan. The amendment’s echoes of that era are difficult to ignore.

The Impact On Pakistan’s Institutions

By establishing a Federal Constitutional Court and transferring key jurisdictions away from the Supreme Court, the amendment weakens the most independent check on both executive and military authority. The new court’s appointment mechanism is vulnerable to manipulation, enabling the executive—and, by extension, the military—to shape the judiciary’s character. Centralising constitutional adjudication in a newly created institution whose legitimacy and independence remain untested opens the door to a long-term redefinition of rule of law in Pakistan. Several jurists have warned that a democracy cannot function where the constitution guarantees impunity, or judicial independence is curtailed in favour of politically aligned institutions.

These constitutional changes are further reinforced through alterations in federal–provincial dynamics. Adjustments to the National Finance Commission, changes to the minimum size of provincial cabinets, and the shifting of subjects such as education and population planning from provincial to federal control all signify a movement toward increased centralisation. These provisions weaken provincial autonomy, which is already fragile, and strengthens Islamabad’s authority. Given the military’s growing constitutional entrenchment, a more centralized federation naturally positions the army to shape policy well beyond the security sphere.

The political process by which the amendment was passed heightens concerns. It moved through Parliament at remarkable speed. Reportedly, there were only four votes against it in the National Assembly. Such rapid consensus in a politically fractured country invites speculation about pressure, coercion, or managed compliance. The absence of meaningful debate and the uniformity of votes in favour suggest a political environment in which the Parliament ceases to be an autonomous, deliberative body. This signals the emergence of a civilian façade masking a military-dominated constitutional order.

Impact On Domestic Politics

These changes will inevitably reshape Pakistan’s internal politics. By elevating the military’s role from a powerful behind-the-scenes actor to a constitutionally supreme institution, the amendment alters the balance between elected representatives and the security establishment. Civilian governments will now operate under a constitutional hierarchy in which the army chief is backed by lifetime immunity and has direct control of strategic assets. He cannot be challenged or held accountable in any meaningful sense. This creates a structure that deters civilian leaders from asserting independence. Thus, a culture of dependency and deference is born.

The judiciary’s reduced ability to check executive or military power further erodes democratic oversight. Without a strong Supreme Court, constitutional guarantees risk becoming symbolic rather than enforceable. This dynamic threatens political legitimacy. The government is reduced to a rubber stamp for military decisions. Over time, this could generate widespread disillusionment, political polarization, and unrest.

The amendment’s economic consequences are complex and potentially destabilising. Some investors may welcome what appears to be a strengthened, centralized command structure capable of enforcing stability and security. But the absence of judicial checks, the expansion of military immunity, and the centralisation of fiscal authority undermine transparency and accountability, which are key requirements for sustainable economic confidence. The military’s expanded constitutional role may encourage increases in defense spending, diverting resources from social sectors such as health and education. At a time when Pakistan’s economy is struggling with debt, inflation, and low growth, such shifts could aggravate inequality and weaken human development indicators.

The risk of corruption may also rise. When top military leaders are exempt from legal scrutiny, oversight of defense procurement and budgetary allocations may diminish. Historically, Pakistan’s military has operated with limited transparency; constitutionalising immunity could further reduce avenues for public oversight. Weak provincial rights and a centralized fiscal structure may lead to uneven development, with economically fragile regions falling even further behind.

Impact On Foreign Policy

Foreign policy will also feel the impact of the new constitutional order. 

Pakistan–Afghanistan relations are set to worsen, but neither a full-scale war nor a clean regime change is likely. A conventional war is improbable because Pakistan’s fragile economy cannot finance it, and the Taliban—despite lacking a formal army—can fight long guerrilla battles that Pakistan cannot quickly win. Major powers like China, the U.S., Iran, and the Central Asian states also do not want another destabilising conflict along the Durand Line. Any large military operation would fuel anger among Pakistan’s own Pashtun population. Regime change in Kabul is equally unrealistic. The Taliban are not divided enough to be pushed out by outside forces, and Pakistan’s influence over them has collapsed since 2021. Even if Pakistan tried to install a new government, it would not gain legitimacy or survive without internal Afghan support. Iran and Russia would also resist any Pakistani intervention, and Pakistan’s military lacks the strength and backing it had in the 1990s to shape Afghan politics. Instead, Pakistan will rely on covert pressure. This includes targeted intelligence operations, limited support to anti-Taliban groups, stricter border controls, mass deportations of Afghan refugees, and periodic cross-border strikes whenever TTP attacks escalate. Under Asim Munir, Pakistan’s goal is not to overthrow the Taliban but to force them to act against the TTP, regain some leverage in Kabul, and project toughness at home. The likely future is a long period of cold hostility—marked by covert action, border incidents, and economic pressure—rather than open warfare or a dramatic political reset.

In relations with India, a more empowered military leadership could result in a hardened posture, especially as control over nuclear assets is now explicitly entered within the army. Pakistan’s deterrence strategy—already reliant on a delicate balance of conventional and nuclear capabilities—may become more assertive. Military dominance in strategic decision-making could heighten tensions during crises, reducing the space for diplomatic de-escalation.

With China, the amendment is likely to reinforce existing dynamics. Beijing has long viewed Pakistan’s military as its most reliable partner, particularly in overseeing the China–Pakistan Economic Corridor. A constitutionally strengthened military leadership could reassure China that its investments are safeguarded by an institution capable of enforcing continuity and security. However, an overly militarised policy environment may limit the civilian government’s ability to negotiate economic reforms or diversify Pakistan’s economic partnerships.

In relation to the United States, the amendment may signal a return to a familiar pattern: Washington dealing primarily with Pakistan’s military rather than its civilian authorities. The U.S. may appreciate the predictability of engaging with a powerful military leadership, especially on counterterrorism and regional security. Yet concerns about democratic backsliding, human rights, and nuclear command transparency may complicate cooperation. Over-centralisation of strategic authority could heighten American anxieties about internal checks on Pakistan’s nuclear decision-making.

A Dangerous Step?

The short- and long-term risks emerging from this new constitutional order are significant. The amendment may trigger a legitimacy crisis if opposition parties, provinces, or civil society mobilise against what they see as an authoritarian shift. Institutional erosion is another possibility. Parliament and the judiciary may be reduced to ceremonial entities. Internal tensions within the armed services cannot be ruled out, especially if the amendment disproportionately empowers the army at the expense of the navy and air force. Economic mismanagement may worsen, and foreign policy might drift into aggressive postures that carry risks of miscalculation. Moreover, once military power is constitutionally entrenched, reversing such changes will be exceedingly difficult.

Yet proponents of the amendment argue that it modernises Pakistan’s military command structure, introduces constitutional oversight, and strengthens the state’s capacity to manage internal and external threats. They emphasise that the amendment was passed through constitutional channels rather than imposed by force, distinguishing it from past coups. Some claim that in a country facing chronic instability, militancy, and economic fragility, a strong centralized military leadership may bring stability and coherence to governance. Though strong, these arguments must be weighed against the longer-term costs of weakened democratic institutions and concentrated authority.

Ultimately, the 27th Amendment represents a watershed moment in Pakistan’s political evolution. It transforms the military from a dominant but nominally subordinate institution into a constitutionally enshrined center of power. By empowering the army chief with unprecedented authority, granting lifetime immunity to top officers, reshaping the judiciary, and centralising federal authority, the amendment formalises a system in which elected civilians govern within boundaries defined by the military. This is not martial law in the old sense; it is military rule embedded within constitutional language. Whether Pakistan becomes a stable but authoritarian “soft military-led state,” or whether its political and social forces push back against this shift, will shape the country’s direction over the next decade.

Pakistan, China, India, Asim Munir, United States, Taliban, Afghanistan, Terrorism, TTP, CPEC, Dictatorship, 27th Amendment, Military Rule, 

The Election of Zohran Mamdani: A Progressive Beacon in a Polarised Era

YouTube

On 4 November 2025, Zohran Mamdani, a 34-year-old democratic socialist and state assemblyman, won the mayoral election in New York City (NYC). He secured approximately 50.4 % of the vote in a three-way race against former governor  and Independent candidate Andrew Cuomo and Republican candidate Curtis Sliwa.

He is the city’s first Muslim mayor, the first person of South Asian heritage in the office, and the youngest mayor since the 19th century. 

Mamdani came into the race at a time when the United States is facing the resurgence of the “MAGA”-style politics under Donald Trump. There are tensions over issues like inequality, housing affordability and urban decline. 

Against this backdrop, his win signals a broader shift in progressive politics domestically. It may also resonate internationally among Western democracies facing similar debates. So, does his win amount to a pushback or a pivot in American politics? And, can his success inspire change abroad, and what are the limits?

Domestic Implications: Limited Firebrand or National Harbinger?

Mamdani’s election represents a significant symbolic defeat for the MAGA-style narrative of conservative ascendancy. His win underscores a popular backlash in an urban centre that has felt left behind by rising costs and inequality. His campaign, built around taxing the wealthy, expanding social services and rooting out establishment politics, stood in stark contrast to Trump’s deregulation and populist-nationalist style conservatism.

Zohran Mamdani promised to build 200,000 affordable homes, provide free childcare, make public transport free, and fund these plans by taxing millionaires and big corporations more. These ideas reflected his democratic socialist beliefs and his challenge to traditional politics. In the election, he won with 50.4% of the vote against Cuomo’s 41.6% and Sliwa’s 7.1%, with over two million people voting—the highest turnout since the 1960s. However, many of his plans depend on the state government’s approval, limiting what he can actually do. His support base of young, immigrant, and working-class voters may also be hard to replicate nationwide.

Pushback or Pivot?

As a pushback, Mamdani’s election is an assertive rejection of both the Republican right and the moderate establishment wing of the Democratic Party. It signals that progressive, left-wing ideas still resonate—even in a high-stakes election in America’s largest city. As a pivot, his win indicates the start of a broader shift in the Democratic Party toward more ambitious social-economics reforms (e.g., universal childcare, public transit, strong tax-the-rich measures). If successful, it could pull the party leftwards and reshape national debate.

However, the evidence suggests a limited firebrand effect—strong locally, or even regionally, but transformation on a national scale requires delivery, sustained governance, and overcoming institutional resistance.

Mamdani’s key promises were ambitious but costly. He aimed to build 200,000 affordable homes costing around $10–15 billion a year, funded by a 2% tax on millionaires and city bonds, though this needs state approval. His universal childcare plan, costing about $6 billion yearly, relied on raising corporate taxes to around 11.5%, but faced staff and infrastructure shortages. Making buses free would cost $2–3 billion and require budget reallocation and union support, making it tough but possible. His rent control measures, being simpler and within city authority, have the best chance of success compared to his larger, costlier projects.

If Mamdani successfully delivers, then his model could become a blueprint for other urban centres and incremental national influence. If not, his electoral coalition could fracture—workers and young voters may drift if benefits don’t materialise, and the moderates/centrists may resist being pulled left. Moreover, internal party dynamics matter. His victory exposed rifts between progressive insurgents and establishment Democrats. If Mamdani’s administration clashes with moderate Democrats in Congress or the Senate, the push-pivot dynamic could backfire and lead to fragmentation rather than consolidation.

In short, domestically his win points to a potent symbol of resistance—an urban “sanctuary of resistance” in some sense—but the real test will be governance and whether he can scale influence beyond NYC.

Effects on Western Democracies

Beyond the U.S., the election of a young, Muslim, South-Asian heritage democratic socialist to lead one of the globe’s great cities sends ripples. In Western democracies grappling with inequality, austerity backlash, immigration and identity politics, Mamdani offers a model for an inclusive, bold, affordability-first politics.

For example, in France, where housing costs and “tax the rich” narratives are central in urban politics (especially Paris), Mamdani’s style could embolden the left-wing coalition to push more strongly for progressive urban agendas. In the UK, with rising cost-of-living pressures and housing/policy debates under  Starmer’s leadership of Labour Party, the idea of free public transport or major social investment may gain traction by citing NYC’s example. In Canada and Australia, urban centres already struggle with housing affordability. 

Mamdani’s election sends a message to urban progressives: bold policies can win, especially when anchored in diverse coalitions.

At the same time, it triggers right-wing anxieties. Some media outlets elsewhere frame Mamdani’s win as a sign of cultural threat — evoking fears of “identity politics” or “socialism gone too far.” In Germany for example, where anti-immigrant populism is a potent force (e.g., the Alternative for Germany, AfD), the image of a Muslim major global-city mayor may become a symbol around which reactionary forces rally.

The Prospect of a Leftist Resurgence: From New York to New Delhi

When Zohran Mamdani stormed into New York’s mayoral race in 2025, he reopened a global conversation: Can the Left rise again in an age of disillusionment, inequality, and populism? His campaign that was rooted in democratic socialism, racial justice, and community empowerment, rekindled a political mood that had been fading since the early 2020s.

So, could Mamdani’s movement inspire a broader leftist resurgence across Western and Asian democracies? The answer is a cautious yes, but with qualifications.

The Western Context: Exhaustion of Neoliberalism

For almost forty years, politics in Western democracies has followed a neoliberal path—privatisation, deregulation, and spending cuts presented as modern democracy. Whether led by Republicans or Democrats in the U.S., or Conservatives or Labour in the U.K., the focus stayed the same: protect big business and keep workers quiet. The 2008 financial crash, rising inequality, housing troubles, and climate fears weakened that model. Movements like Occupy Wall Street, Bernie Sanders’s campaigns, Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour surge, and AOC’s “Squad” showed growing anger, but none built a lasting political base. Mamdani’s 2025 campaign signals a new moment—“municipal socialism 2.0”—a city-level progressivism opposing both elite control and right-wing nationalism. His slogan, A City for All of Us, spoke directly to daily struggles like unaffordable housing, insecure work, police overreach, and climate risks. By focusing on real issues instead of ideology, Mamdani united identity and class concerns, attracting young and minority voters frustrated with the old economic order. If this model spreads to cities like London, Toronto, or Paris, it could reshape future national politics.

Why Mamdani’s Model Resonates Beyond the West

Zohran Mamdani’s ideas and identity have global roots. He is the son of Ugandan scholar Mahmood Mamdani and Indian filmmaker Mira Nair, which makes him a blend of cultures — equally at home in Brooklyn and Bangalore. His criticism of capitalism draws on Western Marxist ideas, but his sense of justice and equality is closer to thinkers like Ambedkar, Fanon, and Nehru. This mix gives his politics a worldwide appeal. In Asia, where democracy often works alongside crony capitalism, Mamdani’s bottom-up socialism offers an alternative to both right-wing nationalism and elite liberalism. India’s Aam Aadmi Party once carried a similar spirit but lost its reformist focus. Across Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Japan, and South Korea, frustration with inequality and corruption is growing, yet the Left lacks strong voices. Mamdani represents not old-style Marxism but a modern, moral leftism — democratic, inclusive, and digital — combining social, economic, and environmental justice.

The Limits of a Resurgence

The global Left faces three big challenges. First, institutional capture: neoliberal capitalism dominates government systems, finance, and media, making it hard for progressive leaders to compete when money, ads, and news all favour the powerful. Second, voter cynicism: years of broken promises by centrist and socialist leaders have left working people disillusioned. Many now turn to apathy or right-wing populism instead of the Left. As writer Mark Fisher noted, people can imagine the end of the world more easily than the end of capitalism. And, third, internal divisions: Left movements often split over race, gender, environment, and class, weakening unity.

The Asian Dimension: Learning from Mamdani

Asian democracies, especially India, can learn valuable lessons from Zohran Mamdani’s rise. His success shows that real change often starts locally. In India, most opposition parties chase national power while ignoring the potential of city governments. Yet, urban administrations manage crucial issues like housing, transport, health, and pollution — areas where visible progress can rebuild public trust. Mamdani also used digital tools differently. His campaign turned social media into a space for participation, not propaganda, where supporters became co-organisers. In contrast, Asian campaigns often rely on flashy marketing instead of genuine community building.

Another lesson lies in how he spoke about socialism. Mamdani avoided complex theory and instead used moral ideas — fairness, dignity, and belonging — that people could relate to. Asian progressives could do the same using familiar cultural ideas like seva (service), samata (equality), and nyaya (justice).

His impact goes beyond America. With roots in Uganda and India, Mamdani challenges the idea that socialism belongs only to the West. As historian Vijay Prashad reminds us, the Global South’s original mission was solidarity, not dependency. If Mamdani’s ideas inspire diaspora communities — from London to Toronto — they could shape a new kind of global, people-driven progressivism.

Conclusion: Sparks, Not Flames — Yet

Mamdani’s rise is unlikely to spark an immediate global leftist resurgence. The political climate remains dominated by neoliberal structures, media bias, and a fragmented Left. Yet his success has rekindled a vital element — moral imagination — the vision of a society built on care and fairness rather than profit and competition. By inspiring grassroots movements through digital networks, diaspora activism, and local governance, Mamdani offers a fresh model for reclaiming politics from cynicism.

If the 2010s were the age of populists, the 2020s could mark the rise of postcolonial progressives — leaders who connect the ideals of Marx and Ambedkar, Brooklyn and Bangalore. His campaign blends inclusivity with cultural rootedness, showing how socialism can be reimagined in moral and human terms. Still, entrenched oligarchies, right-wing populism, and media narratives of “foreign interference” may limit this momentum.

Globally, Mamdani’s win is more inspirational than transformative. It provides a compelling blueprint for inclusive, intersectional urban politics but translating that vision into national or transnational movements remains difficult. The power of local governance is limited, and backlash against global progressive solidarity is real. Even so, Mamdani’s moral and cultural clarity might yet plant seeds for the Left’s quiet renewal.

Zohran Mamdani, Mira Nayar, entrenched oligarchies, populism. MAGA, Donald Trump, New York City, NYC, Mayor, Muslim, South Asian, Global South, Ugandan, Mahmood Mamdani, Marx, Nehru, Ambedkar, Brooklyn, Bangalore, Nehru, Fanon, U.S., U.K., Labour Party, Conservative, Democrats, Republican, Tax Cuts,