The Chief Justice of India has expressed deep anger. He has gone so far as to say that he has never seen a state as polarised as West Bengal. He finds it hard to believe that judges and judicial officers—who are engaged in the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls under the supervision of the country’s highest court—could be attacked in such a manner. He has directed the Election Commission to take immediate action. If necessary, the Commission may even call in central investigative agencies like the CBI or NIA in connection with the incident at Mothabari in Malda.
Many people disagree with the Chief Justice’s remarks. However, I agree with his statement that Bengal is indeed polarised—but this polarisation is not along communal lines. It is a polarisation between the people and the Election Commission. The people of Bengal are raising their voices against every decision of the Commission, and they are doing so out of political awareness. That, in itself, is the real polarisation. On one side stand the people of Bengal, and on the other stands the Election Commission.
The same Election Commission had initially stated that if a voter’s name—or that of their parents or ancestors—appeared in the 2002 electoral roll, there was nothing to worry about. Why, then, are people protesting in the streets today against the Commission? That is the question that must be answered.
Bengal Polarisation: People vs the Election Commission
To understand this, it is important to trace the chronology of the entire process. After the draft electoral roll was published, it appeared that the Election Commission had kept its word. People felt somewhat relieved. However, even at that stage, nearly 5.8 million names had been deleted, including those of deceased voters, relocated voters, and those who could not be traced. Even within this list, there were numerous discrepancies. The Commission then stated that those whose names had been unintentionally removed could reapply using Form 6 (application for new voter registration). Up to this point, things seemed acceptable, and people were not overly concerned.
But then the Commission announced that it could not establish any link between nearly 12 million voters in the draft roll and the 2002 electoral roll. These individuals were asked to appear at hearings with specific documents. This marked the beginning of widespread harassment. Elderly and sick individuals were repeatedly summoned to attend hearings—not once, but multiple times.
Harassment and AI Errors in Voter List Verification
Suddenly, micro-observers from other states appeared on the scene and were placed above the Electoral Registration Officers (EROs) and Assistant EROs. It also came to light that the Election Commission had introduced a peculiar technology to identify so-called “fake voters,” known as “logical discrepancy.”
When the initial draft was published, areas like Malda, Murshidabad, and Muslim-majority localities in Kolkata had a higher number of “mapped” voters—those whose details could be linked to their parents. Only a small number were “unmapped.” Strangely, when artificial intelligence was applied to detect “logical discrepancies,” the statistics reversed dramatically.
Many Muslims use variations in spelling or different forms of their names. Some families have more than six children—none of which should concern the Election Commission. Yet, using artificial intelligence, these were flagged as “logical inconsistencies.” As a result, after such evaluations, several lakh Muslim voters were removed from the final electoral roll.
Another troubling development during the publication of the final list was that nearly 6 million names were marked as “under consideration.” This marked the beginning of the second phase of complications—something the Election Commission appeared to have done quite consciously.
Court as a Shield: The SIR Constitutional Struggle
The state government had already approached the Supreme Court, questioning the constitutional validity of the SIR and the urgency with which it was being conducted ahead of elections. The Commission continued to discuss the SIR and its issues in court, and instead of deciding on its constitutional validity, the court issued directions on how the process could be completed in Bengal without resistance.
At times, the court said that names would not be removed due to spelling errors. At other times, it claimed to be ensuring that not a single voter’s name would be excluded from the final list. Judicial officers and judges were appointed to oversee hearings for those marked as “under consideration.” Yet, at no point did the court ask the Election Commission why it failed to complete the process on time. It did not question why documents were now required despite earlier assurances regarding the 2002 roll. Nor did it ask why such a large number of voters were suddenly deemed “unmapped.”
In effect, the court appeared to act as a shield for the Election Commission. Instead, it questioned why similar problems did not arise in other states where SIR was conducted, and why only West Bengal faced such issues.
The Human Cost: Fear of Statelessness in Bengal
Amid this process, people began searching for their names in the 2002 electoral rolls on their own. During this time, the story of Khairul Sheikh emerged. He was over sixty years old, not highly educated, but physically strong. He earned his livelihood through manual labor—driving a van, working as a daily wage laborer.
One day, it was reported that he had consumed pesticide in a suicide attempt. After several days in the hospital, he recovered and returned home. At the time, he feared that a discrepancy in the spelling of his name between the 2002 roll and the 2025 list might lead to its deletion. If his name were removed, would he be forced to go to Bangladesh? He was born in this country. He had worked and toiled here all his life. Why should he be driven out because of someone else’s error?
It was this fear that drove him to attempt suicide. Today, the very fear that made him a headline has become reality—his status still remains “under consideration.”
If Khairul Sheikh of Dinhata, Cooch Behar, attempts suicide again today, can the Election Commission escape responsibility? And not just him—countless others are living in fear. Some have even died out of anxiety over being declared outsiders in their own country. Who bears responsibility for these deaths, if not the Election Commission?
Yes, Bengal is indeed a politically aware state. Yes, Bengal is indeed polarised. But this polarisation is not between Hindus and Muslims. It is between the people and the Election Commission. It is a divide between countless marginalized, working-class individuals and a seemingly monstrous institution whose rules now threaten to render many stateless.
When the country’s highest court says that not a single person’s voting rights will be taken away, people place their trust in the judiciary. But when the same court later says that missing one election is not a significant loss, is it unnatural for people to feel angry?
In such a situation, it is only natural that people will point fingers at the Election Commission. The people of Bengal understand polarisation—but not as a Hindu-Muslim divide. They understand it as a divide between the people and the Commission.
