Two oceans and the African continent separate Medellin, the ground zero of Pablo Escobar’s drug cartel, and Goa. But ‘Pablos’ have come to define the politics of Goa now. In the rural areas of Goa, the older generation by and large still believe in the old mores and code which defined their life. But the younger generation is devoid of any particular skills and hankers after government jobs. They are disoriented and only run after easy ways of making money. That’s when they find their ‘Pablos’, who are in a position to pay them money or facilitate their appointments to government jobs.
Young fellows today sport beautiful cars, motorbikes and all the usual expensive paraphernalia that come along with acquiring easy riches. On enquiry, their wealth is invariably linked to drug trade or real estate trade. I call them the new Pablos, after the Columbian drug lord, who was synonymous with an extravagant lifestyle.
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A few generations ago, Goan village elders were often referred to with affection as ‘Shablo’ or ‘Bablo’. They were looked up to by the local population for their wisdom and their ability to command leadership roles in village communities. They even had special privileges in local temple-related affairs. They were very respected. People would listen to them. Their names were accompanied with the respectful suffix of ‘Gaonkar’ (of the village).
These Shablos and Bablos from our villages have been replaced by ‘Pablos’, who now command village affairs. They control youngsters by involving them in illicit trade, managing gambling networks and funding the local youth organisations, football clubs and even village panchayat members. They go on to become sarpanches and even legislators to extend their clout. Just the other day, a well-known local politician told me that some of these homegrown Pablos even wield influence in the high commands of political parties and have a say in allocation of election tickets in their areas, by promising to fund poll expenses, creating a newer generation of Pablos downline.
From the time I entered public life until now, I cannot seem to recognise the Goa I once knew. Its famed beaches have virtually disappeared from public view due to rampant commercialisation of the coastal stretch. I went to Mandrem beach the other day. You cannot see the beach at all from the approach road because of the large thatch barricades and other constructions. Even a glimpse of the Arabian Sea is now elusive.
It’s getting more and more difficult for native Goan elders to take their traditional sea bath in summer—an annual health ritual—because easy access to the beaches has been cornered by resorts, restaurants and clubs.
While it appears that it’s too late to arrest Goa’s rapid urbanisation, especially the reckless consumption of land, even at this late hour, an intervention could still be made by introducing the concept of a government land bank. Let the government become the state’s land banker.
The concept could work like this. You know our local people are selling land for money. So, you pass a law, which mandates that the land has to be first offered to the government. The government then buys it and develops it as a big park or maintains it as an open space or something like that. Have a plan for the next 50-100 years for this concept to slowly develop. The government as a land banker is not an entirely new concept. The Goa government has a law called the Alvara Act. Alvara lands were usually allotted for agricultural development by the Portuguese regime on certain conditions, like within 10 years you have to cultivate that land and bring it under plantation, at least some 20 per cent or 30 percent of it, and then the person occupying the land could apply for regularisation.
Today, I think these lands are regularised after the Revenue code was amended. One can now alter the titles of these lands to permanent ownership by paying a mere 20 annuities, fixed annual payments to be made to the state administration. But it imposes no restriction on the use of land. It was originally meant for agricultural and horticultural development. Today, you pay the 20 annuities, and you become the owner. You can now sell it. You can do whatever you want and use it for any purpose under the sky, or beyond the skies too. This law could be revived in a particular way and the government can say no, we are the owners of the land. You can’t sell it. If you’re using it for agriculture purposes, jolly well continue with that. The rights of the progeny can also be protected. But selling the land should be out of the question. If you cannot use it for agricultural purposes, then the government, as the owner, can take it back.
Instead, today, tenants and landowners are colluding to subvert tenancy and agricultural laws to sell land tracts at breakneck speeds. These land reform laws have been banished into oblivion. Now ‘money bags’ start coming in and they offer any amount of money. You know, for a man coming from Delhi, where the land per square metre price is Rs 10 lakh, the same piece of land you could buy here for Rs 1,000 or Rs 4,000 (per square metre) maximum. Now the price has gone up to, say Rs 40,000-50,000 per square metre, but it is still cheaper when compared to land prices in Delhi. Many of them pay for it in cash. And these money bags have cash stashed away in their car dickeys.
Goa is fast slipping into a space where the bad eggs appear to prosper, but good talent migrates out of the land, sometimes to other parts of India and Europe. Their hunt for employment and the pursuit of a good, sincere life, appears to be an unviable proposition in Goa. The death of humility in Goa’s politics can be gauged by the tenor of the party meetings which have changed over the years. In my area, Mandrem assembly constituency, we used to have small meetings and gatherings of our party workers. We used to give them a cup of tea or batata vada (mashed potato fritters). Now there is a Congress leader, there’s no point in naming him, he was given the charge of one such conference of Congress workers in the area. When I told him that we were offering tea and batata vadas as refreshments during the meeting, he even refused to consider the menu, saying he did not want anyone to touch this “nonsense type of food”. He went on to postpone the meeting to the following Sunday in an indoor hall with non-vegetarian dishes as snacks, and alcohol. Our meeting was scheduled to have around 100 participants, but he wanted a meeting with 500 attendants. This is how politics is changing in Goa.
There is frustration all around. Today, when I look back, I wonder why I became an MLA and a minister and did all these things. My words have just remained like mere bubbles in the air, floating in a vacuum of lament.
(This appeared in the Print version as 'Bablo, Shablo and Pablo')
(Views expressed are personal)
Ramakant Khalap Is a former Union minister of state for law and justice
