Defections affect moral sanctity of democracy

Winston Churchill once said that, “some men change parties for the sake of their principles; others change principles for the sake of their party”. India, however, seems to have perfected a third category — politicians who abandon both party and principle for the sake of power.

The break-up of the Trinamool Congress and the Shiv Sena-UBT (Uddhav Bal Thackeray) are only the latest examples of a disturbing trend concerning elections. Leaders campaign bitterly, questioning each other’s integrity and commitment to the nation, with voters asked to choose between sharply contrasting visions for India’s future. Yet once the ballots are counted, many of those differences dissolve, and hitherto irreconcilable opponents become political partners. Principles give way to pragmatism, and power becomes the only enduring conviction.

The immediate consequences are political, with governments becoming stronger, and Opposition parties weaker. But the deeper casualty is something far more precious — the sanctity of the democratic mandate.

Far-reaching consequences

In a parliamentary democracy, citizens do not vote merely for individuals. They vote for an idea, a manifesto, and a political alternative. When an elected representative crosses over after winning on another party’s symbol, it is not simply a change of affiliation; it is a unilateral rewriting of the contract entered into with the voter. The mandate, which belongs to the electorate, now becomes the private property of the elected representative.

It also exposes the perverse incentives increasingly operating within Indian politics. Politicians facing investigations or legal troubles often appear to discover ideological compatibility with the party in power. Equally striking is the troubling public perception that investigative intensity frequently diminishes after such realignments. Democracies rely not only on fairness, but also on public confidence that institutions operate without political favour. Once that confidence erodes, the damage extends far beyond any single party or government.

The larger casualty is democratic competition itself. Every democracy requires an elected government as well as an Opposition capable of scrutinising, questioning, and presenting a credible alternative. Without that balance, elections risk becoming contests over access to power rather than contests of ideas.

Yet there is an even larger paradox. Prime Minister Narendra Modi continues to command the trust of a significant majority of Indian voters. Few leaders in independent India’s history have enjoyed such sustained popular support. The Bharatiya Janata Party has repeatedly demonstrated that it can win elections on its own political appeal. If the electorate has already bestowed such a powerful mandate, why must that mandate be reinforced through the steady migration of dubious legislators elected on rival party symbols?

History suggests that great democracies are distinguished not by governments that accumulate the greatest power, but by governments confident enough to allow a credible Opposition to survive and compete.

Aristotle argued more than two millennia ago that political systems cease to be virtuous when public office becomes an instrument of private advantage rather than public good. Kautilya’s wisdom was in knowing that a ruler’s legitimacy rested on the confidence of the people. Even Machiavelli, often caricatured as an apostle of raw power, warned that the destruction of all independent centres of influence ultimately weakens the state itself. The tragedy of modern democracies is that electoral mandates are increasingly treated not as solemn covenants of public trust, but as negotiable assets in the marketplace of power.

History offers sobering parallels. Italy’s post-war Transformismo saw politicians frequently switching allegiances and governments held together more by patronage than ideology. Brazil’s coalition presidentialism has often encouraged transactional politics. The Philippines has long struggled with a culture of political turncoatism. Though not identical, they share a common lesson: when political office becomes a tradable asset, institutional decay begins, with citizens losing faith in the system.

The voter’s loss

Perhaps, however, the hardest questions are not for politicians alone. Why do parties continue to nominate candidates whose convictions appear so negotiable? Why does mainstream media celebrate defections as strategic manoeuvres instead of condemning them as betrayals of the electorate? And why do voters so often forgive the very conduct they publicly denounce?

If opportunism is flourishing, it is because parties reward it and institutions fail to discourage it, with citizens gradually coming to accept it as normal.

The greatest victim of political defections is not the Opposition party that loses a legislator. It is the voter. The voter casts a ballot believing it represents a choice between competing visions for the country. When that representative later abandons the very platform on which the vote was sought, the voter is left dispossessed.

Perhaps history’s greatest lesson is not that democracies collapse when governments become too powerful. They weaken when citizens begin to believe that their vote is merely a stepping stone for politicians to negotiate a better bargain after the election.

India’s democracy is strong enough to produce decisive mandates. It must also be strong enough to preserve the sanctity of those mandates. A vote is not a transferable asset that belongs to the elected representative; it is a trust reposed by the citizen. When that trust can be traded for power, the real defector is not the politician — it is democracy itself.

Prabal Basu Roy is Sloan Fellow of the London Business School