When Crime Pays

by Milan Vaishnav

  In the end, the UPA government barely survived the no-confidence motion, and having carried out their parliamentary duty, the six furloughed MPs were promptly returned to jail. Reading the newspaper in a poorly air-conditioned library in New Delhi the morning after the vote, I was struck by the scarce coverage the jailed lawmakers merited in the country’s leading dailies. The previous evening I had caught a glimpse of the antics in Parliament on cable television, and so I was surprised that there were but fleeting mentions of the absurdity of MPs being carted in from prison, casually discussed in passing along with the ailing MP who had to be wheeled in on a gurney, the lawmaker who had to be urgently flown back from America where he was having knee replacement surgery, and the MP whom the government courted by promising to name an airport after his father.

  Whatever press the jailed lawmakers did receive was swiftly and thoroughly overshadowed by a second scandal associated with the no-confidence vote. Just minutes before voting was to commence, three opposition lawmakers disrupted the proceedings by holding up wads of cash—reportedly upwards of 30 million rupees (or a little over $450,000)—which they alleged government legislators had given to them in an attempt to buy their support.29 The situation on the floor of Parliament had gotten so out of control that one television channel felt compelled to cut away, beaming in shots of Mother Teresa and Calcutta instead.30 And just like that, the “cash for votes” scandal was all the rage, and the fleeting reprieve the jailed lawbreakers received was nothing more than a distant memory for the Indian polity.

  TROUBLING FACTS

  Although the Indian press had moved on to the next story, I had not. The oddity of watching lawmakers being escorted from jail to Sansad Bhavan (Parliament House), what one prime minister referred to as a “temple of democracy,” stuck with me.31 Naively at the time, I wondered whether the jailed lawbreakers were an exception in the world’s largest democracy or perhaps representative of a deeper malaise. The more digging I did, the murkier India’s politics became.

  As outlandish as it seems, the incarcerated lawmakers who were brought from jail to cast their votes on the floor of Parliament were far from the only elected representatives implicated in some kind of criminal wrongdoing. Of the 543 members elected to the Lok Sabha in 2004, nearly one-quarter faced pending criminal cases before the courts.32 To be clear, these were cases and not convictions; it can take years, if not decades, for a case to wind its way through India’s sluggish judicial system and reach a resolution. Furthermore, not all of these cases involved the sorts of charges that had swirled around Ateeq Ahmed or Pappu Yadav; many involved minor charges, such as unlawful assembly, libel, or trespass. It was not unheard of for politicians in India to be charged with such things as their careers progressed; after all, the “politics of protest” was intrinsic to the country’s own struggle for independence from the British Empire, and so it was to some extent woven into its political fabric.33

  Yet, leaving such minor infractions aside, 12 percent of parliamentarians faced cases of a serious nature.34 Many of these involved alleged crimes like murder or attempted murder, physical assault, and kidnapping. These charges were of a qualitatively different and decidedly more dramatic nature—and significantly harder to explain away by falling back on the routine expression of civil disobedience in Indian political life (see Appendix A for a detailed discussion of the distinction between “minor” and “serious” criminal charges).

  These disconcerting details about India’s politicians emerged as a result of a 2003 order by the Supreme Court of India, mandating that candidates seeking elected office publicly disclose information about their criminal records. As I pored over tens of thousands of these disclosures spanning the past decade, several truths about India’s murky politics became abundantly clear, and they illustrate just how widespread the marriage of crime and politics has become.

  First, the share of elected officials in India with pending criminal cases has been increasing, not decreasing, over time (figure 1.1). This is in spite of the fact that, as a result of the Supreme Court’s mandate that candidates must disclose their criminal antecedents, general awareness about the private lives of politicians has grown. Indeed, today it is possible for an ordinary Indian to simply send a text message to a civil society organization to electronically receive, within a matter of seconds, biographical details of the candidates contesting local election.35 According to data compiled by the Association for Democratic Reforms (ADR), a good-governance watchdog, 24 percent of MPs elected in 2004 faced criminal cases (12 percent faced charges of a serious nature). This figure grew to 30 percent in 2009 (15 percent serious) and climbed to 34 percent (21 percent serious) in 2014.36

  Figure 1.1. Share of Lok Sabha MPs with pending criminal cases, 2004–14. (Data from Association for Democratic Reforms, various years)

  Second, the geographic reach of politicians under serious criminal scrutiny is widespread and not restricted to any single region of the country. MPs with pending criminal cases are found in virtually all parts of the country (figure 1.2). Their widespread prevalence across space defies any neat explanations that focus on regional “cultures of corruption” or a tight relationship with relative poverty or backwardness. For instance, some scholars speak of an India that is divided into a relatively backward north and a more progressive, wealthier south.37 Previous explanations in this vein have predominantly portrayed the relatively underdeveloped north as the source of criminality in politics—an assumption that is belied by the widespread popularity of “bad politicians” (shorthand for politicians involved in illegal or unethical behavior) in both north and south.

  Third, the prevalence of elected leaders who face some kind of criminal scrutiny is not restricted to the national political arena alone. As of early 2014, 31 percent of India’s elected state legislators (members of the legislative assemblies, or MLAs) faced pending criminal cases, with 15 percent falling into the serious category. While there has been no systematic analysis of local governments, anecdotal evidence suggests that local tiers of governance too are hardly free of criminality.38

  Figure 1.2. Distribution of Lok Sabha MPs with pending criminal cases, 2014. (Author’s map based on data from Association for Democratic Reforms, 2014)

  Furthermore, the severity of the charges that have been leveled against India’s political class is striking. Looking back at all state and national elections held between January 2004 and September 2013, one comprehensive analysis found that candidates racked up nearly 14,000 discrete charges judged to be of a “serious” nature. During this period, candidates standing for election disclosed 4,357 distinct murder-related charges lodged against them. There were 68 separate allegations of rape and more than 450 other charges involving crimes against women. Other popular categories of alleged crimes involved robbery and dacoity (1,004) and cheating, forgery, and counterfeiting (3,039).39

  Finally, candidates linked to crime appear to have a hefty electoral advantage. Based on data from the three most recent general elections—in 2004, 2009, and 2014—a candidate with a criminal case was, on average, almost three times as likely to win election as a candidate who faced no cases. And of those facing cases, the “win rate” of candidates with serious charges, in turn, is marginally higher than those who face only minor charges.40

  These cardinal facts about India’s democracy, although little known back in 2003 when candidates first began disclosing their criminal antecedents, soon earned much broader national—and international—attention. Politicians with lengthy rap sheets were memorialized in Bollywood films like Anurag Kashyap’s Gangs of Wasseypur and dissected in such international literary hits as the Booker Prize–winning The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga and Katherine Boo’s best-selling portrait of a Mumbai slum, Behind the Beautiful Forevers.

  Over the next several years, the “criminalization” of India’s political class would become a standard talking point whenever elections were in the offing. In democracies the world over, elections often acqu
ire a sort of habitual rhythm as time goes on. In India, one facet of this rhythm is the spate of news headlines before elections about the dubious biographical details of politicians who aspire to elected office. Once voting is over and the results are announced, a second wave of stories about the criminal records of those who are actually elected pours forth.41

  From the Times of India to the New York Times, headlines like “In India’s Politics, Jail Time Is a Badge of Honor,” “India’s Jailbirds Win Elections,” and “Criminals Flourish in Indian Elections” have become commonplace. Citing the numbers of elected officials facing criminal inquiries is now just another fact one tosses out when describing contemporary India; it seemingly rolls off the tongue as easily as declaring that the country has 29 states or a $2 trillion economy.

  A PUZZLING COEXISTENCE

  These stylized facts, while interesting and important in their own right, raise larger questions about the symbiosis of crime and politics in democratic nations. In many ways, it remains a puzzle how democratic elections and large numbers of elected officials tied to illegal activity can comfortably coexist. After all, democratic theory suggests that one of the crucial functions of elections is to provide a reliable channel through which voters can weed out badly behaving politicians.42 Indeed, a key distinction between democratic and nondemocratic systems is the fact that in the former, voters can utilize the ballot box to punish lawmakers who betray the public trust.43 If, however, candidates tied to wrongdoing are rewarded, rather than rejected, through relatively free and fair electoral processes, it means something is amiss either in the functioning of democracy or in common conceptual understandings of how democracy works.

  This book asks—and tries to answer—five fundamental questions about the perplexing cohabitation of criminality and democratic politics. In particular, the focus of this inquiry is on the symbiosis of serious criminality and electoral democracy, rather than on criminal activity in a general sense. It is precisely the grave nature of the alleged transgressions of India’s politicians that makes this nexus so mystifying.

  First, what incentives do individuals with serious criminal reputations have to take part in the electoral sphere? It is not immediately obvious why someone with a track record of running afoul of the law would actively seek a role in everyday democratic politics. In countries ranging from Nigeria to Thailand, criminals or strongmen operate at the peripheries of political life, but they often leave the politicking to the professionals, that is, to the career politicians. What are the underlying factors that make elections in India fertile ground for criminals to try their hand as politicians?

  Second, why do political parties select candidates with serious criminal records? In most modern democracies, including India’s, parties play the essential role of screening and selecting candidates to elected office. One might reasonably expect that parties would hesitate to recruit candidates linked to criminality for fear of being tainted or tarnished in the eyes of voters. Yet often parties appear to compete with one another to embrace candidates under criminal scrutiny.

  Third, although elections have been typically viewed as an opportunity to “throw the rascals out,” might voters have sound reasons for actually keeping the “rascals” in? Individuals with serious criminal records might have private incentives to stand for election, and parties may have reasons for giving them a platform, but that does not necessarily compel voters to support them on Election Day. This is especially true in countries where elections are deemed reasonably free and fair. Given that voters often have a choice between candidates with criminal records and those without, it is something of a mystery why they would actively prefer the former. Are voters inadvertently endorsing criminal representatives, or can an affirmative case be made for voters to elect these candidates?

  Fourth, to the extent the involvement of criminally linked individuals in electoral politics is deemed undesirable, what are the public policy instruments reformers can wield in order to limit, if not eliminate, the entrenched position of tainted politicians? Theoretically, an array of reformist actors, ranging from civil society activists to the media and the judiciary, can be mobilized to tackle the creeping “criminalization” of politics. But knowing which policy levers to pull in order to contain their proliferation crucially depends on the identification of underlying drivers. If a lack of information explains why voters support politicians with criminal records, the resulting policy response might focus on raising popular awareness. If, however, the root cause lies elsewhere, information provision alone might be an inadequate, if not inappropriate, solution.

  Fifth, what are the implications of the presence of criminal politicians for democracy and accountability? Many have argued that if democratic elections produce large numbers of elected leaders with dubious biographies, this is—by definition—symptomatic of a breakdown in the chain of popular accountability. But if politicians tied to criminal activity are elected, and often reelected, it raises the prospect that some semblance of democratic accountability remains intact. What, if anything, can the Indian experience tell us about the challenges facing other developing democracies?

  WHY INDIA?

  The answers to these questions are obviously much larger in scope than the study of any one nation, yet there can be payoffs to looking for answers within a single democracy in order to fully grapple with their nuances. India, in particular, presents an interesting case for contemplating these questions.

  For starters, as the largest democracy in the world, India is home to one-quarter of the world’s voters. With one-sixth of the earth’s humanity residing within its borders, India’s size alone makes it a worthy case for studying the interactions between crime and politics. If answers to these probing questions on crime and democracy can be found in India, that will go a considerable way to shaping the public’s broader understanding.

  But the reasons to pay careful attention to India go beyond size considerations: India is not only the world’s largest democracy, it is also the most enduring democracy in the developing world. As the number of low-income democracies continues to grow (including many that, like India, are both low-income and multiethnic), India’s experience can provide lessons to an expanding set of developing-country peers. Because if criminality can thrive in a democracy as established as India, what are the prospects for fledgling democracies that remain unconsolidated?

  Moreover, by focusing on India, researchers stand to benefit from analyzing several sources of rich, credible data on elections—chief among them are the data collected by the independent, highly professionalized ECI. Since 2003, candidates contesting state and national elections in India must submit, at the time of their nomination, judicial affidavits detailing not only their criminal records but also their financial assets and liabilities. This public disclosure regime, coupled with the sheer number of elected posts, provides unparalleled opportunities for detecting patterns in the biographical profiles of democratically elected representatives. Candidate disclosure requirements are not unique to India, but in more than half the countries where they are required, filings are not publicly available.44 In India, however, both candidates in the electoral fray as well as the eventual winners must reveal detailed information about themselves.

  Finally, India’s federal system of governance means that it is, in actuality, far more than a single case study. India comprises 29 states and 7 union territories (or areas administered directly by the central government). Some states, such as Uttar Pradesh and Maharashtra, have populations on par with the most populous countries in the world.45 India has 543 elected members of Parliament (plus another nearly 250 indirectly elected members) and more than 4,000 elected state politicians. Grafted on to these subnational units is tremendous variation on key economic, political, and social characteristics. Indeed, due to its size, diversity, and population, it is often said that India’s federal democracy has more in common with the European Union than with the United States.46 Yet India is, of course, a unified en
tity rather than a disparate amalgamation of countries. The ability to slice and dice it into a much larger number of smaller entities is a major boon to researchers because it allows them to easily compare and contrast internal units. This book takes advantage of this unique democratic laboratory.

  LESSONS BEYOND INDIA

  While the aim of this book is to analyze debates about crime and politics within the context of India’s democracy, its findings are relevant far beyond India’s borders. Indeed, as a diverse array of scholars has documented, India has plenty of company when it comes to individuals with dubious biographies playing an active role in electoral politics.

  Brazilians, for instance, have coined a Portuguese phrase to describe a politician who is known to run afoul of the law yet perceived to function as an effective representative: “rouba, mas faz” (He robs, but he gets things done). According to one study, the former ethically challenged mayor of the city of São Paulo, Paulo Maluf, was so brazen as to use maluf@masfaz.com as his personal e-mail address.47

  Elsewhere in Latin America, outlawed paramilitary groups and other criminal organizations in Colombia have used their extensive political connections and deep pockets to get their members elected to local and national political office.48 In Southeast Asia, a tradition of “godfathers” (known as chao pho in Thailand) tied to criminal activity plays a leading role in regional politics.49 In democracies such as Jamaica and Nigeria, candidates for public office compete not on the basis of ideas and policy platforms but on their connections to criminal gangs.50 As Kenya was preparing for its national election in 2012, commentators remarked that Deputy Prime Minister (and presidential candidate) Uhuru Kenyatta actually stood to gain from the fact that the International Criminal Court had indicted him for engaging in crimes against humanity.51