When Crime Pays
Page 19
The bigger concern with the criminality data is not underreporting but rather the scope for politically motivated cases. The good news is that candidates have to disclose only those cases a judge has taken cognizance of or in which charges have been framed, rather than the existence of a police report, known as a first information report (FIR). This (and the fact that candidates are only required to disclose cases initiated at least six months before the election) helps to protect against political vendettas—but only partially.
A second safeguard is to distinguish between “minor” and “serious” cases. Any coding of charges is clearly subjective, but following convention I code charges as “minor” if they might, arguably, be related to assembly, campaigning, or speech—or acts that lend themselves most easily to political retribution. I consider the remainder to be “serious” charges. The definition is admittedly minimalist, and it differs slightly from other available definitions, including the one favored by ADR, which is detailed in Appendix A. The differences are not substantively important, however; the two measures are highly correlated (the correlation coefficient is .78 in the dataset of state elections and .79 in the national elections dataset). Throughout the book, I restrict my attention to serious cases. In the few instances where I use a narrower definition of “serious” cases for descriptive purposes (typically, ADR’s definition), I clearly note that fact.
Crunching the Numbers
Although one should be cautious about using data that are self-disclosed and unverified by a third party, the affidavit data—taken as a whole, warts and all—present a reasonable snapshot of the biographical profiles of India’s most influential lawmakers. The picture isn’t pretty.
My analysis of data from parliamentary candidates contesting elections in 2004, 2009, and 2014 reveals a strong correlation between a parliamentary candidate’s personal assets—again, serving as a proxy for financial capacity—and the likelihood of election (figure 4.7). Consider the following statistic: the poorest 20 percent of candidates, in terms of personal financial assets, had a 1 percent chance of winning parliamentary elections. The richest quintile, in contrast, had a greater than 23 percent likelihood.
If quintiles are confusing, consider the following thought exercise. The poorest candidates, say those with less than 100,000 rupees ($1,500) to their name, have a less than 1 percent chance of winning a seat in Parliament. For those who are slightly richer, who possess between 100,000 ($1,500) and 1 million rupees ($15,000), the odds of winning are slightly better: 1 percent. The odds are significantly better for those in the next wealth bracket, those whose assets range between 1 and 10 million rupees (or $15,000 and $150,000). These candidates have a 9 percent chance of gaining entry into Parliament. Not surprisingly, the odds of winning are greatest for those in the richest wealth category—those candidates who are known as crorepatis in the Indian parlance (or whose wealth is greater than one crore, or 10 million rupees). Of the 4,857 candidates who found themselves in this bracket, 18 percent were electorally successful.
Figure 4.7. Candidate wealth and electoral success in Lok Sabha elections, 2004–14. (Author’s calculations based on affidavits submitted to the Election Commission of India by candidates contesting the 2004, 2009, and 2014 parliamentary elections)
Not only does wealth provide an electoral advantage, there is evidence that the magnitude of that advantage may be growing. In 2004, of the 543 elected members of the Lok Sabha, 156 (or 29 percent) were worth at least one crore. By 2009, 315 (or 58 percent) of MPs belonged to this wealthy tier. That share grew to 82 percent in 2014.113
When it comes to campaign cash, candidates accused of serious violations of the law have a distinct advantage. In 2004, Samuel Paul and M. Vivekananda conducted one of the first analyses of elected officials using newly public affidavit data. The authors found a strong correlation between a candidate’s criminal record and his financial assets; in fact, the overall asset base of members increased with the severity of the charges filed. “It is almost as if with larger assets one can graduate to a higher level on the crime ladder,” the authors remark.114
Based on my own analysis of data from the last three parliamentary elections, roughly 4 percent of candidates in the lowest quintile of candidate wealth (or poorest one-fifth) faced serious criminal cases compared to nearly 15 percent of candidates in the top quintile (figure 4.8). Put slightly differently, the median “clean” candidate has a personal wealth of just above 900,000 rupees ($13,500), compared to roughly 4.1 million rupees ($62,000) for the median candidate with a serious criminal case.
To test the money-muscle link more formally, I analyzed an identical dataset to the one on MP aspirants but this one gathered from nearly all state legislative candidates seeking office between 2003 and 2009. The results again provide strong support for the hypothesis that money and muscle do in fact go hand in hand: the size of a candidate’s personal financial assets is strongly and positively associated with his criminal status (figure 4.9). Controlling for a range of factors, the probability of facing a serious criminal case increases by 12 percent as an average candidate’s wealth moves from the mean to maximum value in the sample. The relationship between wealth and criminal status is nonlinear; the positive association between the two is more pronounced for very large levels of candidate wealth.115 This association also holds when one uses data from national parliamentary candidates.
Figure 4.8. Candidate wealth and share of candidates with pending serious criminal cases in Lok Sabha elections, 2004–2014. (Author’s calculations based on affidavits submitted to the Election Commission of India by candidates contesting the 2004, 2009, and 2014 parliamentary elections)
Figure 4.9. Positive association between personal wealth and probability state assembly candidates have at least one serious criminal case, 2003–9. Dark, medium, and light gray shading represent 90, 95, and 99 percent confidence intervals, respectively. Candidate wealth is measured using a log scale. (Author’s calculations based on affidavits submitted to the Election Commission of India by candidates contesting state assembly elections between 2003 and 2009)
When it comes to a candidate’s electoral prospects, possessing a serious criminal record seems to pay significant dividends, even after controlling for a candidate’s wealth. Previous analyses demonstrated that (1) wealth reaps electoral dividends, and that (2) suspected criminal candidates are more likely to be wealthy. Yet even beyond the impact of money, alleged criminality seems to provide an added bonus to candidates’ electoral fortunes. Comparing candidates who did not face serious cases and those who did at every level of candidate wealth, from the poorest to the richest quintile, candidates facing serious cases were more likely to win election (figure 4.10).
We can confirm this result more systematically by looking at the much larger dataset of candidates in state elections. Wealth and criminality have an interactive effect: wealth significantly magnifies the electoral success of criminal candidates. The effects are heterogeneous, such that at very low values of wealth criminality has a negligible impact (figure 4.11).116 Conversely, the interaction between wealth and criminality is more meaningful at higher levels of wealth.
Yet the data indicate that while wealth enhances criminal candidates’ electoral performance, it is not the sole factor. The gap between the two shaded bands (candidates who have serious cases and those who do not) suggests that criminality provides candidates with advantages above and beyond their access to money alone. At nearly every level of wealth, candidates with serious cases outperform their “clean” counterparts, suggesting that one has to dig deeper to find other sources of this “criminality premium.”
Figure 4.10. Electoral advantage of criminality independent of money in Lok Sabha elections, 2004–14. (Author’s calculations based on affidavits submitted to the Election Commission of India by candidates contesting the 2004, 2009, and 2014 parliamentary elections)
Figure 4.11. Interactive effect of wealth and criminal case status on electoral succes
s in state elections, 2003–9. The thin lines and shading represent 90 and 95 percent confidence intervals, respectively. Criminal case status is defined as having at least one serious criminal case. Candidate wealth is measured using a log scale. (Author’s calculations based on affidavits submitted to the Election Commission of India by candidates contesting state elections between 2003 and 2009)
MOVING BEYOND MONEY
A criminally suspect candidate’s ability to self-finance elections and subsidize party activities tells us something important about why parties are attracted to candidates with criminal records. As Yogendra Yadav has stated, with the partial exception of Left parties, “Anyone who does not have access to vast, unaccountable and disposable wealth has little chance of getting a ‘ticket.’”117 Yet the fact that criminality has an effect on electoral success independent of wealth suggests that money is a partial explanation of a party’s embrace of muscle.
While money helps explain the supply of tainted politicians into the electoral marketplace—namely, why parties might value their candidacy—the puzzle of India’s criminal politicians does not end there. After all, a model of political selection built on money alone is an incomplete explanation of the selection of criminal candidates, since parties also might conceivably recruit other wealthy, noncriminal candidates (such as businessmen, celebrities, or other notables).
Indeed, a cursory glance at the financial disclosures of India’s elected MPs confirms this: of those MPs elected in 2014, the five richest MPs were all wealthy industrialists—Jayadev Galla (6.83 billion rupees, or $103 million) and Gokaraju Ganga Raju (2.88 billion rupees, or $44 million) run large conglomerates with interests ranging from packaged foods and sheet metal to ayurvedic products; Konda Vishweshwar Reddy (5.28 billion rupees, or $800 million) is an entrepreneur who has successfully launched numerous tech companies; Butta Renuka (2.42 billion rupees), whose husband is a successful industrialist, runs a chain of clothing and jewelry outlets; and Kamal Nath (2.06 billion rupees, or $37 million) gets most of his wealth from a vast network of companies, primarily in the real estate sector, controlled by his wife and two sons.118 Together, they were worth more than 19.5 billion rupees (or $295 million). Beyond industrialists, rich celebrities are represented in Parliament—from Kirron Kher, the film and television actress and talk show host, to actress-dancer-producer Hema Malini, to onetime film celebrity Shatrugan “Shotgun” Sinha. Even cricket icon Sachin Tendulkar, one of the most revered figures in Indian sports history, was inaugurated into the upper house of Parliament, in 2013.119
These facts suggest that parties have access to candidates who are wealthy but are not known for their criminal connections, raising obvious questions about why they persist in selecting candidates with serious criminal records. To gain a more comprehensive picture of how these candidates add electoral value, the demand-side imperatives of the electoral marketplace, which bring voters squarely to the fore, merit close examination.
5 Doing Good by Doing Bad
The Demand for Criminality
“ANANT SINGH IS not a murderer. He merely manages murder,” the man said flatly and without a trace of irony. The person who spoke these words was a well-educated engineer, a friend of an acquaintance of mine, and we were sitting in the living room of his stately ancestral home on the banks of the Ganges River in central Bihar, sipping our third cup of sickly sweet homemade chai while discussing the local political scene. I had sought out the engineer to chat about a local politician, Anant Singh, a three-time MLA from Mokama, a surprisingly lush constituency in the poverty-stricken easternmost reaches of Patna district. Singh was one of the area’s most well-known politicians, not least because of the length of his rap sheet.
The engineer’s family had long known Anant Singh and was connected to the political party he was affiliated with, the ruling Janata Dal (United) or JD(U). The engineer’s remark about Singh lingered in the air, much like a word cloud from a newspaper cartoon. I paused for a second, not knowing whether the man was joking or serious. It was clear from the expression on his face it was the latter.
Anant Singh is an unlikely poster child for electoral success in a flourishing democracy like India. He is fond of wearing dark sunglasses, a cigarette perched on his lips, his body adorned in all white, occasionally gussied up with a dark leather jacket. If he were not in politics, Singh could have had an alternate career as a cinematic villain—his practiced bad boy look was straight out of central casting.
In addition to his official designation as an elected representative of this poor, rural constituency, Singh doubles as something of a local godfather, or dada. Singh rose to political prominence on the back of his other brother, Dilip, who emerged as a Bhumihar (upper caste) gang leader in the region in the mid-1980s. Dilip parlayed his muscle power into political power, eventually entering state politics and winning the Mokama seat in 1990 (a feat he repeated in 1995). Anant, who allegedly began his criminal career as Dilip’s enforcer, ultimately took over the political reins of the family—first winning election to the Bihar assembly in a 2004 by-election in Mokama. He was reelected in February 2005 and again in October 2005, when a fresh state election was called after the previous one furnished a hung assembly. When I arrived at the engineer’s house in the fall of 2010 to discuss Anant Singh, he was days away from winning his fourth consecutive election.
Over the years, Singh has been implicated in dozens of criminal cases, and many of his alleged criminal acts, widely reported in the press, have been carried out in a brazenly public manner. There was the killing of a contractor, a cousin of Singh’s, in the streets of Bihar’s capital, Patna, in broad daylight. The victim was waiting in line at a government office when he supposedly took four bullets at close range from a group of six assailants.1 There was the beating of two television journalists who showed up at Singh’s house to inquire about his alleged involvement in the rape and murder of a young woman. When a cameraman subsequently arrived at Singh’s compound to inquire about his colleagues, he too was reportedly assaulted.2
The circumstances surrounding Anant Singh’s first (alleged) murder are something of a local legend. Anant’s older brother, Birachi, was a mukhia (village headman) and a prominent landlord in the area. Several villagers told me that a sympathizer of Naxalite rebels, who were carrying out targeted assassinations of upper-caste landlords throughout the region, shot and killed Birachi before taking refuge on a boat in the middle of the Ganges River. Anant, seeking to avenge Birachi’s death, supposedly tracked his brother’s killer for months. When he eventually learned of the killer’s location, Anant swam across the river and murdered the man. When asked about the crime, Anant coolly responded that “justice needed to be done.”3
With such a history of high-profile transgressions, videos circulating on the Internet of Singh drunkenly dancing while brandishing an AK-47 seem downright tame in comparison. Indeed, newspaper stories openly speak of Singh’s unique penchant for “guns and goons.”4 Anant Singh himself has bragged of being shot at least twenty times but claims he does not live in fear: “They tell me there is an emotion like fear. What does it feel like?” Singh once asked a reporter. “I don’t lose courage in life’s battle.”5
Constituents in Mokama rarely call Singh by his given name, instead referring to him as chhote sarkar (little lord) for his dominance over the constituency. A reporter who traveled to interview him in 2014 was warned against traveling to Mokama by a senior police official, who claimed that he and his officers could not guarantee her safety on Singh’s turf.6 Though dozens of cases have been lodged against Anant, local police and prosecutors have yet to obtain a single conviction. Cases against Anant have languished for years, during which time judges have passed away, law enforcement officials have been transferred, witnesses have developed cold feet, and evidence has suddenly gone missing.7
Singh’s alleged criminal acts are not his only attributes that have gained notoriety; the lawmaker’s idiosyncrasies and penchant for extravagance
are also widely discussed. In the thick of the Hindi heartland, Singh speaks little Hindi, preferring instead the local Magahi dialect; he keeps a python as a house pet as well as an elephant who is trained to shake hands; and he raises expensive horses who are tasked with pulling an antique buggy in which Singh often rides around Mokama.8
But perhaps the most perplexing fact about Anant Singh is that his political patron is a man who burnishes a reputation as one of the cleanest politicians in India: the reformist chief minister of Bihar, Nitish Kumar.9 Kumar swept into office in 2005 with promises of cleaning up one of the poorest, most corrupt, and socially fractured states in India. Between 2005 and 2010, when Kumar’s ruling alliance won a resounding reelection, Kumar made great strides, against all odds, in doing exactly that. So why would Kumar risk his reputation by giving Anant Singh, a man who has seemingly profited by consistently running afoul of the law, a party ticket to contest elections and then campaign tirelessly on his behalf?
FROM SUPPLY TO DEMAND
With ample resources in hand, politicians with criminal reputations gain traction with political parties. In the language of the electoral marketplace, money helps explain the supply of tainted politicians joining mainstream politics. Yet while candidates linked to crime do appear, on average, to have more wealth than the average “clean” candidate, it also appears that their criminality gives them an edge in elections extending above and beyond their financial prowess.
What explains this additional and perhaps less tangible electoral advantage is something of a mystery. After all, the notion that voters might reward rather than reject candidates with criminal connections challenges some fundamental tenets of democratic theory, even calling into question widely accepted notions of accountability and representation. Indeed, theory dating back centuries tells us that a key distinction between democratic and nondemocratic systems is the fact that in democracies, voters can utilize elections to “throw the rascals out,” if they so choose.10 Indeed, the ability to sanction bad politicians and to reward good ones is one of the defining touchstones of representative democracy.11