There are moments in a nation’s journey when the blood spilled on its own soil demands more than condolences, more than committees, more than cosmetic outrage. It demands a reckoning. Pahalgam was one such moment. Twenty-six innocent lives were taken by terrorists. India responded with clarity, courage, and conviction. We went to war with Pakistan because the enemy was clear, the violence visible, and the perpetrators identifiable.
But what do we do when the violence is not carried out with guns, grenades, and bomb belts – but with signatures, licences, expired no-objection certificates, bribes wrapped in files, and a culture of “chalta hai” that corrodes governance from within? What happens when terrorism wears a suit, carries an official stamp, and hides behind political patronage?
Arpora has given us the answer – and it’s terrifying.
Twenty-five innocent lives lost in a nightclub inferno. Not at the hands of foreign enemies. Not because terrorists infiltrated our borders. But because greed infiltrated our governance. Because corruption – not ideology, pulled the trigger. Because dereliction of duty, that old Goan disease we tolerate as “normal,” became combustible, deadly, and unforgivable.
If Pahalgam was an act of jihadist terror, then Arpora is, in my view, an act of white-collared terrorism – a home-grown monster we have allowed to thrive, fatten, and flourish.
Let us stop calling it an “accident.” There was nothing accidental about it.
The nightclub was illegal.
The licences were questionable.
The safety norms were violated.
The firecrackers were allowed inside a wooden structure plastered over dried grass.
The inspections were a joke.
The officials were asleep or pretending to be asleep.
The system – our system – failed every single one of those 25 people.
And when a system fails knowingly, repeatedly, and profitably… that is not an accident. That is a crime against the people.
We ask for war when our soldiers are killed by terrorists.
But what do we ask for when our citizens are killed by corruption?
Where is the national anger?
Where is the political accountability?
Where is the resolve to crush the white-collared nexus that has made Goa a playground for illegality?
We Goans love to say, “Goa is peaceful.” But tell me, what peace exists in a land where people die because government officers look the other way? Where politicians protect violators instead of protecting citizens? Where every tragedy becomes a media cycle, not a moral awakening?
If we truly believe in the sanctity of life, then the deaths in Arpora must shake us with the same force as Pahalgam.
Because terrorism does not always come wearing black masks. Sometimes it comes dressed in white shirts, armed not with rifles but with power. It doesn’t plant bombs; it plants corruption. And its victims burn just the same.
Corruption is not a governance issue – it is a national security threat. It destabilises trust, weakens institutions, destroys accountability, and endangers lives. It has killed more Indians quietly than any external enemy has killed loudly.
Arpora is our wake-up call.
The question now is not who granted the licence or who collected the bribes. The deeper question is: Do we, as a nation, have the courage to fight the enemies within with the same ferocity as we fight the enemies outside?
If Pakistan had killed 25 Indians inside that nightclub, we would have declared it an act of war.But because corruption killed them, we call it negligence.
This hypocrisy must end.
We owe it to the families who lost their loved ones. We owe it to the young lives that never returned home. We owe it to Goa’s soul – a soul now suffocating under illegalities that have become routine, mechanised, and protected.
The Chief Minister must rise to this moment with the same moral determination with which India responds to external threats. This is not the time for political shielding or bureaucratic explanations. This is the time for decisive action – a full-scale war against corruption in Goa. A war that is relentless, unforgiving, and uncompromising.
Because if we do not act now, then the next tragedy is already in motion. Somewhere another illegal structure is being approved. Another file is being moved with a bribe. Another safety norm is being ignored. Another Arpora is waiting to happen.
The Pahalgam attack forced India to confront terrorism across the border.
The Arpora tragedy must force us to confront terrorism across the corridor – inside our offices, our departments, our governance.
Let us ask the only question that matters now:
Will we finally go to war against the corruption that is killing our own people? Or will we allow white-collared terrorism to remain the deadliest silent enemy of modern India?
