Every few years, someone dusts off the old slogan “Goa for Goans” and throws it into public debate like a Molotov cocktail of identity, anger, and nostalgia. It always ignites – sometimes with passion, sometimes with politics. But every time, we end up right where we began: arguing over who truly qualifies as a Goan.
Let’s be honest – Goa is not just a place; it’s a pulse. It’s not found in the land records, but in the rhythm of the evening mandó, the crack of a football on the beach, the quiet nod between strangers at a bar over feni, and the fierce pride of a people who have seen their paradise change faster than they could say Dev Borem Korum.
But yes, let’s address the uncomfortable truth – Goa is changing, and not always for the better.
“Goa for Goans” started as a cry of identity, a demand for fairness in jobs, housing, and political representation. It was born out of frustration – watching our land being sold faster than fish at the Friday market, our villages turning into concrete jungles, and our culture being reduced to tourist brochures and wedding backdrops.
Yet, slogans without soul are like feni without fire. The sentiment behind “Goa for Goans” must be understood, not weaponised. It’s not about exclusion; it’s about preservation. It’s about saying – we are not anti-outsider, but we are pro-Goa.
Because Goa, my friend, is not a commodity to be bought per square metre. It’s a way of life to be lived per heartbeat.
That’s where the debate becomes philosophical – almost theological.
Is being Goan about having your birth certificate stamped in Panjim? Is it about having an Indian or Portuguese passport? Is it about owning ancestral land? Or is it about loving Goa enough to protect her soul, even when it’s inconvenient?
I’ve met people born outside Goa who understand Goan culture better than some born here. They speak Konkani with respect, celebrate our festivals, preserve old homes instead of demolishing them, and hire locals instead of exploiting them.
And I’ve met some so-called “sons of the soil” who have sold their inheritance for the price of a luxury SUV, replacing fields with flats, ancestral land to fund their gambling habits, and family ties with title deeds.
So yes, “Goan-ness” is not in your surname – it’s in your conscience.
Let’s stop fooling ourselves. The real threat to Goa is not the migrant, nor the tourist, nor the investor. The real threat is our own complacency.
We have allowed a culture of quick profit to devour our villages. We have allowed unplanned development to choke our water, our roads, and our peace. We have allowed corruption – wrapped in political promises and coconut smiles – to eat into our governance.
We have allowed Goa to become a “brand” – a party destination, a film location, a place for booze, drugs and sex, a real estate opportunity – instead of protecting it as a living heritage.
When we say “Goa for Goans”, what we should mean is – Goa for those who will protect her, love her, and respect her. Because heritage is not inherited; it is defended.
Every politician who talks about development in Goa should first define it.
If “development” means another luxury villa colony built over paddy fields, then it is destruction. If it means high-rise apartments blocking sea breezes, it is suffocation. If it means casinos and clubs becoming the symbols of progress, it is moral bankruptcy.
But if development means clean governance, better healthcare, jobs that keep our youth in Goa instead of pushing them to the Gulf, and policies that make farming profitable again – then yes, that is true development.
We must stop mistaking construction for progress. Goa doesn’t need more buildings; it needs more belonging.
Goa is slowly losing its voice – and I mean that literally. Konkani, once the heartbeat of Goan identity, is fading in homes where children speak English, Marathi or Hindi because it sounds “modern”. Our traditional music and theatre are being replaced by karaoke nights and Bollywood remixes.
Our village feasts are losing their meaning, turning into commercial events with plastic tents and political speeches. Our tinto gossip, once the social media of the old days, is being replaced by WhatsApp forwards and fake news.
If we don’t preserve our cultural expressions – our language, our art, our humour – we’ll become cultural tenants in our own land.
Of course, politicians love the “Goa for Goans” slogan. It’s emotional, it’s catchy, and it wins votes. But let’s ask – what have they actually done for Goans?
Every government promises to protect Goan land, yet land conversions continue like clockwork. Every party promises to create jobs for locals, yet the bulk of employment in tourism, casinos, and even government contracts goes to non-locals.
The irony is bitter – politicians shout “Goa for Goans” from podiums built on land sold by Goans to outsiders.
A government that truly cares about Goans, would ensure housing for locals and not migrants pretending to be locals, priority in employment, and laws to protect heritage homes. Instead, we get slogans every election and silence every year after.
But I believe a new kind of Goan is emerging – educated, globally aware, but deeply rooted. This Goan doesn’t just complain on Facebook; he or she takes action.
They form citizen groups to stop illegal constructions, they promote sustainable tourism, they document old Goan recipes, they fight for clean governance, and they refuse to sell their ancestral homes for short-term gain.
This new Goan is not defined by geography but by integrity. Not by bloodline but by belonging.
If “Goa for Goans” is to mean anything in the 21st century, it must include this new generation that loves Goa without entitlement and protects her without applause.
The future of Goa depends on one simple truth – Goa cannot survive if Goans don’t care enough to fight for her.
We need stricter land laws that prevent reckless conversions. We need education reforms that make Konkani and Goan history central, not optional. We need policies that prioritise Goans in employment and housing without discriminating against others.
Most importantly, we need to revive our sense of pride – not the pride that excludes, but the pride that preserves.
Goa for Goans must mean Goa for everyone who loves Goa enough to keep her alive – in spirit, not just in postcards.
When I sit at a beachside, sipping my single malt and watching the evening sun dip into the Arabian Sea, I realise something profound – Goa was never about possession. It was about participation.
So, “Goa for Goans” isn’t a wall; it’s a mirror. It reflects who we are and what we’ve become. And maybe, just maybe, the right question isn’t “Who is a Goan?” – but “Who still loves Goa enough to be one?”
Because in the end, being Goan isn’t about where you were born – it’s about what you are willing to protect.
Dev Borem Korum.
