There is a growing distance in Goa today – not just physical, but emotional and political. It is the distance between a government that appears to be dreaming in Delhi boardrooms and a people who are firmly rooted in the soil of Goa. That gap is now wide enough to explain almost every major public protest we have seen in recent years.
The Goa government seems increasingly enamoured by the applause of national political power circles and big business lobbies. Mega projects, investment summits, glossy MoUs, and ‘world-class’ taglines dominate official narratives. But step outside these air-conditioned announcements and into a Goan village, and the conversation is very different. People are not asking for skywalks, vanity infrastructure, or land-hungry mega ventures. They are asking a far more basic question: Who is all this development really for?
Goa is not just a small state geographically; it is small in ecological carrying capacity, in cultural resilience, and in land availability. Every policy decision here has a multiplier effect. When a forest is diverted, a hill is cut, a village road is widened beyond need, or a mega housing project is cleared, it does not remain a file note – it permanently alters the social and environmental balance of a fragile region.
Yet decision-making today often feels outsourced – intellectually and politically – to interests that do not live with the consequences. Delhi-based consultants, corporate lobbyists, and centralised policy templates are being applied to Goa as though it were just another expandable urban frontier. It is not. Goa is a living heritage landscape with a deeply participatory local culture. Ignoring that is not modern governance; it is administrative arrogance.
Look at the pattern of citizen protests. Whether it is against linear infrastructure slicing through forests, real estate overreach in coastal and village zones, questionable land conversions, or environmentally risky industrial proposals – the protests are not coming from professional activists alone. They are coming from ordinary Goans: teachers, retired officials, young students, doctors, farmers, and small business owners.
These are not anti-development voices. They are anti-exclusion voices.
The common thread in most agitations is not blind resistance but a feeling of being bypassed. People discover projects after clearances are already advanced. Public hearings feel procedural rather than participatory. Objections are recorded but rarely reflected in outcomes. The message people receive is clear: consultation is a formality, not a foundation.
The Goa government’s decision to shift the proposed Unity Mall and Prashasan Stambh projects raises an important question: why were these locations finalised in the first place without sensing public sentiment? Both projects, ambitious in vision, ran into resistance because people felt planning was happening around them, not with them. Development cannot be reduced to architectural statements and ceremonial symbolism while ignoring local concerns about space, traffic, environment, and heritage. Relocating the projects may be administratively convenient, but it also reflects a deeper governance gap. If authorities engaged citizens early and sincerely, such reversals – and the distrust they create – could largely be avoided.
A government that truly walks with its people would invert this approach. Instead of announcing projects and then managing backlash, it would begin with community dialogue and shape projects around local consent and long-term sustainability. That is slower politics, yes – but it is also smarter and more stable politics.
The irony is that Goa has a long tradition of strong civic engagement. From the Opinion Poll era to the language movement to environmental protections, Goans have repeatedly shown they are informed, articulate, and deeply invested in their state’s future. Treating such a society as an obstacle to be “handled” rather than a partner to be heard is a fundamental misreading of Goa’s political DNA.
Another worrying trend is the subtle equation of criticism with disloyalty. When citizens question projects, they are often branded as anti-development or politically motivated. This is a dangerous narrative. Dissent in Goa has historically been a form of democratic guardianship, not sabotage. When people take to the streets here, it is usually after institutional channels have failed them.
If the government genuinely wants fewer protests, the solution is not tighter policing, louder PR campaigns, or dismissive rhetoric. The solution is proximity – physical and political. Ministers and senior officials must spend less time at investment roadshows and more time in gram sabhas. Policy drafts should be discussed before they are finalised, not defended after they are signed. Environmental and social impact assessments must be transparent, locally accessible, and open to meaningful revision.
Development in Goa cannot be measured only in investment figures or construction volume. It must be measured in water security, forest cover, cultural continuity, village livability, and intergenerational fairness. A project that boosts short-term revenue but erodes long-term ecological stability is not progress; it is deferred crisis.
There is also a political lesson here. Governments that stay grounded rarely face sustained public unrest. Those that drift into elite echo chambers inevitably do. Goa’s protests are not a law-and-order issue – they are feedback signals. They are the public telling the government: “You are moving too fast, too far away from us.”
Walking with the people does not mean rejecting all growth. It means choosing growth that fits Goa rather than forcing Goa to fit someone else’s growth model. It means recognising that in a small state, trust is the most valuable political capital – and once lost, it is far harder to rebuild than any piece of infrastructure.
If those in power step down from the clouds of distant ambition and stand once again on Goan soil – listening, adjusting, and co-creating policy – many of today’s protests would never arise. Because when people feel heard at the beginning, they do not need to shout at the end.
