A Bill that creates a kill switch for regime change

The Constitution (One Hundred and Thirtieth Amendment) Bill, 2025, introduced in the Lok Sabha, seeks to amend Articles 75, 164, and 239AA of the Constitution. Two allied bills extend the same to the Union Territories and Jammu and Kashmir. Given that the government lacks a two-thirds majority, these proposals may never be enacted. Yet, the thinking behind them deserves scrutiny.

At its core, the amendment mandates that any Union or State Minister, including the Prime Minister or a Chief Minister, who is arrested and remains in custody for thirty consecutive days on charges carrying a potential sentence of five years or more, must resign or automatically vacate office. The justification offered is lofty: to uphold constitutional morality, preserve public trust, and ensure that those in high office remain beyond reproach.

But noble intentions do not always yield noble results. In politics, where strategy often trumps morality, a constitutional amendment can become a weapon. The cure may prove worse than the disease.

The Promise of Clean Politics

The Statement of Objects and Reasons insists that ministers must be models of probity and incapable of thwarting governance while in custody. To a weary citizenry, tired of tainted leaders clinging to office, this sounds attractive.

Yet the moral appeal falters against political reality. Arrest and custody are not guilt. They are often tactical instruments. In a democracy with politicised police forces, the line between prosecution and persecution is thin. This amendment risks creating more incentives to arrest rather than fewer.

A 30-Day Window for Regime Change

The most striking feature is the 30-day clock. If a minister is held beyond thirty days, they must resign. On paper, this filters out frivolous arrests. In practice, it creates a constitutionally sanctioned “kill switch” for regime change.

Picture an opposition Chief Minister heading into an election. A timely arrest engineered a month before polling could decapitate the party, leaving it rudderless. In volatile electoral politics, the removal of an incumbent leader could swing the result.

The precision of the timeline makes this amendment less a safeguard and more a political masterstroke: a lock-up, not the ballot, becomes the means of dislodging governments.

Police, Judges & Lawyers as Political Players

The provision would inevitably politicise institutions that should remain neutral. Police officers, already vulnerable to political pressure, would know that arresting a chief minister could topple a government. Judges, ruling on bail applications, would effectively decide who governs. Even lawyers, skilled in strategic bail manoeuvres, would find themselves central actors in high-stakes political combat.

Thus, policemen and judges who should guard impartiality could become unwilling or willing players in partisan battles. The line between law enforcement and political engineering would blur beyond recognition.

The Most Vulnerable: Opposition Chief Ministers

History suggests such provisions are rarely used against the ruling party’s own. The targets will be opposition Chief Ministers heading into elections. Their removal would not only bar them from campaigning but would also fracture their parties. Legislators, deprived of their leader, would be ripe for inducement or intimidation.

Consider a popular opposition CM, poised for victory, arrested weeks before polls. Even if later released, the election would already be fought and lost. Timing is everything in politics. This amendment allows rivals to time a leader’s fall with surgical precision.

Lessons from Pakistan

Pakistan offers a sobering example of how legal instruments can hollow out democracy. Nawaz Sharif was disqualified by the Supreme Court in 2017 on charges many saw as politically orchestrated. His removal destabilised democratic processes and strengthened unelected actors.

Imran Khan, once establishment-favoured, now finds himself disqualified, imprisoned, and excluded from politics. His popularity among voters did not protect him from judicial manoeuvres.

Both cases show how laws, cloaked in the language of morality, can be tools for disqualification and delegitimisation. Pakistan’s democracy is weaker because courts allowed themselves to become instruments of regime change. India risks writing into its Constitution a similar pathway.

Constitutional Morality vs Political Expediency

Supporters of the Bill argue that a minister in prolonged custody cannot discharge duties. True, but remedies already exist. Portfolios can be reallocated, acting heads appointed, and legislatures can decide whether to continue supporting a detained leader. Democracies have self-correcting mechanisms.

By short-circuiting these processes with a rigid constitutional timeline, the amendment elevates expediency over principle. It undermines the presumption of innocence, converting temporary detention — often driven by vendetta — into an automatic disqualification.

Every amendment sets precedent. If today ministers are forced out after 30 days, tomorrow legislators may be disqualified after 15. The bar may keep shifting, normalising the use of arrest as a political tool. The attempt to cleanse politics could end up making arrest the very currency of politics.

The danger lies not only in misuse but in perception. Citizens would see that leadership is decided not by the ballot, but by police stations and courtrooms. That belief, once entrenched, corrodes democracy far more than the sight of a minister in custody ever could.

Remedy Worse than Disease

The Constitution is meant to shield democracy, not provide swords for cutting down rivals. The 130th Amendment Bill, though noble in intent, risks incentivising arrests, emboldening partisan policing, and politicising the judiciary. The losers would be the voters, whose mandate could be truncated mid-term.

If Pakistan teaches anything, it is that democracy collapses not when unpopular leaders cling to office, but when popular leaders are denied their chance to face the people. India should not repeat that mistake.

In the end, the true ruler is not a police officer or magistrate. It is the voter. And only the voter should decide who stays and who goes.

Sanjay Hegde is a senior advocate in the Supreme Court.

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