In formally implicating Prafulla Mahanta, Assam's chief minister, in the letter of credit (LOC) scandal and seeking the state governor's permission to prosecute him, the CBI has only given Indians an unmistakable sense of deja vu. Analogies are being drawn with Laloo Prasad Yadav -- who faced a similar predicament in Bihar's fodder scandal. Once again, an inquiry into fraud and embezzlement is being subverted into a political football. The Congress has already demanded Mahanta's resignation. On the other hand, his allies in the United Front are pointing to the CBI's poor conviction record, never mind that they forced Laloo to demit office less than six months ago. As an electoral drama unfolds, tracking down the culprits of the LOC swindle is nobody's priority.

There are some lessons for India here. One, and admittedly this is hardly a new discovery, politicians have a remarkably flexible sense of right and wrong. Morality is modulated by exigencies of power. Thus, Laloo's friends and foes have reversed stances in Mahanta's case. Second, there is something profoundly undemocratic about a mechanism which requires the governor's permission to even begin legal proceedings against a chief minister seen as corrupt. The CBI, warts and all, is the premier investigative agency in this country. If it deems it fit to accuse any individual -- be he chief minister, cricketer or carpenter -- of corruption, the matter has to be taken seriously. To ask the governor to vet the CBI's charge-sheet is anachronistic. This is really the job of the local public prosecutor. Also, while Assam's present governor, Lt-General (retd) S.K. Sinha, is a man of rectitude, every governor need not be. A cosy governor-chief minister nexus may well become a protection racket. It is time for a change in the prosecution paradigm -- not because the individuals have outgrown the system but because the system has outgrown the individuals.

Yes Comrade Minister
The CPI(M) has finally learnt that it pays to be in the government.

Wisdom, it seems, dawns belatedly on the proletarian vanguard. Jyoti Basu, the evergreen chief minister of West Bengal, has begun his party's election campaign with the assurance that in the event of the United Front winning a majority, the CPI(M) will not shirk its responsibility. The implication is clear: this time the party will not repeat its "historic blunder" of 1996 and will actually participate in the government. The shift in tack is understandable. Confronted by the threat of being squeezed out by the pincer movement of the Congress and the BJP, the CPI(M) needs to assure its faithful that a vote for the hammer and sickle is not by definition a vote for a non-governing party. This is important in the context of West Bengal because the state is fully aware of the high cost of not having a meaningful stake at the Centre.

Basu's local compulsions apart, the CPI(M)'s apparent willingness to reconsider its non-participation in bourgeoisie-led governments constitutes a grudging acknowledgement of reality. Politics may be a mission or even part of a larger transformation of society, but it is inextricably linked to power. Political parties exist to shape policies and determine the tone of governance. By wilfully opting out of this duty due to some dogma, the CPI(M) ended up signalling to its supporters that it was a non-player in national politics. Rather than suffer the consequences of this realisation, the party has done a U-turn. Far from mocking this departure from classical Marxist tenets, the CPI(M)'s heretical turn has to be encouraged. It is only when politicians acquire a stake in the power structure that they grasp the distinction between sloganeering and responsibility. Between 1996 and 1997, the CPI(M) chanted disruptive slogans from the sidelines. It cost India dearly. The damage cannot be undone, but at least someone has learnt something.

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