By Banphira Lang Basaiawmoit
Since taking power in 2018, the Meghalaya Democratic Alliance (MDA) has led the state into a dangerous habit: treating wrongdoing as normal. Across two terms, scandals have appeared in one department after another. But nothing shows the fall of governance more clearly than illegal coal mining.
Coal is not just a “scam.” Coal has become a system. A shadow economy. A machine that runs on silence, fear, and protection from the powerful. What should have been stopped as a serious crime was allowed to grow. And as it grew, it did not only destroy land and rivers. It began to destroy human life. Opposition parties and civil society called the MDA years “unprecedented, unabated and unabashed corruption.” In February 2023, a chargesheet titled The Grand Meghalaya Loot alleged that large-scale fraud thrived with the “knowledge, know-how and blessings of the Chief Minister.” The government dismissed this as politics. But the coal story is not a slogan. It is a trail of evidence, court observations, and dead bodies. Coal in Meghalaya has become the graveyard of governance, where law, life, and landscape are buried together.
Illegal Coal Mining: The Original Sin of MDA Governance: Long before power scams, rice thefts, or construction frauds, there was coal. Rat-hole mining was banned in 2014 by the National Green Tribunal (NGT). The Supreme Court repeatedly stated that this unsafe mining must stop. Yet after 2018, illegal coal mining did not shrink. It spread. Coal trucks moved openly on highways. Checkpoints became a formality. Fresh coal was shown as “pre-ban stock,” as if changing a label could change the truth. A High Court–appointed probe led by Justice B.P. Katakey revealed the scale: over 13 lakh metric tonnes of coal illegally mined was passed off as legal. The report observed that such large-scale illegal mining and transportation could not have occurred without the involvement or failure of state authorities. That is not just carelessness. It points to systemic breakdown. And the deepest horror is this: while coal made some people rich, it also made death common.
Death Underground: Silence Above
Rat-hole mining is not mining in the modern sense. It is men crawling into narrow holes in the earth, often without proper light, air, or safety tools. It is danger made routine, because poverty leaves people with few choices. Year after year, miners have died underground. Many were migrant workers. Some drowned. Some suffocated. Some were crushed. The most haunting tragedy came in December 2018, when 15 miners were trapped and killed in a flooded illegal mine in Ksan village. Their disintegrated bodies were recovered after weeks of rescue efforts that drew national and international attention. These deaths were not “accidents.” They were the predictable result of allowing a banned industry to continue openly.
And when people tried to expose this truth, the response was violence. In 2018, women’s rights activist Agnes Kharshiing documented illegal coal transport. She was brutally assaulted in broad daylight by a coal mafia mob. The message was clear: speak the truth, and you may not survive.
By 2023, the Meghalaya High Court openly referred to credible reports alleging that fixed bribe rates were being paid to police and officials so coal trucks could pass. The Court even hinted at a possible CBI probe. That is the kind of warning a court gives only when it sees a system, not a one-time crime.
Even inside the MDA coalition, pressure rose to the top. The Chief Minister’s brother, James K.Sangma, served as Home Minister in the first MDA government until he was removed in 2020 following allegations of involvement in illegal coal transport. Coalition partners demanded his removal. Conrad Sangma stripped him of the Home portfolio. But he was not dropped from power. He was moved to other ministries. Illegal mining continued. Which raises a painful question: was it ever really about one man, or was it always about a whole system?
The coal saga is the clearest proof of MDA’s failure to uphold law. A banned activity continued for years as an “open secret.” Court orders were treated lightly. Lives were treated as cheap. Nature was treated as expendable.
The Power Department Saubhagya Scam: Looting in the Name of Light: If coal shows a crime protected by silence, the Saubhagya case shows public money drained through “official” decisions. Saubhagya was meant to give electricity connections to rural homes. But a 2021 audit by the Comptroller and Auditor General (CAG) found serious wrongdoing. It said the Power Department gave “undue favours” to a Delhi-based firm and bypassed proper rules. The audit estimated a loss of Rs 149 crore to the state. This means money meant to bring light into homes was mishandled, diverted, or wasted through distorted tendering.
Around the same time, accusations also arose over the ADB-funded smart metering project. There were claims of inflated costs and tenders shaped for certain vendors. Public anger grew. Political pressure grew. James Sangma eventually had to give up the power portfolio in 2021. Even the BJP, an MDA partner, demanded arrest if evidence showed his involvement. But again, the larger question remained untouched: when audits point to large losses, why do consequences still feel so small?
A Collapsing Dome: A Symbol the State Could Not Hide
In May 2022, the dome of the new Meghalaya Legislative Assembly building collapsed. It fell early one morning. Thankfully no one died. But the collapse became a symbol too perfect to ignore: the house of democracy literally crumbling. The facts that surfaced were shocking. The project cost rose from about Rs 105 crore to Rs 177.8 crore. Around 90 percent of the money (Rs 160 crore) had already been paid even though only around 65 to 70 percent of the work was complete.
More disturbing was the tender story. The contract went to a UP-based state PSU at 21 percent above the original cost after two bidders were disqualified. The winning firm was reported to have sub-contracted significant portions of the work to the same disqualified companies. To ordinary people, this sounded like a simple story: names changed, paperwork done, money released, and quality ignored.
Critics called it the “Assembly Dome Collapse Scam.” An inquiry pointed to design flaws, but the tender details suggested something deeper: rules bent to breaking point. Another detail fuelled public outrage. The executive engineer, Ransom Sutnga, took voluntary retirement and later became an NPP candidate in 2023. The Opposition alleged this was a reward. Whether or not that is proven, the public perception was devastating: failure did not bring punishment, it brought promotion.
Pandemic Profiteering: COVID-19 Fund Mismanagement
During COVID-19, people expected the government to protect lives. Instead, official figures suggest that even the pandemic may have been used as an opportunity for misuse. The State Government publicly stated that it spent Rs 816 crore on COVID-19 management. For a small state, that figure shocked many, especially when compared with Manipur, which reportedly spent just over Rs 100 crore despite having more cases and more deaths.
Where did Meghalaya’s money go? A key gap deepened the doubt. The Centre released Rs 119.7 crore to Meghalaya for COVID relief. But the state Health Department reportedly told the Assembly that only Rs 76 crore was received. That leaves about Rs 43 crore unaccounted for. Then came another startling contradiction. Dr. Aman War, Director of Health Services, later said that according to his assessment only around Rs 248 crore was actually spent and that he had “no clue” how the government arrived at the Rs 816 crore figure. When officials themselves cannot explain the numbers, public trust collapses. For families who suffered during the pandemic, this is not a technical issue. It is a betrayal.
Public Distribution Plunder: The Great Rice Scam
Even ration rice became a target. In July 2021, Assam Police seized 100,000 bags of rice in a warehouse in Kamrup district. The sacks were marked for Meghalaya’s Public Distribution System, meant for poor families. Activists alleged that Meghalaya’s PDS rice was being diverted and sold outside the state. One lakh bags is not small theft. It is a pipeline. And pipelines do not run without protection, or at least deliberate blindness. A judicial commission was formed. Activists testified. Yet the public still has no clear answer on who benefited, who enabled it, and who was punished.
Liquor Cartels and Casino Licenses: Testing the Moral Limits: Two controversies showed the same habit: pushing questionable decisions until public pressure forced retreat. In 2019, Meghalaya’s Excise Policy introduced a centralized bonded warehousing system that critics alleged enabled cartelisation in the liquor trade. Opposition parties and traders claimed that control over bonded warehouses became concentrated in a small group of firms, leading to higher prices and reduced competition. While the government denied wrongdoing, the episode raised serious questions about whether regulatory power was being used to restrict, rather than regulate, the market.
Then came the casino licenses. In 2022, the government issued provisional licenses to three firms to open casinos in Khanapara. There was immediate backlash from church leaders, civil society, and opposition parties. Meghalaya has a Christian-majority population, and many saw casinos as a threat to social well-being. There were also allegations of favouritism in how licenses were issued. Under pressure, the government withdrew. But the damage was done: the public saw how quietly such decisions could be made—and how slowly accountability followed.
Cronyism and Nepotism: Family Fiefdoms in Governance
Beyond major scandals lies a quieter corruption: when power becomes family business. According to opposition leaders and media investigations, critics have pointed to the Dhar family’s dominance in government contracts. Ministers Sniawbhalang Dhar and his nephew Dasakhiatbha Lamare are linked to Dhar Construction Company (DCC), described as having virtually monopolised road and infrastructure projects across Khasi-Jaintia and Ri-Bhoi during MDA-1. To the public, it looks like a closed circle: power on one side, contracts on the other.
Then there was the Police Vehicle Procurement Scam. In 2022, the CID arrested Assistant Inspector-General (AIG) Gabriel Iangrai in connection with a vehicle procurement scam involving purchases without proper procedure, unregistered vehicles, cheaper models billed as expensive ones, and misuse of fuel coupons. An inquiry raised a disturbing question: could such a scheme occur, “without support and blessings” from senior officials? When those meant to enforce the law are accused of breaking it from within, public faith in justice itself begins to erode.
The Cost of Making Sin Normal
From 2018 till today, the scandals under the MDA are not isolated incidents. They form a pattern. Wrongdoing was allowed to flourish while the powerful escaped meaningful consequences and citizens were left with anger, shock, and exhaustion.
Coal remains the most painful example because it combines every form of collapse: illegal profit, environmental destruction, violence against whistle-blowers, judicial warnings, and the steady loss of life underground. If coal is the original sin, then much of what followed appears to grow from it.
What is most disturbing is continuity. MDA-1 slid into MDA-2 with little sign of moral correction. Reports are written. Audits are published. Commissions are formed. But accountability at the top is absent or delayed. This creates a dangerous belief that power shields wrongdoing.
Yet Meghalaya has also shown that resistance is possible. Public pressure halted the casino plan. The High Court repeatedly intervened on coal. Civil society and the church raised their voices. These moments show that the conscience of the state is not dead. But conscience alone is not enough. Meghalaya needs consequences. Real investigations. Real punishment. Real change. A government cannot sing hymns on Sunday and protect illegality from Monday to Saturday. When wrongdoing becomes policy and death becomes routine, the state forfeits its moral right to govern.
This is no longer only about scams. It is about the soul of governance in Meghalaya—and whether its people will accept darkness as normal, or demand accountability that cannot be bargained away.
(The author is a youth leader and Chief Organiser of the Meghalaya Pradesh Congress Seva Dal. His works focuses on grassroots engagement, social justice, and accountable governance).
