Moral integrity in the political class is a paradox that India has continually struggled with. While, on the one hand, the electorate demands moral rectitude in the political class, there has, on the other, been a pervading spectre of criminality prevailing in the political class. The proposed Constitution (One Hundred and Thirtieth Amendment) Bill, 2025, that was introduced in the Lok Sabha on August 20, 2025, is aimed at filling this vacuum by providing a condition. Under this, Ministers, Chief Ministers and even the Prime Minister must either resign or automatically be subject to removal if they continue to be in custody even after a consecutive period of 30 days in crimes that carry a maximum punishment of five years or more of imprisonment.
On the surface, the action appears to be a decisive initiative toward enabling cleaner politics. It touches upon the disturbing fact of corrupt leaders in custody holding on to power, a situation that has made people lose trust in governance. But there are political pitfalls and constitutional quandaries that lurk beneath its promise.
The foundation for this Bill rests on Articles 75, 164 and 239AA of the Constitution, which deal with the appointment and tenure of Ministers in the Union, States and Delhi, respectively. While Articles 75(1), 164(1) and 239AA(5) mandate that Ministers shall hold office at the pleasure of the President of India (or Governor), this “pleasure” has been judicially interpreted within the bounds of constitutional morality and legal propriety, as in cases such as Shamsher Singh and Anr. vs State Of Punjab and Nabam Rebia And Etc. Etc. vs Deputy Speaker And Ors.
Judicial pronouncements
The Supreme Court of India, in S.R. Bommai vs Union of India, underscored the role of constitutional morality as a guiding principle, thus pronouncing that democratic institutions must be nurtured through integrity and accountability. Later, in Manoj Narula vs Union of India, the Court directly addressed the ethical dimension of ministerial appointments, warning that individuals with serious criminal charges should not be entrusted with executive power. Although the Court stopped short of mandating automatic removal, it clearly signalled that morality is intrinsic to the constitutional framework. The Bill, therefore, draws strength from these pronouncements, seeking to give legislative form to what has long been a judicially recognised moral imperative.
But this Bill’s very ambition may be its Achilles’ heel. The most glaring issue concerns the principle of presumption of innocence, which forms part of the right to life and liberty under Article 21. To equate arrest and detention with grounds for removal, without conviction or even the framing of charges, risks undermining this foundational constitutional value. Section 8(3) of the Representation of The People Act concerns the disqualification of members on the conviction of certain offences. In the case of Lily Thomas vs Union of India, the Supreme Court held that a lawmaker, only upon conviction, immediately stands immediately disqualified. The three-month window to file an appeal and continue as a legislator was also struck down, thus providing jurisprudential support for stringent accountability even before the existence of the Bill. Here, it is important to note that disqualification begins only when someone is convicted, and not when someone is arrested or detained.
The problem is compounded by the Bill’s reliance on executive discretion through the insertion of Clause 5A after Clause 5 of Article 75, Clause 4A after Clause 4 of Article 164 and Clause 5A after Clause 5 of Article 239AA of the Constitution. Ministers can be removed on the advice of the Prime Minister or Chief Minister, but automatic removal kicks in if such advice is withheld. This dual mechanism politicises the process: a Prime Minister may shield allies for 30 days, while a hostile Chief Minister may allow rivals to fall by the automatic rule. Instead of insulating governance from partisanship, the Bill risks embedding accountability in the shifting sands of political calculation.
Inconsistency in treatment
The inconsistency in treatment between legislators and Ministers further complicates matters. Members of Parliament and Members of State legislatures face disqualification only upon conviction under the Representation of the People Act. By contrast, Ministers under this Bill would be forced to resign on mere detention. This creates a paradoxical situation wherein a legislator convicted of corruption may technically continue as a Minister until disqualified under the Act, while a Minister only under arrest would be forced out. The asymmetry may appear to elevate the standards for executive office, but it also undermines consistency in the constitutional treatment of public officials. It risks deterring capable individuals from accepting ministerial responsibility, knowing that they face harsher consequences than their legislative peers on the basis of unproven allegations.
There is also the problem of the “revolving door”. Because the Bill allows reappointment once a Minister is released from custody, there could be cycles of resignation and reinstatement depending on the pace of legal proceedings. Imagine a Chief Minister who is arrested and detained for 31 days, who is forced to resign, but later released on bail and promptly reinstated by the Governor. The State would have endured weeks of political uncertainty with little to gain in ethical accountability. Such instability may not only weaken governance but also incentivise tactical legal manoeuvres, where political actors use the law as a tool to manipulate executive offices.
Need for a more nuanced model
None of this is to deny the urgency of reform. The rise of criminalisation in politics is a stark reality. According to a comprehensive analysis by the Association for Democratic Reforms and National Election Watch of all 543 winning candidates in the 2024 general election, 251 Members of Parliament (46%) had declared criminal cases against themselves, up from 43% in 2019, 34% in 2014, and 30% in 2009, representing a 55% increase over 15 years. Yet, the bluntness of its approach risks undermining both the principle of fairness and the stability of governance. A more nuanced model would better serve the constitutional goal of clean politics without eroding democratic safeguards.
One pathway could be to link removal not to arrest but, instead, to judicial milestones such as the framing of charges by a competent court. This would ensure that only cases that pass initial judicial scrutiny trigger resignation, filtering out frivolous or politically motivated arrests. Another safeguard could be the establishment of an independent review mechanism, such as a tribunal or a judicial panel, to examine whether the conditions for removal have been met. This would prevent executive overreach and ensure impartial application. Similarly, instead of outright removal, the law could provide for interim suspension of ministerial functions during ongoing trials, allowing governance to continue without compromising accountability. Most importantly, the Bill should refine its scope to apply only to offences involving moral turpitude and corruption, rather than casting a wide net over any offence punishable with five years’ imprisonment, which could include relatively minor criminal conduct.
In sum, the Constitution (One Hundred and Thirtieth Amendment) Bill, 2025, stakes out a significant normative position that citizens might welcome as a forceful stand against corruption and criminality. But its formulation elides the inherent tension between safeguarding democratic deliverance of justice and urgent demands for ethical governance. Unless the Joint Parliamentary Committee (JPC) carefully recalibrates to incorporate due process and institutional checks — the Bill is with the JPC — it could transmute constitutional safeguards into instruments of political exclusion, testing the delicate balance of India’s democratic experiment. For, in the long run, power without integrity corrodes democracy, and integrity without fairness endangers it.
Samayeta Bal is an advocate, a former Legislative Assistants to Members of Parliament (LAMP) Fellow (2024-25), and currently a Parliamentary, Legislative and Policy Researcher
Published – August 25, 2025 12:16 am IST