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Seven Children Dead: When Will India Demand Accountability?
Tragedies are not always accidents. They are predictable failures waiting for the right moment to become disasters.
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Another tragedy. Another building collapse. Another group of young lives lost. Another set of families destroyed forever. The reported collapse involving a PG or hostel building in South Delhi, where seven children reportedly lost their lives and several others were seriously injured, should force us to ask a question that India repeatedly avoids: when the entire State machinery fails to do its job, who is actually held accountable?
Unfortunately, we already know what will happen next. Politicians will express grief and offer condolences. Government officials will announce an inquiry. A few people may be suspended. Compensation will be announced for the victims’ families. Television channels will debate the tragedy for a few days. Political parties will blame each other. And then, slowly and silently, the country will move on—until another tragedy reminds us once again that nothing really changed.
India has developed a very convenient system of accountability. When an ordinary citizen breaks the law, the citizen can be fined, punished or arrested. But when the government machinery fails to perform its basic duties and people die, responsibility suddenly becomes extremely complicated. Different departments start blaming each other, politicians blame previous governments, authorities blame private individuals, and ultimately the ordinary citizen is somehow made responsible for his own suffering.
Take something as simple as people urinating on public walls. We immediately hear that Indians have no civic sense and that citizens do not follow basic civic norms. Perhaps that criticism is sometimes justified. But who has the legal authority to enforce these rules? Who has the power to impose fines? Who is responsible for maintaining public spaces and civic discipline? The police and municipal authorities have powers and responsibilities, but when enforcement fails, the final conclusion is that the citizens are uncivilised. The government has the power, but apparently the citizen carries the responsibility.
The same logic becomes even more dangerous when a building collapses. A student comes to Delhi from another city to study. His parents may have spent their savings, borrowed money or made enormous sacrifices to send him to the national capital. He searches for affordable accommodation, finds a PG or hostel, pays rent and moves in. Why should that student be expected to become a structural engineer before entering the building? Should every student ask for approved building plans, structural stability certificates, fire safety permissions and municipal inspection records before renting a room? That is not the responsibility of a student. That is exactly why government institutions exist.
If an unsafe building is operating openly, housing people and collecting rent for months or years, the most important question cannot simply be whether the owner violated the law. Of course, if the owner violated the law, he must be held accountable. But that is only half the story. The bigger question is: who was responsible for checking whether the law was being followed? Who had the power to inspect the building? Who could issue notices? Who could impose penalties? Who could seal an unsafe property? Who was paid from public money to ensure that such violations did not put human lives at risk?
Delhi is perhaps one of the most heavily governed places in India, yet it often appears to be one of the least accountable. Delhi has the Central Government, the Union Home Ministry, urban development authorities, the Lieutenant Governor, the Chief Minister, Ministers, MLAs, municipal corporations, police, development agencies and numerous other government departments and institutions. For such a geographically small territory, the number of people and institutions involved in governance is enormous. Yet when something goes terribly wrong, nobody seems to know who was actually responsible.
This is perhaps the greatest problem with the governance structure of Delhi: everyone has power, but nobody wants responsibility. When something good happens, politicians compete to take credit. When something goes wrong, every institution discovers that another department had jurisdiction. The Centre blames the State. The State blames the Centre. Municipal authorities blame property owners. Police say they were not informed. Politicians blame previous governments. Meanwhile, ordinary citizens are left asking a very simple question: if everyone is governing Delhi, then why is nobody accountable when Delhi fails?
We have seen similar patterns repeatedly. Fires in coaching facilities, unsafe basements being used for libraries or commercial purposes, waterlogging, illegal constructions and buildings operating without proper safety measures are not new issues. What is astonishing is that after a tragedy occurs, authorities suddenly become extremely efficient at discovering violations. Within hours, they announce that permissions were missing. They discover illegal construction. They find that safety norms were violated. They identify that the premises were being used illegally. This raises a deeply uncomfortable question: why does the government become capable of discovering violations only after people have died?
Before the tragedy, the violations remain invisible. After people die, suddenly every department knows exactly what was wrong. If authorities can identify an illegal building after a collapse, why could they not identify it before the collapse? If they can discover safety violations after a fire, why could they not discover them before people were trapped inside? Is death now the trigger required for government inspection?
After public anger increases, another familiar drama begins. Some government officials are suspended. Headlines announce that strict action has been taken. The public is expected to believe that accountability has arrived. But suspension is not necessarily accountability. In many cases, after public attention disappears, suspensions are revoked and officials quietly return to their positions. The system continues functioning exactly as before. Then another tragedy occurs, another set of officials are suspended, another inquiry is announced, and the entire cycle begins again.
This is not accountability. This is crisis management for public anger. Real accountability means finding out who was responsible, who failed to act, whether warnings were ignored, whether negligence was involved and whether any official deliberately allowed violations to continue. Most importantly, it means ensuring that consequences do not disappear simply because the public and the media have moved on to another story.
Another painful reality becomes visible whenever a major disaster occurs in India. The first people who come forward to rescue victims are often ordinary citizens. Neighbours, shopkeepers, passers-by, local residents and young people with no professional rescue training frequently risk their own lives to save others. They remove debris, carry injured people and transport strangers to hospitals. Meanwhile, emergency services struggle with manpower shortages, inadequate equipment, traffic congestion and poor infrastructure.
This is not necessarily a criticism of individual firefighters, police officers or emergency workers, many of whom work courageously under extremely difficult conditions. The real question is about the system that expects them to perform miracles without always providing sufficient manpower, equipment and infrastructure. A country cannot depend upon the courage of ordinary citizens to compensate for institutional failure. The bravery of citizens should be appreciated, but it should never become a substitute for a functioning State.
Whenever a tragedy happens, municipal authorities often issue a statement saying that the owner of the property violated the rules. Fine. Take action against the owner. Punish him if he is responsible. But the story cannot end there. If a property owner violated the law openly for years, who was responsible for checking? The government has inspectors, enforcement officers, licensing authorities, municipal laws and the power to impose penalties or seal buildings. A private person’s violation does not automatically erase the failure of public servants who were responsible for detecting and preventing that violation.
Private wrongdoing does not erase public failure. Both must be investigated. Both must be accountable.
Then comes politics. Every tragedy eventually becomes another opportunity for political parties to attack each other. One government blames the previous government. The opposition blames the ruling party. The ruling party blames another authority. Press conferences are held, statements are issued and social media campaigns begin. But the parents who have lost their children are not interested in who wins the next election. They want to know one simple thing: why was my child not safe?
Governments are not elected merely to announce compensation after people die. They are elected to create systems that prevent unnecessary deaths. Condolences after a tragedy are not governance. Compensation after a tragedy is not governance. Suspension after a tragedy is not governance. Prevention is governance.
Sometimes it appears that the ordinary citizen is important to the State only at two moments: when elections are approaching and when taxes are due. During elections, citizens are called the foundation of democracy. After elections, the same citizens are blamed for everything. Traffic is bad because citizens have no discipline. Garbage exists because citizens have no civic sense. Buildings collapse because citizens should have been more careful. Flooding occurs because people built illegally. Fire accidents happen because somebody violated safety rules. Every failure somehow becomes the failure of ordinary people.
But then the obvious question is: what exactly is the government responsible for? If citizens must solve every problem themselves, inspect every building themselves, rescue themselves during disasters and somehow protect themselves from failures of public institutions, then why does the country maintain such a massive administrative machinery funded by public money?
Sometimes the condition of ordinary citizens resembles the tragic condition of stray cattle in India. A cow is useful when someone wants milk. After that, it is often left to wander wherever it can survive, eating garbage and sometimes even plastic. When it becomes useful again, someone comes to claim it. Citizens sometimes feel the same way. When the government needs votes, citizens are called the soul of democracy. When the government needs taxes, citizens are reminded of their duty to the nation. But when citizens need safe roads, safe buildings, functioning drainage, emergency services and basic protection, they are told that they should have been more careful.
People are increasingly being left at the mercy of luck. Or, as many frustrated citizens would say, at the mercy of God. India is a religious country and people have faith in God, but God should not be expected to perform the duties for which government departments are paid. Parents should not have to pray every morning simply because they cannot trust whether the buildings their children enter are safe. Citizens should not have to depend on divine intervention for basic public safety.
Faith is personal, but public safety is the responsibility of the State.
The tragedy involving the South Delhi PG or hostel should therefore not disappear as just another headline. Seven young lives should not become merely a number that people forget after a few days. Every death caused by institutional negligence should force the country to examine the system that allowed it to happen.
India does not need another committee whose report will gather dust. It does not need another temporary suspension designed to calm public anger. It does not need politicians standing at tragedy sites and competing for television coverage. It needs something much more meaningful: real accountability.
Every government department should have clearly defined responsibilities. Every unsafe building should have a traceable history of inspections and approvals. Every complaint should have an officer responsible for acting on it. Every official failure should have consequences. And those consequences should not disappear after two or three months when the public has forgotten the incident.
Politicians must also stop hiding behind the excuse that a previous government was responsible. If you are in power today, then you are responsible for fixing what exists today. That is what power means. You cannot enjoy the privileges of power while permanently refusing the burden of responsibility.
The fundamental question is not whether citizens should follow the law. Of course they should. The real question is whether government institutions should also be held to the same standard. If an ordinary citizen violates the law, he can be fined, arrested or punished. But when officials fail to act, dangerous buildings operate openly and people eventually die, why does accountability suddenly become complicated?
Why does responsibility disappear?
Why does everyone point towards another department?
Why does every tragedy produce an inquiry but so rarely produce lasting change?
Until India answers these questions honestly, we should not be surprised when history repeats itself. Because in a system where violations continue, inspections fail, warnings are ignored, responsibility is divided and nobody in power faces serious consequences, tragedies are not always accidents.
They are predictable failures waiting for the right moment to become disasters.
How many more students must die?
How many more children must be buried?
How many more families must lose their loved ones before the country finally understands that sympathy is not accountability?
The time has come to stop asking only: “Who broke the law?”
We must also ask:
“Who was responsible for enforcing the law, and why did they fail?”
Until that question is followed by real consequences, nothing will change. Another tragedy will come. Another inquiry will be announced. Another group of officials will be suspended. Another political blame game will begin.
And then, once again, the country will move on.
That is the real tragedy of India—not simply that people die, but that after every disaster, we already know exactly what the system will do next.
Nothing.
Disclaimer:The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of The Rift.
