On September 11, 2025, the Indian Parliament found itself at the center of a heated debate over the Constitution (130th Amendment) Bill, 2025—a legislative proposal that has already begun to reshape conversations about political accountability, due process, and the delicate balance of democracy in India. As the Bill advances, it’s not just legal scholars and politicians who are paying attention; the public, too, is watching closely, wary of both the promises and pitfalls that such a sweeping change could bring.
At its core, the 130th Constitutional Amendment Bill seeks to provide for the automatic removal of the Prime Minister, Chief Ministers, and other Ministers if they are held in custody for 30 consecutive days in connection with an offence punishable by five years or more in prison. According to Indian Express, the Bill applies to the Centre, States, Delhi, and, through separate legislation, to the Union Territories of Puducherry and Jammu & Kashmir. The mechanics are straightforward: Union Ministers would be removed by the President on the Prime Minister’s advice by the 31st day of custody; State Ministers by the Governor on the Chief Minister’s advice; and Delhi Ministers by the President on the Chief Minister’s advice. If the Prime Minister or a Chief Minister is the one detained, they must resign by the 31st day, or else their office is vacated automatically. Yet, the Bill stops short of imposing a permanent ban—those removed could be re-appointed once released from custody.
Proponents of the amendment argue it upholds constitutional morality, good governance, and public trust. As the government frames it, the move is an attempt to place ministers "beyond any ray of suspicion" and to "restore political morality," as highlighted in NewsClick. The rationale is clear: ministers facing serious charges should not be allowed to wield executive power while under the cloud of potential wrongdoing. The Bill’s supporters believe this will help cleanse politics of tainted figures and fortify the democratic process.
Yet, as with most things in Indian politics, the devil is in the details—and in the potential for unintended consequences. Critics warn that the Bill’s reliance on mere custody, rather than actual conviction, as the trigger for removal is fraught with risk. In India’s labyrinthine criminal justice system, where pre-trial detention can stretch for months, the distinction between an allegation and proven guilt is anything but trivial. The Indian Express points out that under laws like the Bhartiya Nagarik Suraksha Samhita, 2023, and the Prevention of Money Laundering Act, authorities can detain individuals for up to 90 days, often with stringent bail conditions. This means that a minister could be forced from office long before a court ever weighs in on the merits of the case.
Legal experts have been quick to flag several constitutional and procedural concerns. As Indian Express reports, the Bill could be seen as violating the basic structure doctrine established in the landmark Kesavananda Bharati case of 1973, which bars Parliament from altering the essential features of the Constitution—such as the rule of law and separation of powers. The move also departs from judicial precedent. For instance, the Representation of the People Act, 1951, only disqualifies legislators after conviction, not during pre-trial detention. The A.R. Antulay case of 1988 similarly struck down procedural shortcuts that threatened the right to a fair trial under Article 21.
The Bill’s critics also worry about the weakening of the collegial cabinet principle. By making the removal of ministers contingent on the advice of the Prime Minister or Chief Minister, the amendment risks making the Council of Ministers "hostage" to the head of government’s discretion. The S.R. Bommai case of 1994 reaffirmed the collective responsibility of the cabinet as a cornerstone of parliamentary democracy—a principle that some fear is now at risk.
Perhaps most troubling is the specter of political misuse. As Indian Express and NewsClick both note, investigative agencies like the Enforcement Directorate (ED) and Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) have already faced accusations of targeting opposition leaders. With the new law, the mere act of placing a minister in custody for 30 days could become a potent tool for political vendetta, enabling the destabilization of elected governments with little more than an arrest warrant. The article in NewsClick draws a stark picture: "If such a law had been in force when Delhi Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal was jailed or when Chief Minister Hemant Soren was detained in Jharkhand, both leaders would have been compelled to relinquish office automatically, not by the legislature, but merely by virtue of their status as undertrial detainees."
Adding to the complexity is the Bill’s selective focus. While it targets the executive branch—Prime Minister, Chief Ministers, and Ministers—it leaves Members of Parliament and state legislatures untouched. Under Articles 102 and 191 of the Constitution, and the Representation of the People Act, legislators are only disqualified upon conviction for offences carrying a sentence of two years or more. This creates what NewsClick describes as "constitutional asymmetry," inviting political gamesmanship and undermining the principle of equal treatment under the law.
Comparative perspectives offer little comfort. In the United Kingdom, ministers are expected to resign if moral lapses are alleged, but there is no legal compulsion until conviction. The United States Constitution is silent on ministerial removals, leaving resignations to political pressure rather than legal mandate. In South Africa, removal only follows conviction or impeachment, keeping due process at the heart of accountability. India’s proposed approach, by contrast, would be among the most stringent in the democratic world.
The potential fallout is far-reaching. Governance instability looms large, as frequent removals without trial could disrupt cabinet continuity and weaken policy execution. The risk of political weaponization is real, with investigative agencies possibly used to jail opponents strategically. There’s also the danger of eroding the public mandate, as voters’ choices are overridden by executive action rather than judicial verdicts. And, as Indian Express observes, the courts could be swamped with petitions challenging arbitrary removals, further clogging an already overburdened judicial system.
What, then, is the way forward? Legal commentators and opposition leaders alike have called for reforms that would tie removal to judicial milestones—such as the formal framing of charges—rather than mere custody. They advocate for stronger judicial oversight, perhaps mandating High Courts to review removal orders within a week. Safeguarding cabinet collegiality, ensuring political neutrality through independent vetting bodies, and promoting voluntary resignation on moral grounds are all floated as possible solutions.
As the debate rages on, one thing is clear: the 130th Constitutional Amendment Bill, 2025, is a bold attempt to address the very real problem of ministers facing serious charges. But by equating custody with guilt and prioritizing expediency over procedure, it risks undermining the very democratic values it seeks to protect. In the words of NewsClick, "The true measure of democracy lies not in the speed with which it punishes the unpopular, but in its commitment to the principles that safeguard all."
As India stands at this crossroads, the nation must weigh its desire for clean governance against the imperatives of fairness, due process, and constitutional integrity. The outcome of this debate will shape not only the fate of ministers but the very character of Indian democracy itself.
