In the days leading up to the election at the Corporation of the City of Panaji (CCP), an opposition hastily stitched together sought to ride a rising tide of anti-casino and anti-government sentiment. For a brief moment, it seemed plausible that the Revenue Minister-led panel might lose significant ground, perhaps even surrender half its contested seats. The outcome, however, told a very different story. The Revenue Minister, Atanasio (Babush) Monserrate, and his panel secured a decisive hold over the CCP, winning 27 of 30 seats and losing the remaining three by the narrowest of margins. It was, by any measure, a commanding mandate. He was well within his right to say that the people had placed their trust in him. But in public life, trust is not a conclusion. It is an invitation.
This is not the first time such confidence has been placed in his hands. During the 2019 Panaji by-election campaign, he made a promise that stood apart from the usual rhythm of politics: that within 100 days, he would rid the Mandovi of its casinos. It was a pledge that resonated because it spoke to something deeper, a growing unease about what the river, and the city around it, were becoming. That deadline passed. The casinos remained.
At the time, there were constraints, legal challenges, political calculations, and personal circumstances. Perhaps they mattered then. Today, the context has changed. The constraints that once limited him appear to have receded. His position within the party is no longer tentative, but secure and strong enough to shape outcomes, not merely respond to them. The political capital that once seemed finite now rests firmly in his hands, reflected in his confidence to expand his political footprint with the expectation of public endorsement. And it is precisely this consolidation of power that is beginning to reshape the party’s internal dynamics. As the Revenue Minister’s position strengthens, it inevitably casts longer shadows within the party, shadows that others must now navigate. Yet, for all the shifting equations of power, this moment demands something larger. With confidence comes a far more exacting responsibility: the opportunity for redemption.
This is no longer about what casinos promise in return, nor about the calculations that once defined political risk. The Revenue Minister has already demonstrated that even in uncertain political winds, the people of Panaji stood by him. That is no small measure of trust. But such trust calls, in return, for something equally rare: conviction. The Mandovi flows on, carrying both memory and expectation. The promise made to it, and to the people who live along its banks, has not disappeared. It has simply waited.
This, then, is the moment, not to revisit the past, but to define what comes next. Because the question now extends beyond Panaji. It reaches across Goa, particularly if the topmost chair is the aspiration. People are watching, not with impatience, but with clarity. Time will tell whether this moment is used to stand for Goa and its people, or deferred once again to vested interests reshaping the river’s fate. To reduce this question, as was done before the election, to the protection of “other businesses” is to avoid it altogether. The real issue is whom such protection ultimately serves, and at what cost.
Babush, this is your opportunity. To show that you have the fortitude and moral courage to act in the larger public interest, even when it is not the easiest path. The people have shown that they trust you. This is your chance to show that you stand by them. There is a lesson here for the opposition as well. Trust of this kind cannot be assembled overnight, nor borrowed from a moment. It is earned patiently, consistently, long before an election is called. Because in the end, redemption in public life does not come from explanation. It comes from action. And even if it comes later than promised, it is still not too late. Panaji and Goa will remember the legacy that is chosen now.
