BLAISE COSTABIR
Recently, few issues in Goa have generated as much debate as Section 39A, sparking protests, petitions, public meetings and intense media scrutiny. For many Goans simply worry: does this law al low development in protected areas? To understand the issue, one must step back from the noise and ask a simple question: what exactly is Section 39A, and why does it matter? Fundamentally, Section 39A permits modifications to Goa’s Regional Plan, which is the in strument that governs land uti lisation throughout the state. Traditionally, such changes fol lowed a structured, consulta tive process. The Regional Plan reflects collective planning, balancing development needs with environmental protection, infrastructure, and community interests. Section 39A fundamentally al ters that balance. It allows indi vidual landowners or applicants to seek land use changes admin istratively, not through broader planning. In simple terms, it cre ates a way to alter zoning deci sions that were meant to be sta ble and collectively determined. This is where concerns begin. Civil society groups argue that such a provision weakens safe guards protecting Goa’s fragile ecology. Hills, forests and water bodies are not just scenic assets — they are part of a delicate environ mental system. Once disturbed, the damage is often irreversible. Many fear that incremental devel opment in these areas will gradu ally transform landscapes intend ed for preservation. Should legislation primari ly benefiting legislators and a small percentage of Goans be come law? During the limited Assembly debate, no legislator recused themselves, citing a con flict of interest. Were the laws for, by and of people, or was it, for, by and of legislators? Retired High Court Judge Gautam Patel said that Sec 39A is frontally and fundamentally unconstitutional. Imagine handing over a decision to change collective wisdom as reflected in the regional plan to the Chief Town Planner (CTP) to change according to his will and fancies; even local Panchayats only learn of the changes after they are made, with no opportu nity to comment. Supporters of the amendment point to another reality. The law was passed by the Legislative As sembly. It exists within the state’s legal framework. Investors and landowners applied under Sec tion 39A in good faith and should not be penalised by its withdraw al. Goa has had similar legal pro visions withdrawn or challenged in court. Because of this history, many believe that applicants under 39A would have known the amendment could face legal scrutiny. Proceeding despite that possibility suggests known and accepted risks. A question arises regarding the accuracy of applications made under 39A. Civil society has raised concerns about af fidavits submitted with some proposals, especially those per taining to land slope and terrain. Apparently, the data provided in applications does not align with satellite imagery or official geo graphical information. These concerns have led to de mands for independent review of all applications under 39A. The idea is simple: verify the facts. If the applications are ac curate and comply with the law, they should stand. If not, correc tive action should follow. Investment frameworks must invariably furnish a de gree of certainty. The frequent rescission of established poli cies engenders ambiguity and erodes stakeholder confidence. Individuals predicate financial decisions upon the established legal framework. Should this framework exhibit instability, it adversely impacts not only in vestors but also the fundamental credibility of governance. Regrettably, due to the prema ture adjournment of the assem bly session, ostensibly under the provisions of the model code of conduct, it will not be possible to ascertain the approach our legislators would adopt in ad dressing the issue. So far, this is the debate most Goans are familiar with. Another reality unfolds quietly, receiving little attention. Throughout the rural are as of Goa, illegal constructions persistently materialise. These instances do not constitute ex tensive, high-visibility endeav ors that typically provoke public dissent or extensive media cov erage. Rather, these represent minor, incremental alterations that frequently remain unde tected until their establishment as permanent fixtures. Take a drive through almost any village, and the pattern is un mistakable. A hillside, formerly covered in vegetation, is swiftly transformed overnight into a flat platform. A row of small com mercial structures appear along what was formerly a narrow road. A pond or low-lying field is gradually filled with debris until it is ready for construction. Trees disappear overnight without permission. Within weeks, struc tures begin to rise. In many such cases, there are no permissions— no construc tion licences, no approvals from fire, health, pollution control, etc. Yet, over time, these struc tures often manage to obtain house numbers, electricity con nections and water supply. An illegal act gradually gains ac ceptance. The Birch by Romeo Lane illustrates how serious er rors are often overlooked. Many more examples exist in every village. The answer can be found in the realities of local governance. Panchayats are responsible for regulating development within villages; however, the implemen tation of such regulations is not consistently straightforward. In close-knit communities, it can be socially challenging to take ac tion against voters, supporters, neighbours, friends, or relatives. Subsequently, a state of inaction transitions into tacit acceptance. Even when stop-work orders or demolition notices are issued, they are often met with chal lenges and subsequent delays. The Department of Panchayats, acting as the appellate body, merely suspends the action, and the matter remains unresolved for extended periods. Cases lin ger for years. By the time a deci sion is reached, the structure has often been in use for years. Occasionally, the courts inter vene and order demolitions, but these orders are mostly not im plemented for various reasons. Such outcomes typically follow long legal battles. If an illegal structure is demolished, that is an exception, not the norm. The result is a slow but relentless transformation of Goa’s land scape. This is the irony. Goa is capable of mobilising substantial public opposition to large projects or land conver sions perceived to threaten the environment. Yet, the cumulative impact of hundreds—even thou sands—of small illegal construc tions rarely generates the same level of concern. While a single large project might significantly alter an area, countless small vi olations, dispersed across villag es, collectively reshape an entire state. The “Mhaje ghar” scheme, for example, is a provision that legalises such illegalities. This raises a fundamental question: are we consistent in our concern for Goa’s environ ment? If the principle is pro tection, it must apply equally, irrespective of whether the de velopment spans ten hectares or two hundred square meters. Environmental damage does not become acceptable merely due to its limited scope or value. The debate around Section 39A is undoubtedly important. It en compasses governance, environ mental protection, and the future direction of development in Goa. However, concentrating solely on this provision risks neglecting a broader, persistent issue. Ultimately, Goa’s future will not be exclusively dictated by a singular legal provision, but rather by the collective societal oversights perpetuated on a dai ly basis. Long Live Goa. (The author prefers to write rather than chat in a balcao)
