Is participation real or ritualistic?
In Kerala, the answer is not straightforward.
The decentralisation experiment, with its celebrated Grama
Sabhas and three-tier governance structure, has earned global admiration. But
does this machinery deliver genuine democratic participation—or does it merely
simulate it? Let us explore that question by revisiting global theories of
participation, mapping Kerala’s practices on those scales, and imagining bold
futures powered by data, sensors, and civic intelligence.
At the heart of the debate lies a deeper inquiry: what does
it mean to “participate” in governance? Is it merely the right to be informed
or consulted, or does it mean shaping budgets, influencing decisions, holding
the system accountable—and being held accountable in turn?
The Ladder and the Labyrinth
In 1969, Sherry Arnstein’s Ladder of Citizen
Participation marked a foundational moment in how the world would come to
evaluate public involvement in governance. Arnstein’s eight rungs begin with manipulation
and therapy—forms of participation in name only—then ascend through informing, consultation,
and placation, before finally reaching partnership, delegated power, and citizen
control.
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| "Arnstein's ladder" of citizen participation. Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherry_Arnstein |
Fifty years later, the ladder has grown into multidimensional frameworks like the Participation Cube, which allow us to consider not just the depth of participation, but also its breadth, frequency, and inclusivity. These models urge us to ask: participation by whom, for what, how often, and with what consequence?
Placed against this conceptual backdrop, Kerala occupies a
complex and shifting position. The architecture of decentralisation—the
Panchayati Raj institutions, the People's Planning Campaign, the Grama Sabhas,
the rights-based approach to development—is really ambitious. The statutory
structure invites participation not just in isolated events but as a systemic
right, embedded within planning, budgeting, and monitoring processes.
And yet, as any local resident will admit, these Sabhas
often becomes an event to attend, not a forum to influence. Meetings are
called, resolutions passed, reports read out. But the presence of people does
not always mean the presence of, or expression of power.
Between Design and Delivery
To evaluate the state of participation in Kerala today is to
distinguish between designed participation and delivered participation. On
paper, Kerala performs spectacularly. It mandates periodic Grama Sabhas,
ensures representation through quotas, provides institutional platforms like
working groups and development seminars, and allocates substantial budgetary
powers to local bodies.
But in practice, participation is often reduced to
consultation. A 2023 audit of ward-level Sabha attendance in multiple districts
showed that turnout was less than 10% in urban panchayats and below 15% even in
well-functioning rural areas. Women and marginalised communities were present,
but rarely vocal. Youth turnout was almost negligible. Decisions, when made,
tended to ratify proposals prepared in advance by officials or intermediaries.
Why does this gap persist? Partly because structures alone
do not ensure agency. Legal architecture can invite participation, but the
culture of governance must also nurture it. Bureaucratic capture, political
tokenism, and citizen fatigue often combine to dilute what was once a radical
vision.
From Participation to Power
To move forward, we must ask: how can Kerala make citizen
participation more meaningful, legitimate, and transformative?
A useful starting point is to recognise participation as
more than attendance. Participation is about agency—the capacity to shape, to
contest, to co-create. It is also about continuity, not just episodic
engagement. And most importantly, it is about consequence. If participation
does not change decisions, it ceases to matter.
Kerala could lead the way by developing a Participation
Index—a composite measure that tracks not just how many meetings were held, but
who spoke, what proposals were accepted, which projects emerged from citizen
input, and how many were eventually implemented. This could be visualised
ward-wise, published publicly, and tracked year on year. Just as health
outcomes are measured through indicators, so too can democratic health be
assessed—systematically and honestly.
Would such data make a difference? Yes—if it is used not to
blame, but to learn. Participation fails when it is evaluated through anecdote.
It can be revived when it is evaluated through shared reflection.
Learning from Elsewhere: Time-Tested Practices in Public
Participation
Let us first ask—what have democracies around the world
already learned about effective, inclusive, and sustained public participation?
And, there is no shortage of inspiration.
Across continents, local governments have developed low-tech,
high-trust mechanisms that embed citizen voices meaningfully into
decision-making. These are not always dramatic innovations; more often, they
are systems that work quietly, consistently, and transparently. Here are
a few worth considering:
1. Participatory Budgeting (PB) – Porto Alegre to Paris
Arguably the most widely referenced model of deep
participation, Participatory Budgeting began in Porto Alegre, Brazil, in
the late 1980s. It allowed ordinary citizens—not experts or politicians—to
decide how a portion of the municipal budget would be spent, through open
deliberations at the neighborhood level.
Since then, cities from New York to Paris have adopted PB,
modifying it to suit scale and context. In Paris, for example, residents can
propose and vote on projects citywide using simplified online platforms. What
matters is not the method, but the mindset: trusting people to make real fiscal
decisions, and building institutional processes to support that.
Kerala’s People’s Plan once mirrored this spirit. It is time
we revisit those roots and go further.
2. Standing Citizens' Panels – Scotland, Canada,
Australia
In cities like Melbourne and Edinburgh, permanent citizens'
panels—demographically representative groups selected through sortition (the
action of selecting or determining something by the casting or drawing of lots)
—serve as ongoing advisory bodies to city councils. These panels meet
regularly, review policies, scrutinize service delivery, and offer long-term
insights.
Unlike Grama Sabhas that meet sporadically and often suffer
from low attendance, these panels create a culture of sustained dialogue.
Because members are selected to reflect social diversity, and because their
role is formalised, they bring both legitimacy and continuity to participation.
3. Civic Lotteries and Deliberative Assemblies – Ireland,
France
When Ireland grappled with sensitive issues like same-sex
marriage or abortion rights, it turned not to experts but to ordinary citizens.
Through civic lotteries, a diverse group of people was selected and then
immersed in learning, deliberating, and debating over months before submitting
recommendations to Parliament.
France used a similar model to inform national climate
policy. These examples show that deliberative participation can operate even at
national levels—and that informed citizens, when given time and trust, can
offer reasoned, equitable perspectives.
Could Kerala initiate a district-level citizen assembly each
year to deliberate on one key development challenge?
4. Embedded Participation in Service Loops – Helsinki,
Seoul
Not all participation happens in town halls. Some of the
most effective practices are embedded into daily service interactions.
In Helsinki, public transport users can flag route
inefficiencies through SMS codes at bus stops. In Seoul, school management
committees involve parents and local residents in curricular and
facility-related decisions, and such participation is tied to funding
benchmarks.
What these approaches offer is distributed participation—not
as a grand event, but as a thousand small moments of voice. Kerala’s
Kudumbashree network, anganwadis, school PTAs, and MGNREGS job cards all offer entry
points to embed civic feedback loops.
5. Community-Run Data Audits – India’s Own MKSS and NREGA
Samvads
India itself has been a pioneer in community-led
transparency. The MKSS movement in Rajasthan first introduced the concept of Jan
Sunwais—public hearings where government expenditures were read out and
questioned by villagers. The practice later influenced national rights-based
laws like RTI and NREGA.
In states like Jharkhand and Chhattisgarh, civil society has
used NREGA Samvads—local dialogues that audit employment records and
payments using printed job cards and muster rolls—to hold local officials
accountable. These are tools of voice, dignity, and data.
Why not revive such formats in Kerala—not just for wages,
but for public works, welfare delivery, and municipal services? We are certainly
more digitally savvy, so that could be the route?
Digital Frontiers and Sensorial Futures
The future of participation also lies in reimagining how we
listen to citizens. Must every opinion be spoken in a Sabha hall or scrawled on
a form? Or can it be sensed, measured, and aggregated in other ways?
Imagine a Kerala where smart phones capture not just
mobility patterns, but civic priorities: footpath congestion in a ward, waiting
times at public toilets, missed garbage pickups, or even heat stress reported
through wearables. These are signals of participation too—signals of what
people need, experience, and endure. When aggregated ethically, and visualised
clearly, such data can guide more responsive governance.
Similarly, interactive dashboards could allow citizens to
track ward budgets, rate local amenities, or even upload issues. Such platforms
already exist in cities like Taipei and Barcelona. Kerala—with its digital
literacy and dense institutional networks—is well placed to pioneer this model
in the Global South.
This is not to argue for technology in place of human
engagement, but rather for a hybrid model: sensor data where relevant,
deliberation where needed, and co-governance where possible.
The Way Forward: A Culture, Not a Campaign
Kerala’s participatory journey must now evolve from being a campaign
to becoming a culture. Campaigns mobilise. Culture sustains. The real success
of decentralisation lies not in one-off innovations but in building institutional
reflexes—where administrators expect to co-design with citizens, and citizens
expect to be heard and respected, not merely informed.
We must reclaim the political in participation—not in a
partisan sense, but in the deepest sense of that word: as a collective
negotiation of the public good.
In that pursuit, Kerala is not starting from scratch. It has
already walked further than most. The challenge is not invention, but
reinvention. Not just more meetings, but better meanings. Not just new
platforms, but renewed trust.
