When 2021-batch IAS officer Dhiman Chakma was arrested by Odisha’s Vigilance Department for allegedly accepting a ₹10 lakh bribe from a businessman, the scandal was swiftly seized upon—not just as a case of corruption, but as a symbolic attack on caste-based reservation in India’s civil services.
Chakma, from Tripura, had qualified for the UPSC under the Scheduled Tribe (ST) category and was posted as Sub-Collector of Dharamgarh in Odisha’s Kalahandi district. He was reportedly caught red-handed in a plush hotel with the bribe, while ₹47 lakh in cash was recovered from his official residence.
Soon after the news broke, social media turned from outrage to identity-based vilification.
“This is bound to happen when you include people not on merit, but on caste reservation and tribal quotas,” wrote one X user.
Another mockingly added, “Now they’ll ask for reservation in corruption too.”
But these reactions say far more about how India views affirmative action than they do about Dhiman Chakma himself.
As a journalist from the Northeast, I watched the backlash unfold with painful familiarity. Time and again, when someone from a marginalized background stumbles, the entire community and the very idea of reservation are dragged into the mud. And yet, year after year, IAS and IRS officers from general categories are caught in corruption scandals—but their identity is never the focus.
Earlier this month, IRS officer Amit Kumar Singhal was arrested for accepting a ₹25 lakh bribe. In 2023, Haryana cadre IAS officer Dharmender Singh was arrested for a ₹1.11 crore bribe. In Jharkhand, a senior IAS officer was implicated in a multi-crore excise scam. None of these cases sparked a national debate on “merit” or systemic failure.
So why does it only become a question of capability when the accused comes from a reserved category?
The Weight of Being First
Dhiman Chakma’s arrest hurt many of us, not because we excuse corruption, but because we know the pain and pressure of being a first. In my state, Mizoram, we’ve had just one IAS officer in the past 11 years. We are often the first generation in our families to go to college, the first to read English fluently, the first to attempt UPSC exams.
We are often told that reservation dilutes merit. But what many fail to consider is that merit is not born in a vacuum—it is shaped by access, opportunity, and history.
Take Mizoram. Today, it proudly holds the title of one of the most literate states in India. But it’s crucial to understand what that literacy means, and what it doesn’t. Our script itself was introduced only in 1894, by Christian missionaries who came alongside British colonial forces. They opened the first schools in scattered villages, and over the decades, communities made extraordinary efforts to educate their children.
Yet these missionaries and administrators were also part of a colonial system that exploited tribal populations, imposed forced labor, heavy taxation, and undermined traditional governance. The British centralized authority, stripping away the power of village chieftains and curtailing customary laws. Political rights were suppressed; Mizos were prohibited from participating in political activities, and the first historical records of our communities were written not by our own people, but by the colonizers themselves, often through a lens of control or misunderstanding.
So yes, Mizoram is a fully literate state today, but one must live here to understand what that literacy entails. Many students can recite lessons by heart, but lack the conceptual understanding because of rote-based learning, poor access to resources, and limited exposure to real-world problem-solving.
What we often forget is that reservation doesn’t guarantee success—it only opens the gate. What lies beyond is a long climb, and very few from the hills and borders get the chance to attempt it.
Living on the Edge of the Nation
Mizoram and much of the Northeast still live on the edge of infrastructure and opportunity. The state is linked to the rest of India through a narrow 22-km corridor in Siliguri. A single highway through Assam carries most of our essential supplies. Disagreements or monsoons frequently cut it off. Every year, petrol stations are shut down at least four times, we lose electricity during the rains, and face landslides that block roads for days. Connectivity, travel, and digital access remain fragile.
Our communities are tight-knit and deeply compassionate. When tragedy strikes, neighbors who barely know you will sit with your family through the night. If a landslide blocks the road, the entire village turns out to clear it, often with their bare hands. But this spirit of volunteerism exists not just out of kindness, but out of necessity. In many parts of Mizoram, there is little or no immediate government response, no disaster management crew on standby, no heavy machinery arriving within hours.
We volunteer because we have no choice. And while this collective resilience is admirable, it also means that students and working adults are frequently pulled away from studies or work. Disaster response becomes unpaid, unavoidable labor, and in such moments, education and career preparation take a back seat—not because of lack of will, but because of a lack of systems, resources, and technological support.
History Wasn’t Fair: Merit Can’t Be Measured in a Vacuum
From 1966 to 1986, Mizoram lived under the shadow of armed conflict. Thousands of villages were burned, and over 200,000 people were forcibly relocated under the grouping policy. Education collapsed. Many of our parents grew up in refugee-style camps. Even after peace returned, the scars of those years linger through limited representation, and a gap in access that reservation alone cannot bridge.
In the last five years alone, over 1,195 officers from SC, ST, and OBC backgrounds have joined the IAS, IPS, and IFS. They are not anomalies—they are evidence of effort against odds. Yet every time one of them falters, it’s used to delegitimize the collective struggle and sacrifice of millions.
Corruption is a Systemic Issue, Not a Caste-Specific One
Dhiman Chakma, if found guilty, must face the law. But let us also ask why corruption cases involving dominant caste officers are treated as individual failings, while those involving marginalized officers become an indictment of their identity.
The real issue isn’t reservation—it’s how quickly we weaponize it, how willing we are to overlook context, history, and inequality when it’s convenient to do so.
Until India can have a more honest conversation about caste, merit, and access, stories like Chakma’s will continue to be misread—not as personal downfall, but as a reason to close the gates again.
And that would be a far greater tragedy than one man’s mistake.
Also Read: Taking back what is ours: Why a Naga delegation is in Oxford University
One of the best article I have read in a long time.i wish people could read and understand what it means to come from north east and the the difficulties they have to face everyday.