The acid attack on a 17-year-old girl at a bus stop in Panaji has left Goa stunned and exposed. A crime so grotesque, so terrifying in its intent and brazenness, has forced the state to confront an uncomfortable truth: the Goa we knew is slipping away.
The peaceful, safe, close-knit society that defined our identity is under threat. And one cannot ignore the growing chorus—from citizens and even Chief Minister Dr Pramod Sawant himself that the unchecked rise in migration is playing a role in this transformation.
Over the years, Goa has seen a significant influx of people from other states—come in search of honest work, others unfortunately bringing with them the chaos and criminal tendencies from places they’ve fled.
Dr. Sawant has on record voiced concerns about the need to monitor and regulate this inflow. His statements, though politically cautious, have pointed to a growing problem: lack of background checks, poor verification of tenants and labourers, and rising strain on infrastructure and law enforcement.
The result? A state that once prided itself on safety and community trust is now seeing rising cases of violent crimes, murders, assaults, sexual violence, and now, acid attacks.
Goans are beginning to feel like strangers in their own land. Local youth complain of job losses, residents speak of cultural dilution, and women say they no longer feel safe walking alone. And while it is important not to paint all migrants with a broad brush, it is equally irresponsible to ignore the patterns emerging.
The real question is not whether migration is happening, it is what the state is doing about it. So far, the answer seems to be: not much. There is no mandatory tenant verification system in place. There is no comprehensive migrant worker database. Many panchayats remain clueless about who is living within their jurisdictions. Police stations, under-resourced and overworked, rarely follow up on new arrivals unless a crime is committed.
The solution does not lie in xenophobia or blanket blame. Goa has always welcomed people from other parts of India and the world. But there must be rules, and more importantly, enforcement. We need a state-wide Migrant Registration and Verification System, where landlords are legally required to submit details of tenants to local police.
Labour contractors must be registered, and workers must be issued ID cards verified through Aadhaar or other government documentation.
Police patrolling and surveillance must be increased, particularly in fast-growing urban and semi-urban pockets like Mapusa, Ponda, and Margao. CCTV coverage must be expanded, and most importantly, law enforcement officers need to be trained to deal with a diverse and growing population.
The judiciary must fast-track heinous crimes like acid attacks, and survivors must receive immediate medical and psychological support.
This cannot be left to political speeches alone. The Chief Minister must now move from observation to action. His past warnings must become policies. And these policies must be implemented with seriousness, not tokenism.
Goa is at a tipping point.
We can either keep looking the other way and allow this quiet takeover of our culture, security, and peace or we can act now to preserve what remains of our identity. Being open-hearted does not mean being unprotected. Tolerance does not mean lawlessness.
This acid attack must not be dismissed as just another crime. It must be the final straw that forces our state to reimagine how we manage migration, police our communities, and safeguard our people. Goa can still remain a land of susegad—but only if we defend it.
