“What Goa needs right now is not words, but action. The police force must be freed of political interference. Their autonomy must be strengthened, their resources expanded, and their accountability sharpened. Community policing must be revived in a meaningful way, not as a public relations exercise but as a partnership between citizens and law enforcement. Night patrols must increase. Quick-response teams need to be visible and active. Rural areas cannot be left behind while attention stays centred on coastal belts.
The state also needs a Home Minister who treats law and order as a full-time responsibility, not a ceremonial portfolio.”
There was a time when Goa took pride in its easy calm. People stepped out at any hour, children played freely on village roads, and homes remained unlocked because fear simply did not belong here. Today, that sense of natural security is fading fast. Against this backdrop, the Chief Minister’s much-repeated line of “Bhivpachi Garaz Na” feels painfully disconnected from what ordinary Goans are experiencing.
This is not about political point-scoring. It is not a joke and it is not trolling. It is a simple question that many families across the state are asking each other at dining tables and WhatsApp groups: If we are not safe in our own homes, where exactly are we supposed to feel safe?
The recent wave of armed dacoities has shaken people in a way Goa has not witnessed in decades. These incidents are not isolated blips. They are part of a troubling pattern that has been building over the past few years. First came the chain snatching cases, then violent street assaults, daylight murders, rapes, and kidnappings. Now, families are being tied up inside their bedrooms while armed men loot their homes. The criminal landscape has changed. The question is whether the administration has kept pace.
Ask any Goan and they will tell you the same thing. People no longer feel safe on the streets. Women think twice before stepping out after dark. Parents hesitate to let teenagers take a scooter ride at night. Even a simple walk along the beach carries an unspoken sense of caution. Safety, which was once a natural right, has become a calculated risk.
What makes matters worse is the growing belief that criminals act without fear of consequences. When violent robberies occur across towns as different as Vasco, Mapusa and Saligao, it is clear the perpetrators do not care about police presence, patrol timings or CCTV cameras. They strike because they are confident they can get away with it. That is the part that frightens people most. Crime happens everywhere, but when criminals start acting with impunity, society feels unprotected.
Policing in Goa has its strengths. Many officers work sincerely and tirelessly. But the system that supports them is creaking. The investigation process is slow. Chargesheets drag on. Cases linger. Arrests are made, but convictions are rare. When people see accused persons walking free within weeks, public faith crumbles. The perception of ineffective policing becomes as damaging as the crime itself.
The state leadership cannot ignore this shift in public mood. When the Chief Minister gives reassurances that “there is no need to fear,” he may genuinely believe it. But reassurance without results feels hollow. Fear does not vanish because a leader insists it should. It vanishes when institutions function effectively, when criminals are caught swiftly, and when justice is visible and decisive.
What Goa needs right now is not words, but action. The police force must be freed of political interference. Their autonomy must be strengthened, their resources expanded, and their accountability sharpened. Community policing must be revived in a meaningful way, not as a public relations exercise but as a partnership between citizens and law enforcement. Night patrols must increase. Quick-response teams need to be visible and active. Rural areas cannot be left behind while attention stays centred on coastal belts.
The state also needs a Home Minister who treats law and order as a full-time responsibility, not a ceremonial portfolio. Goa is too small and too vulnerable to manage safety on autopilot. Crime evolves quickly. A slow or distracted response is not good enough.
But beyond policing and politics lies a deeper issue. Goa’s social fabric is under strain. The pressures of tourism, migration, drugs, land disputes, and unchecked commercialisation have created cracks. Criminal networks thrive in these cracks. Security cannot improve unless these underlying issues are acknowledged honestly and addressed thoughtfully.
Goa has survived many challenges. It can survive this too. But only if its leadership listens to the people instead of dismissing their fear. Slogans are not safety plans. Comforting lines cannot compensate for crumbling trust. At a time when families are locking their doors earlier, when women look over their shoulders, and when the quiet of night feels less comforting than before, the state must respond with seriousness, not sound bites.
Goans do not want to live in fear. They should not have to. They deserve a government that treats their safety as its first responsibility, not its final talking point.
